Note : Have changed his father's name to Francis. Just realised that I have named the father as Richard, Uncle as Richard, Great Uncle as Richard, and even the doctor as Richardson. To many Richards.
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The morning of departure dawned cold and clear over New Haven. The sky was still dusky as William looked out at the desolate factory premise pondering.
He had been up since four, unable to sleep, his mind churning. Some of his thoughts were already in Detroit, visualizing the Zephyr team working on their revolutionary prototype in the converted warehouse. Rest were jumping between his father's health, his plans for Harrow's and just general anxiety which wanted him to scream. Loudly. Things were so simple a week back.
He looked at his note pad. Before leaving for Detroit, he had two critical tasks. First, he needed to keep the Harrow department heads occupied so they wouldn't cause trouble in his absence. Second, he had to drive to Hartford to meet with his grandfather Sebastian about the share transfer—a conversation that could determine the future of everything he'd built.
William dressed carefully for the day ahead: charcoal wool trousers pressed to knife-sharp creases, a crisp white Oxford shirt with French cuffs, and a navy blazer cut in the modern style. No tie—he hated the stuffiness of traditional corporate attire.
For the heads, he left detailed instructions with Patterson. He had come to know much about her over past two-three days and he was sure she would ensure everyone would follow it to the dot.
"I need these delivered to every department head personally," he said, sliding a stack of memos across the desk. "Today. Not Monday, not when they're convenient—today."
Patterson's hazel eyes widened as she scanned the memo. "Of course, Mr. Harrow. Should I expect... resistance?"
"Count on it," he said with a slight smile. "Some of them have been coasting for years. This will wake them up."
"And if they refuse?"
"Then we'll know who the real problems are." He straightened his cufflinks. "Just make sure it happens, Patricia. I'm counting on you."
The memo was deceptively simple but strategically ruthless:
MEMORANDUM
TO: All Department Heads
FROM: William Harrow, President
DATE: October 15, 1961
RE: Immediate Administrative Review
Effective immediately, you are required to produce the following within 72 hours:
1) A comprehensive list of all positions in your department, including precise job descriptions and required qualifications (education, experience, specific skills).
2) A detailed report of current operational issues, inefficiencies, and concrete recommendations for improvement.
3) An analysis of any redundant positions or overlapping responsibilities within your department
4) A frank assessment of your department's contribution to overall company profitability
Failure to comply will result in immediate review of departmental necessity and individual performance evaluations.
This is not a request.
William could already picture their faces when they read it—Charles Whitmore from Manufacturing would be offended by the implication that his department had inefficiencies. Robert Sterling from Sales would probably call it "unprecedented" and "inappropriate." Margaret Donnelly from Personnel would likely draft a carefully worded response about "proper channels" and "traditional procedures."
Good. He needed them too busy compiling reports to plot against him during his absence. And buried somewhere in those reports, he hoped to find genuine insights that could help save the company from its own complacency.
The drive to Hartford took William through Connecticut's most beautiful autumn landscape. He had chosen to drive rather than have Patterson or George arrange a car service, needing the solitude to prepare for what promised to be a difficult conversation. His car cut through the morning traffic with mechanical precision, its V8 purring with subdued power.
The highway wound through forests ablaze with red and gold maples, their leaves catching the morning light like stained glass. Past Middletown, the Connecticut River appeared alongside the road, its surface reflecting the October sky. This was New England at its most seductive—prosperous, settled, confident in its own permanence.
As he drove, William's mind wandered to the conversation ahead. His grandfather Sebastian had always been a formidable presence in the family, even after retiring from active management in the late 1940s. A veteran of two wars, he had led Harrow's during difficult times and was only responsible for selling of the arms division. Now, almost 70ish, he remained sharp as a razor and twice as dangerous to those who underestimated him.
The old man had spent most of the past decade traveling through Europe, ostensibly writing a memoir about himself, Harrows and also the ever involving auto industry. But really, William suspected, staying clear of the family dynamics that had grown increasingly complex as Francis struggled to fill his father's shoes. Sebastian only returned to Connecticut for major family events or, as now, genuine emergencies.
William wondered if his grandfather would agree about the share transfer. He even suspected Grandfather already had an idea about the shares he was going to ask for. And Sebastian wasn't the type to waste time on conversations that wouldn't lead to action. If he had agreed to see William, it meant he was at least considering the proposal. The question was: what would he want in return?
The Hartford skyline appeared ahead, dominated by the insurance company towers that had made the city synonymous with financial stability. Travelers, Aetna, Hartford Insurance Group—their names were carved into the granite facades of buildings that projected permanence and prosperity. It was a city built on the principle that the future could be calculated, managed, and controlled.
William parked in the reserved at Hartford Hospital. The building looking better under bright sun compared to the depressive atmosphere of last time.
He quickly climbed the main staircase and rushed to the second floor and towards the private wing belonging to his family.
