The next morning, William and his team rushed back to the office, the air still heavy with uncertainty and sort of weird hope. Although they had agreed in principle to selling Zephyr to Harrows, it was painfully clear that a handshake was only the beginning. There was a mountain of details to untangle in a very short time, each decision carrying consequences that would ripple through both companies for years to come. One small comfort was that this was, in effect, selling the company from the right hand to the left—a family transaction that avoided the brutal scrutiny of outside investors and the endless parade of due diligence teams that typically accompanied such deals.
Though William had promised Zephyr would maintain a degree of independence, that promise was only the start of a much longer conversation. What exactly was the valuation? How would they determine fair market value for a company that had never been publicly traded, whose true worth lay as much in its potential as its current assets? Sebastian's shares were supposed to be exchanged for the Zephyr acquisition, but everyone knew that no one ever said no to a little extra cash—if it could be justified through creative accounting or strategic premiums.
And then came even thornier questions. Who would actually lead the organization once the ink dried? In principle, it would be William, but he would also be running Harrows—a decaying empire that demanded constant attention. Who would lead Zephyr in his place during the inevitable periods when his focus was elsewhere? How would the operations, systems, and processes be merged without destroying the nimble culture that had made Zephyr successful? What about finance, patent ownership, and Zephyr's targeted market position? And that sharp cultural difference between Harrows and Zephyr—how could that ever be reconciled? Would Zephyr remain a distinct brand with its own identity, or would it become just another marque folded under the Harrows badge, like so many legendary names that had vanished into corporate portfolios over the decades?
The morning sun cast long shadows across the conference room as the team gathered around the table. Coffee cups multiplied like evidence of their collective anxiety, and the air grew thick with the weight of decisions that would echo for years.
For the next four or five hours, the team dissected these questions with the tired focus of people who understood that every choice they made would determine not just their own futures, but also the futures of several dozens of employees. Liz perched at the corner of the conference table, her fountain pen scratching across the pages of her heavy leather-bound ledger—notes she would later pore over with the discrete army of lawyers who still handled the tangled affairs of William's grandfather, men who had learned to navigate the labyrinthine complexities of family business with the precision of surgeons.
The legal structure, at least, offered some relief from the usual complications. Zephyr had been a private company, no a properitorship in all but name—no scattered shareholders nursing grievances, no board factions to placate, no activist investors looking for quick returns. And Harrows itself was a family holding, run almost like a private dynasty rather than a faceless corporation answerable to quarterly earnings reports. That alone spared them a jungle of regulatory headaches, disclosure requirements, and the endless scrutiny of the market that had destroyed so many promising acquisitions in the past.
When they finally broke for lunch, the exhaustion was palpable. The discussions had been intense, each topic spawning three more questions, each decision revealing new complexities they hadn't anticipated. Lunch was nothing more than basic steak and mashed potatoes served in the staff dining room—the typical American comfort food.
The dining room itself was an extension of Zephyr's design philoshiphy. Basic wooden table repurposed from doors with steel chairs welded in house. The walls were painted by employees themselves and were full of drawings and messages. Bean bags and cushions were lying here and there. It was a place where engineers and designers could eat, relax and get back to work, where ideas were sketched on napkins and problems were solved over coffee. William wondered if such informal collaboration would survive the transition to Harrows' more formal culture.
Zephyr would need to be shoved into another corner of the complex, William thought with a weird smile.
Afterward, they reconvened for what William called the "current and future planning" session. He leaned back against the sideboard, surveying the group with the careful attention of a general planning a campaign. The afternoon light streaming through the windows caught the dust motes in the air, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere that seemed to underscore the gravity of their decisions.
"So let's start with the basic question that everybody wants to know," he began, his voice carrying a mixture of determination and resignation. "Whether we stay in Detroit or move to New Haven." He folded his arms across his chest. "Let's discuss."
"Does it matter?" Su asked, her tone dismissive in the way that had become her trademark. She was brilliant, perhaps the best systems engineer William had ever worked with, but she had the social sensitivity of a brick wall. She was incredibly cheerful, optiomistic but blunt to the point of death.
"It does, Su," Christopher interjected sharply, "Not everybody lives out of a car. Some of us have families and friends here."
Christopher's situation was complicated. He had spent nearly his entire life in Detroit. His parents and brothers all lived within driving distance, creating a support network that had sustained him through Zephyr's early struggles. The church he'd attended since childhood, the school he had studied in and more.
