Page 27

“Not outright,” Sebastian replies.

“But I’d give them enough control to make the partnership worth having. Their relationships in Germany and the Netherlands are stronger than ours, and they can open doors faster than we can build them ourselves.”

Charles looks at me next. “Ross?”

I wipe my mouth with my napkin before answering.

“The relationship is valuable. The control they’re asking for isn’t.”

Sebastian glances toward me but doesn’t interrupt.

I continue. “If we give them operational authority now, it’ll be difficult to pull back later without destabilizing the partnership. I’d rather structure it with performance thresholds and limited decision rights. Let them prove what they can build before we give them permanent leverage.”

My father leans back slightly.

“And if they walk?” he asks.

“Then they walk.”

Sebastian smiles faintly. “Very diplomatic.”

“They need us too,” I tell him.

“They need access,” Sebastian says. “There’s a difference.”

“I know,” I reply.

“But access is temporary. Governance isn’t.”

Charles studies me for a moment before asking, “What would you offer instead?”

That second question is different.

It isn’t a test. He is asking because he wants the answer.

I give it to him.

“A three-year operating partnership with regional exclusivity tied to performance. No permanent board seat, no unilateral authority, and a review before any equity expansion.”

My father nods once. “Draft the framework with Voss tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

Sebastian reaches for his wine. “I’ll handle Van Alder.”

Charles looks at him. “Good.”

There is no tension between us. There never has to be for the difference to be clear. Sebastian will make the relationship work. I will make sure we can live with the structure five years from now.

Across the table, Blaire has gone quiet. When I glance toward her, she is watching me. Not staring. Not smiling. Simply paying attention.

I hold her gaze for a second before my mother draws her back into the conversation by asking whether the collection has produced any more surprises. Blaire answers her easily, but I notice the way her eyes return to me once before the subject changes.

After dinner, my father and Sebastian move into the drawing room with coffee while my mother stays behind for a few minutes to speak with the house manager. Blaire drifts toward the terrace doors with her wine, and I find myself following before I give the decision much thought.

The night air is cooler beyond the open doors, carrying the faint scent of rain from the garden. Blaire rests one hand against the stone balustrade and looks out across the dark lawn.

“You’re quieter out here,” she says.