Chapter 12
The advisory structure changed.
I let it.
Three rotating senior voices.
No permanent hereditary seat.
No “future Micah” clause.
No private faction dinners disguised as continuity planning.
Micah attended one meeting because I invited him.
He declined the next three.
Perfect.
At the first, Thomas asked him:
“Do you want leadership someday?”
Micah looked annoyed.
“I’m sixteen.”
I almost smiled.
Thomas nodded.
“Fair.”
Micah continued.
“I want to finish school and box.”
Samuel asked:
“And later?”
“Ask later.”
Excellent.
The room laughed.
That laughter did more to dismantle Silas’s mythology than any speech I could make.
Micah was no symbol.
He was a teenager.
A person whose future did not belong to old men needing continuity stories.
I changed one more thing.
No child’s name could be used in succession discussions without that person being an adult and present.
Thomas called it obvious.
I stared at him.
“Apparently not.”
He accepted the correction.
Good.
The family had treated bloodlines as abstract assets for generations.
Children became branches.
Marriages became alliances.
Grief became opportunity.
We were not going to become soft.
May you like
We were going to become less stupid.
Different.