The problem was this was not just Christopher's issue. In the workshop their more such people who had probably never left Detroit in their life. Or had built their whole life in Detroit.
"Meh…just sell it," Su replied with a shrug that managed to be both casual and callous. "I'm sure William will take care of your house."
William closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar tension that arose whenever Su and Christopher occupied the same room. It was the age-old fight between an engineer and a designer.
Su the engineer, always chasing efficiency and pragmatism, viewing human complications as obstacles to be overcome; Christopher the designer, forever dreaming of perfect lines and proportions that defied budget and physics alike, understanding that beauty and function were inseparable. The problem was Su loved to poke at Christoper.
"Su…" William warned quietly, his voice carrying the weight of accumulated battles fought over similar issues.
He turned back to Christopher, his expression softening slightly. "Look, the Harrow complex has its own residential buildings. But don't expect anything like your place. They're just…buildings. Small apartments, common garden areas, no yard. It's functional, but it's not like your home."
Christopher's mouth twisted in distaste. "Can't we arrange for something else? Maybe find housing in the surrounding area?"
"Well, you can always sell this house and buy another one there," Tommy chimed in, his smooth Italian accent giving the suggestion an almost cheerful inevitability. "The market's different, but it'll probably be cheaper than here."
Tommy's perspective was colored by his own circumstances. He rented a small but elegant flat in Detroit's downtown, and he was very much fine leaving it. For him, moving to New Haven meant getting closer to family in New York—not further away from anything he cherished. His connections were portable in a way that Christopher's were not.
"Well…everyone, discuss this with your families," William said, recognizing that pushing for an immediate decision would only create resentment. "Get back to me by the end of the week. We need to know who's coming and who's staying so we can plan accordingly."
With that pragmatic acknowledgment of human complexity, William turned the conversation to their immediate technical challenges—the problems that could be solved with engineering rather than diplomacy.
"So we're targeting Geneva," he said, glancing at the calendar on taped on one corner of the room. "That's March. Almost four months. And our car isn't even ready."
The Geneva International Motor Show – It was the largest and the most respect auto show in the world. The automotive press would be there in force, along with potential customers who collected cars the way others collected art. A successful debut could establish Zephyr's reputation for years to come. It was a marketing opportunity which they couldn't miss.
Su exhaled sharply. She looked at Sam accusingly and said slowly. "It's ready. At least the parts are. But someone keeps on delaying…"
Sam looked apologetic, "Sorry about the delays, but you know the engine situation. The first prototype didn't match our requirements at all—the power curve was all wrong, the torque delivery was too peaky. Fortunately, the second iteration is finally done. Four hundred horsepower, which is what we targeted. Great torque characteristics, and the top speed should be impressive. We even tuned the sound. But…there is a small problem which we discovered recently." He trailed off, reluctant to voice his concerns.
"You're not sure it'll cross the 300 km/h barrier," William finished for him, his voice carrying no judgment—just the weary acceptance of someone who had learned to expect complications.
Sam nodded reluctantly. "It should, based on the calculations. But with the actual weight, aerodynamic drag, rolling resistance, and all the little devils …it might come in closer to 280 or 290."
The 300 km/h barrier was more than just a number—it was a an unbroken barrier. Breaking the barrier meant the absolute pinnacle of automotive engineering. Or at least as of 1960.
"Could we add a turbo? Or a supercharger?" Lucas offered. "We could probably squeeze another fifty horsepower out of the existing platform."
"No." William shook his head firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "The first engine has to be a landmark. Three hundred kilometres per hour, naturally aspirated. No shortcuts, no compromises. If we're going to make a statement, it needs to be unequivocal."
The decision reflected William's understanding of the market they were entering…or to be honest, creating. Supercars customers were not just buying transportation—they were buying exclusivity, engineering excellence, and the ability to own something that pushed the boundaries of what was possible. A turbocharged engine, regardless of its performance, would be seen as a compromise, a admission that they couldn't achieve their goals through pure engineering excellence. Not in the eyes of the customers, but in his own eyes it would be acceptance of defeat.
Sam inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Understood. I'll work with the team to optimize what we have."
"Sam, you're coming with me to Harrows' R&D centre," William continued, his mind already moving to potential solutions. "They're experimenting with new alloys for engine components, plus they are tinkering with fuel injection systems that might help us optimize the power delivery. I want you to see if their technology can help us reach our targets."
"What about the brakes?" William asked, moving to the next critical system.
"They work fine," he admitted with the reluctant honesty of an engineer who knew that 'fine' and 'best' were very different things. "But I'd prefer something with more stopping power, especially if we're going to achieve the top speed we're targeting."
