— I’d like to see the analysis reports, she says. These unique characteristics you mentioned.
Alistair exhales, relief flickering across his face.
— I brought them, he says, pulling a folder from his bag. And an aromatic infusion sample based on Archibald’s notes.
He pours a few drops of amber liquid into the glasses Jamison has discreetly placed on the table.
— It’s not whisky, he clarifies. Just an infusion. But it suggests what we could achieve.
Everyone takes a glass—even Malcolm.
Alistair lifts his.
— To Archibald and Elspeth. And what they began.
— To what we’ll finish, I add.
Glasses clink.
And the silence that follows—as everyone breathes in the aroma—says more than any argument ever could.
Expressions shift. Surprise. Interest. Appreciation.
Even Malcolm’s.
— These notes are… unusual, he admits. And these distillation results… intriguing. This without the full recipe?
— Without Elspeth’s techniques, Alistair confirms.
Malcolm studies his glass, then the documents… then his son.
— I suppose… he says slowly, we could suspend our agreement with Fraser. Temporarily. To explore this.
It’s not a full surrender.
But it’s a beginning.
— That’s all we’re asking, Alistair says. A chance.
The room shifts into discussion—legal structures, financial frameworks, logistics—but I barely hear any of it.
All I see is him.
The man who stood up to his father… for us.
When the meeting finally ends, with a tentative agreement to move forward, we find ourselves alone in a quiet corner. Around us, the two families have begun to mingle—lines already blurring.
— Did you mean it? I ask softly. What you said to your father?
— Every word, he says, taking my hands in his. I’ll choose love over inheritance. I’ll choose you, Keira. Always.
Emotion swells in my chest, almost too much to hold.
— I think we deserve a fresh start, I whisper. Not an arrangement. Not a façade. Something real.
He smiles—and it melts the last of my defenses.
— Something real, he echoes, before leaning in to kiss me.
