— The board felt it was prudent to explore multiple options, my father explains with a polite smile that fools no one. William put this together in record time.
William Fraser—a polished man in his fifties—nods at me.
— I hope you don’t take offense. Business is business, after all.
— Of course not, William, I say evenly. I’m just curious how you managed to prepare such a detailed proposal so quickly.
— I already had a few ideas in mind, he replies vaguely. When your father contacted me?—
— When my father contacted you?
I turn to my father, who at least has the decency to look mildly embarrassed.
— It was simply a precaution. In case the project with Miss McGregor didn’t meet expectations.
— And you didn’t think to inform me?
— You seemed distracted lately. I thought it best not to add to your concerns.
I clench my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll regret. Instead, I sit and gesture for William to continue.
What I see does not sit well with me.
His design is radically different from Keira’s. Where she created a space that celebrates history while embracing modernity, William proposes a complete transformation—an ultra-modern, clinical white environment that erases nearly all traces of McKenzie heritage. And completely ignores the shared history with the McGregors that Keira honored so subtly.
— As you can see, William concludes with obvious satisfaction, this approach would position the McKenzie distillery as a leader in innovation. No more dusty folklore—this is about delivering an immersive brand experience for a younger, wealthier international clientele.
Dusty folklore.
The words grate. Our history is our identity—our soul. And the idea of erasing our connection to the McGregors just as we’re rediscovering it feels fundamentally wrong.
— Questions? William asks.
— Yes, I say, sitting up straighter. Your design is certainly bold. But it feels like it sacrifices our identity on the altar of modernity.
— Identity evolves, he replies, condescending. Clinging to the past is a risky business strategy.
— Respecting the past isn’t clinging to it, I counter. Keira McGregor’s design strikes the perfect balance between tradition and innovation.
— Ah yes, Miss McGregor, William says with a smile that makes me want to punch him. A talented designer, no doubt. But perhaps a bit too sentimental? Her approach lacks boldness, don’t you think?
I’m about to defend her work more forcefully when my father intervenes.
— I think we have much to consider, gentlemen. The board will review both proposals before making a decision.
I stare at him, stunned.
— You’re seriously considering abandoning the project we’ve been working on for months?
— I’m considering what’s best for the company, he replies coldly. I suggest you do the same.
With that, he adjourns the meeting, and the board members begin filing out. I remain seated, trying to rein in my anger and frustration.
William approaches me, that smug smile still in place.
— Don’t take it personally. It’s not against Miss McGregor—or should I say, your fiancée? Congratulations, by the way.
— Thank you, I reply flatly.