"Good. Harrows has been experimenting with new disk brakes. Carbon composites and ceramics. You'll evaluate those too."
William turned to Su, whose expertise in systems integration would be crucial in the coming months. "Assuming the engine issues are resolved, how long to get everything assembled and tested?"
"Not long, assuming we don't encounter any major surprises," Su replied, "Geneva is just a concept show, not a production debut, so we don't need full durability testing. Most of the major assemblies are nearly complete—suspension and the basic chassis structure. It's really a matter of final integration and calibration."
"Good. Begin final assembly as soon as Sam confirms the engine specifications. Sam, coordinate with the Harrows team to ensure we're not duplicating efforts."
"Christopher," William continued, turning to the designer "I want the interior finished and installed by February. No excuses, no delays."
"Already on it," Christopher assured him, his pride in his work evident in his voice. The cockpit design had been finalized months ago but he and his team had been tinkering with materials, colours, and shapes. It wasn't a difficult task to get everything sorted especially with yesterday's acceptance of white leather design.
"Tommy, you're coming with me too," William said, turning to their quality guy. "Harrows needs a complete quality overhaul, and you're going to lead it."
"The whole menu?" Tommy raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Everything," William replied without hesitation. "Manufacturing processes, supplier quality, final inspection procedures. The whole operation needs to be brought up to our standards."
Tommy gave a long whistle. "That's going to be a lot of work. Their current processes are…" he stopped trying to find the right word…"primitive"
"Do it, and I'll pay you double your annual salary as a bonus," William said, understanding that motivation was as important as capability.
Tommy straightened in mock salute, but his expression was serious. "Yes, sir. Consider it done."
"Lucas," William said finally, turning to their HR "what's your update on what we discussed"
"I have prepared an action plan. But right now, I am in touch with universities," Lucas replied, "They're very interested in partnering with us. Our mess will give them lots of research data. They can probably write half a dozen research papers and case studies, and their graduate students will be much cheaper than hiring a full HR team."
William felt the simultaneous urge to laugh and groan. The partnership made perfect sense from a resource standpoint, but it also meant that Harrow's development process would become, in part, an academic exercise. "Fine. When do they start?"
"Monday of next week. I'll have the confidentiality agreements ready for signature by tomorrow."
"Good. Make sure they understand that certain information remains strictly confidential, regardless of its academic value."
They spent another hour methodically working through the details—who would relocate and when, who would remain in Detroit to maintain continuity, how the transition teams would coordinate their efforts across multiple locations. The logistics were complex, but William had learned that attention to these seemingly mundane details often determined the success or failure of major initiatives.
By the time they wrapped up, dusk was pressing against the windows, and the conference room had taken on the tired atmosphere of a place where important decisions had been made under pressure.
"Well, everybody," William said, clapping his hands once with the sharp sound of finality, "chop, chop. We have work to do."
The next morning, while the rest of the team prepared for their respective relocations to New Haven, William and Liz caught the first flight to Hartford. The early morning flight was nearly empty, giving them space to spread out their documents and continue working through the complex details of the acquisition.
When they stepped off the plane into the crisp Connecticut air, George was waiting in arrivals, tall and stoic in his perfectly tailored dark overcoat. Their car—a gleaming black Rolls-Royce Phantom—stood at the curb, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the grey morning sky.
The ride to Farmington was quiet, the soft hum of the engine and the whisper of expensive tires on asphalt creating a cocoon of contemplation. Liz worked through her notes, occasionally murmuring questions to herself as she identified issues that would need to be addressed in the formal agreements. William watched the Connecticut countryside slide past—green hills rolling under a low, pearled sky that seemed to capture the ambiguous nature of the day ahead.
His grandfather had moved temporarily to the old Farmington estate for the week. Last night, William had called to explain his decision and arrange a meeting to discuss the final details. His grandfather had listened without comment, then simply said, "Come."
When the car crunched over the gravel drive, the house loomed above them, dignified and slightly forbidding in the way that old money often was. Stone columns framed the entrance, their classical proportions speaking to an era when such things were built to last for centuries. Ivy curled along the walls, softening the hard lines of the architecture while adding to its sense of permanence. A pair of stone lions stood on either side of the double doors, their eyes set in an unblinking stare that seemed to evaluate visitors and find most of them wanting.
