Chapter 15
The old succession charter burned.
Literally.
Not ceremonially.
The paper was mold-damaged and useless.
I read it once with Rafe, then fed it into the estate furnace with several other obsolete documents.
No speeches.
No family gathering.
No symbolism performance.
Just old paper ending.
The replacement was simpler.
No child named heir.
No blood relative automatically assumed command.
Any future head would be chosen from adults already serving, based on trust, judgment, and the willingness to carry responsibility.
Declan hated the wording at first.
Then admitted it saved Brielle from expectations he had already started placing on her.
Patrick said my grandfather would be furious.
“Probably.”
He smiled.
“Your mother would like it.”
That mattered more.
Finn was not discussed.
Not once.
He was four by then.
His biggest organizational contribution was hiding crackers inside Rafe’s briefcase.
Appropriate.
Brielle began talking about architecture.
Declan looked confused.
“What about family?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Buildings are family?”
I laughed for five minutes.
Declan did not.
Eventually he did.
The quarter-million safety fund expanded.
The climbing club invited children from Morrow House twice a month.
Patrick helped with shoes and snacks.
Never harnesses.
His choice.
He said:
“I don’t trust myself around clips yet.”
That sentence hurt.
Also impressed me.
Self-awareness can be late and still useful.
One afternoon Finn handed him a spare carabiner from a toy set.
“Grandpa.”
Patrick stared.
Then took it.
Plastic.
Bright blue.
Safe.
He put it in his pocket.
May you like
No one assigned meaning.
Which gave it some anyway.