As soon as they stepped out of the car, a small retinue of staff appeared with the practiced efficiency of people who had been managing such arrivals for decades. Their coats were lifted from their shoulders by gloved hands, and they were ushered inside with the kind of unobtrusive competence that marked the best service. The air inside smelled faintly of lemon oil and old paper, the scent of a house that was both lived in and carefully maintained.
They passed down a long corridor lined with paintings that represented not just artistic achievement, but the accumulation of taste and resources across generations. Some were housed in ornate gilt frames that were almost as valuable as the canvases themselves—a Monet landscape with its characteristic haze of color hanging opposite a darker Raphael Madonna, her serene expression watching over the hallway with timeless grace. Between the paintings stood sculptures, classical reliefs, and the occasional artifact that would have been more at home in a museum than a private residence.
The collection was impressive not just for its value, but for its coherence—evidence of generations of Harrows who had understood that acquiring beautiful things was not just about wealth but also about knowledge and history, which commanded respect.
At the top of the main staircase, a wide landing led into the family solar—a high-ceilinged room with tall mullioned windows that flooded the space with natural light, and a fireplace that was taller than William himself. The flames were already burning, casting dancing shadows that seemed to bring the room to life. The air felt warmer than he remembered, suggesting that the staff had been instructed to ensure their comfort.
It struck William that this was the same room where his ancestors had signed documents that built and destroyed companies, where decisions had been made that rippled through the American economy for decades. History layered itself here like varnish on old wood, each generation adding its own contribution to the family's legacy.
Liz paused to admire a landscape over the mantel—a Turner, if she wasn't mistaken, its swirling clouds and dramatic light capturing the romantic sublime that the artist had made his signature. The painting seemed to embody the spirit of the room itself—a place where grand gestures were not just possible, but expected.
The butler, a man whose discretion was as polished as his shoes, gestured for them to wait while he announced their arrival. William drew a slow breath.
His grandfather entered first, his bearing as upright and commanding as ever, and to William's surprise, Uncle Richard followed close behind. William had thought Richard had left for Hollywood immediately after the last board meeting, but apparently, the prospect of witnessing this particular family drama had been too compelling to miss.
"Grandfather. Uncle," William greeted them with the formal courtesy that such occasions demanded.
"Sir," Liz managed, though it came out more like a squeak than a greeting. William could sense she was nervous, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the setting and the weight of the decisions being made.
"Well, sit," Sebastian said, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
They took their places on the sofas arranged around the fireplace, the furniture's placement creating an intimate conversation area within the larger room's formal grandeur.
"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," Sebastian remarked.
"I didn't want to waste time," William replied, matching his grandfather's directness. "I met with the team, sorted through the major details, identified the key issues. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable."
"Good," Sebastian nodded approvingly. "Time is precious. Invaluable. Never waste it." He steepled his fingers in a gesture that William remembered from childhood, a sign that serious business was about to commence. "Now—tell me what you came to discuss."
"We agree to sell Zephyr to Harrows in exchange for your and Uncle Richard's shares," William began, his voice steady "But we'd like to establish a few key terms on paper—protections and guarantees that ensure the transition serves everyone's interests."
"Wait," Sebastian said, lifting one hand to pause the discussion. "Before we start negotiating details, I want to hear exactly what you plan to do with Harrows once you control it."
"Why?" William asked, his tone sharpening slightly. "Are you planning to reconsider the deal if you don't like the direction?"
Richard gave a low snort of amusement, recognizing the family tendency toward dramatic confrontation.
"No," Sebastian said levelly, his expression unchanged. "But I want to understand what I'll be signing our family's inheritance into, and I want to know it will be in capable hands."
William looked from one to the other, recognizing that this was not just due diligence, but a test of his vision and capabilities. "It's not exactly a secret. You'll know about it anyway once the transition begins."
The truth was that he had never shared his complete vision with anyone—not even Liz, despite her role in helping him plan the acquisition. He had revealed bits and pieces to different people at different times, but never the whole interconnected strategy that had been developing in his mind for years. Many of these plans had been conceived almost a decade earlier. Well before he was disillusioned by company politics and decay.
He took a breath, organizing his thoughts before he began.
"First, the fundamental restructuring," he began, his voice gaining confidence as he moved into familiar territory. "I will be converting Harrows from an operating company into a holding company structure."
Sebastian's eyebrows lifted slightly. "A holding company? That's a significant change in philosophy."
"Yes, and it's crucial for what I want to accomplish," William explained. "It will give me flexibility around control and capital allocation, allow each subsidiary to operate with appropriate autonomy while maintaining strategic coordination."
"Go on," Sebastian prompted, his expression neutral but attentive.
"Harrow Automobiles will become one of the subsidiaries, focused entirely on consumer vehicles—primarily affordable models that can compete in the mass market. The Jeep line will be spun out into its own brand, specializing in SUVs and adventure vehicles. Aston Martin and Lagonda will be consolidated into a separate luxury performance company—Aston Martin for pure performance cars, Lagonda for luxury performance vehicles that target a different demographic."
"Luxury performance?" Richard interjected, one eyebrow raised in scepticism.
"Yes," William said, warming to his subject as he saw their genuine interest. "Traditional luxury brands cater to the establishment—older, conservative buyers who value tradition and prestige over excitement. But there's a new generation of wealthy customers emerging. New wealth, young people, the Hollywood nouveau rich. I want to target them with cars that are luxurious but also thrilling to drive—more Bentley than Rolls-Royce in philosophy."
His grandfather's eyes glimmered with what might have been approval but it was hard to say. "That's seems like a niche market. But go on."
Liz looked up from her notes, her eyes shone.
"Then there's Zephyr," William continued. "Supercars exclusively. No compromises, no cost-cutting, no consideration for anything except absolute performance and engineering excellence."
"Supercars?" Sebastian asked softly, the term unfamiliar to him.
"You'll see," William replied with a slight smile. "Wait for Geneva. I think it will be illuminating."
He paused to gather his thoughts, then continued with the comprehensive restructuring that would transform Harrows from a traditional automaker into something entirely new.
"The military division will be consolidated into Harrow Defense Solutions," he explained. "I'm not entirely sure about its long-term future, but there are opportunities to expand beyond our current scope—light tactical vehicles, heavy armoured platforms, urban conflict systems. We might even explore collaborations with NASA on advanced propulsion systems. It's not as if we haven't worked on rockets before."
He looked directly at Sebastian as he said this, knowing that his grandfather had been the one who had signed away the Arms Division.
"I also want to establish a commercial vehicles division," William continued. "Trucks, buses, construction equipment. We have the engineering expertise, thanks to our military history. And the brand recognition to compete in those markets, and the profit margins are often better than consumer vehicles."
"Our research and development capabilities will be spun out into a separate company that serves both internal needs and external clients," he added, his enthusiasm growing as he articulated ideas that had been developing for years. "If we're going to maintain our technical edge, we need to be generating revenue from our innovations, not just using them internally."
Richard looked at him with sharp attention. "You want to sell our engineering services to competitors?"
"Why not?" William shrugged. "If we don't, someone else will. Better to profit from our expertise than to let it go to waste."
Richard couldn't argue with the logic, though William could see he was uncomfortable with the implications.
"Our parts manufacturing will be reorganized into five specialized divisions," William continued, his voice gaining momentum. "Harrow Bodyworks for chassis and exterior components, Harrow Interior Systems for cockpit design and passenger comfort, Harrow Mobility Solutions for engines and drivetrains, Harrow Electronics for ECU and sensors, and Harrow Spares for replacement parts and service support."
"ECU?" Sebastian interrupted, unfamiliar with the acronym.
"Engine control units," William explained. "Essentially, small computers that manage engine functions and optimize performance. It's still early in the development cycle, but I believe electronic control systems will eventually govern every aspect of vehicle operation."
"I'm also considering consolidating our dealer network into a single real estate company," he added. "Own the land and buildings, then franchise the operations. It would give us much better control over the customer experience while generating steady rental income."
When he finished and looked around the room, all three were staring at him with expressions of surprise and calculation.
"Well," Sebastian said dryly, "you've certainly been thorough in your planning."
William couldn't help but blush slightly, embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. He had been developing these ideas for years, and speaking them aloud had rekindled his excitement about the possibilities.
"Anything else?" Richard asked with a crooked grin that suggested he was both impressed and slightly overwhelmed.
"Well, maybe," William admitted, knowing that full disclosure was better than surprises later. "I'm considering acquiring several motorcycle manufacturers and consolidating them into a single brand. There are also opportunities in racing - F1, NASCAR, Rally, Touring —both as a marketing tool and as a development laboratory. And eventually, I think we should establish our own financial services company."
"A bank?" Sebastian asked, genuinely startled.
"Financial services," William corrected. "Consumer financing, insurance products. If we're going to be a full-service automotive company, we need to control the entire customer relationship."
His grandfather sighed deeply, the sound carrying decades of experience with ambitious plans that sometimes exceeded their creators' capabilities. "I don't know exactly what you're trying to build but be careful not to bite off more than you can chew."
"Yes, sir," William replied, recognizing the wisdom in the warning.
"And beyond the corporate restructuring," William continued, "I intend to completely overhaul our workforce and operational systems. Some layoffs will be inevitable—we're carrying too much overhead in certain areas. But I also plan to invest heavily in training and development, particularly in advanced manufacturing techniques."
"I also want to begin international expansion immediately," he added. "Asia represents the largest untapped market opportunity, and I want to establish a presence there before our competitors realize what's happening."
"Asia?" Richard scoffed. "The entire region is economically underdeveloped. Who there has money to buy cars?"
"They're developing rapidly," William replied calmly. "And have you considered their population? That's an enormous market that's just beginning to emerge. If we establish ourselves there first, we can shape consumer preferences and build brand loyalty before anyone else arrives."
Richard still looked unconvinced, but Sebastian raised a hand, directing him to remain silent.
"Continue," Sebastian said.
The discussion expanded to cover every aspect of William's vision, from manufacturing efficiency to global supply chain management. By the time they turned to the specific terms of the Zephyr acquisition, the afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, and Liz's notebook was thick with detailed observations.
"Now let's discuss the governance structure for Zephyr," William said, leaning back with a soft sigh of exhaustion. "Liz, would you outline our requirements?"
"Operational leadership will remain with William for the foreseeable future," Liz began, her voice steady despite the magnitude of what she was describing. "Eventually, a managing director will be appointed to handle day-to-day operations, but all major decisions—product development, capital allocation, strategic planning—will continue to require William's approval."
Richard raised an eyebrow sceptically. "That's an enormous responsibility to add to everything else you'll be managing."
"I don't intend to maintain that level of control forever," William admitted. "But for the first three to five years, Zephyr's culture and values need to be protected during the transition. Once I'm confident that the integration won't compromise what makes Zephyr special, I'll consider delegating more authority."
"Coming to shared resources. It will be strategic sharing only," William continued. "Zephyr will maintain independent accounting, human resources, and legal departments to preserve its autonomy. But supply chain management, procurement, and certain administrative functions will be integrated with Harrows to eliminate redundancy. Any engines or components manufactured by Harrow subsidiaries will be provided at fair market value to prevent cross-subsidization."
Sebastian nodded approvingly at the businesslike approach.
"Regarding intellectual property," Liz continued, "all patents and proprietary technology developed before the acquisition will remain with Zephyr. However, post-acquisition developments will be jointly owned by the holding company, allowing internal licensing between subsidiaries while maintaining external patent protection."
"Design ownership follows the same principle," William added. "Zephyr's existing design archive remains exclusive to the brand, but future developments can be adapted by other divisions subject to licensing agreements and oversight to ensure appropriate differentiation."
"Testing and validation facilities will be shared where it makes economic sense," Liz continued. "Wind tunnels, crash test facilities, durability proving grounds—there's no point in building redundant capacity. But Zephyr's design studio and prototype workshop will remain completely independent."
"And then there is funding." Liz stopped and looked at William.
William's expression became resolute. "Zephyr will receive a dedicated annual innovation budget equal to five percent of the holding company's consolidated net income. This allocation will be non-negotiable and contractually guaranteed. If the group underperforms, I will personally underwrite any shortfall for the first three years."
The commitment drew a long silence. Even Richard, who had approached the discussion with scepticism, looked impressed by the magnitude of William's financial guarantee.
"And you're certain you want to make this commitment?" Sebastian asked quietly.
"Absolutely," William replied without hesitation. "I built Zephyr to pursue what other manufacturers were too conservative to attempt. It deserves the resources to achieve its full potential, and I won't sell it only to watch it be gradually diminished by cost-cutting and compromise."
Sebastian nodded slowly, recognizing the passion and determination that had driven his grandson's success. "Then we need to formalize everything in writing."
"Liz will draft the complete agreement," William replied. "You'll have it for review by Monday morning."
"Excellent," Sebastian said, letting out a slow breath as if setting down a burden he had carried for years.
Outside, dusk had settled over the estate's carefully maintained gardens, casting long shadows across the room's polished floors. The fire had burned low, its dying flames creating a warm, intimate atmosphere that seemed to underscore the significance of what had been accomplished.
"Then it's decided," Sebastian said softly, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "Zephyr will become part of Harrow Holdings, and you will lead both companies into whatever future you envision."
William felt the full gravity of the moment.
He had chosen his path, and there would be no turning back.