As he approached room where his father rest, William could hear voices through the partially open door. His mother's voice, soft but strained. His grandfather's deeper tones measured and authoritative. And a third voice he didn't recognize—probably one of the doctors.
He paused at the doorway, taking in the scene. Sunlight fell through tall windows, illuminating every line of worry on his mother's face. Eleanor Harrow sat in a leather chair beside the bed, her hands folded in her lap, watching her husband's still form with the patience of a woman who had learned to wait.
Despite the tiring few days, Eleanor still managed to look good. But you could see black bags under her puffy eyes caused due to lack of rest. She was also accompanied by Martha, her mother's personal maid. He couldn't help but wonder where she was the last time he was here.
Sebastian Harrow sat opposite her, ramrod straight despite his seventy-three years. He was a compact man, no more than five-foot-eight, but his presence filled the room with an almost physical force. His white hair was combed back from a deeply lined face, and his pale blue eyes missed nothing. He wore a charcoal suit that had been tailored on Savile Row, his only concession to age the walnut cane that rested against his chair.
Standing behind Sebastian was Alfred, his personal assistant and companion for several years. Like George he was the personal butler for Sebastian. Alfred was a thin, elegant man in his sixties, with the kind of understated competence that made him invaluable to his employer. He had served as Sebastian's aide-de-camp during the war and had never quite shaken the military bearing that came with the position.
"William," Eleanor said, rising with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You made good time."
"The roads were clear," he replied, embracing her carefully. She felt fragile in his arms, as if the stress of the past few days had worn her down to the essential minimum. She smelled of lavender and worry.
"How is he?" William asked, glancing toward the hospital bed where his father lay unconscious.
"Still the same," Eleanor said. "Dr. Richardson says the swelling in his brain is going down. But when he will wake up is still a question."
Sebastian rose stiffly, extending a hand. "William. You look well."
"Thank you, Grandfather." The handshake was firm, a reminder of the physical strength that had carried Sebastian through two wars and several years of business battles.
"I trust the drive was pleasant?"
"Very. Connecticut's beautiful this time of year."
"Yes." Sebastian's pale eyes studied William's face. "Though I suspect you had other things on your mind besides the foliage."
"Some," William admitted.
They talked for a while about safer subjects—the weather, the hospital staff, the progress of Francis's recovery. Eleanor asked about his work, whether he was eating properly, if he needed anything from home. It was the kind of careful conversation that families have when they're afraid to discuss what really matters. William also took the opportunity to ask about Erica, his sister.
"Well, I asked her to go back. Her staying her will not be of much help." She said.
Alfred stood silently throughout, occasionally fetching water or adjusting the window blinds, but mostly serving as a reassuring presence. He had been with the family long enough to understand the undercurrents of every conversation, the weight of words left unsaid.
Dr. Richardson arrived for his morning rounds, a tall, thin man with the kind of confidence that came from years of practice. He examined Francis with practiced efficiency, checking charts and consulting with the nursing staff.
"The good news," he told them, "is that all the indicators are moving in the right direction. The brain swelling has decreased significantly, and his vital signs are strong."
"So, we can take him home?" Eleanor asked.
" Well. I don't see any issues with that."
After the doctor left, Eleanor excused herself to take care of the exit formalities. Alfred accompanied her, leaving William alone with his grandfather for the first time.
Sebastian settled back into his chair, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. "Well, boy. I assume you didn't drive all the way to Hartford just to check on your father."
"No, sir. I didn't."
"Good. I've never had much patience for people who can't get to the point." Sebastian's eyes fixed on William with laser intensity. "I heard about the board meeting."
"The whole family's probably heard about it by now."
"Probably. And what they've heard is that you finally grew a spine. About time, too."
William felt a slight smile tug at his lips. "I told them what they needed to hear."
"You told them what they deserved to hear. There's a difference." Sebastian leaned forward slightly. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"
"No, sir. I want to buy your shares."
The words hung in the air between them. Sebastian's expression didn't change, but William could see the wheels turning behind those pale eyes.
"All of them?"
"All of them. And I'd like your help in acquiring Uncle Richard's shares as well."
"That's a significant amount of stock, William. Combined with what you already own, it would give you controlling interest in the company."
"Yes, sir. But I am targeting complete acquisition. Not just controlling interest."
Sebastian was quiet for a long moment, studying William's face. "Tell me why."
William had rehearsed this conversation during the drive, but now, facing his grandfather's penetrating stare, he found himself speaking from the heart rather than from strategy.
"Because I can't run this company with half the board fighting me at every turn. They're not interested in innovation or growth—they're interested in maintaining their positions and their dividends. Every decision becomes a negotiation, every change a battle."
"And you think complete acquisition will solve that?"
"I think it will give me the authority to make the decisions that need to be made without having to justify every move to a committee of people who've never had to compete in the modern marketplace."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "What kind of decisions?"
"Layoffs. Restructuring. Closing unprofitable divisions. Investing in new technology. Some of it will be ugly, but it's necessary if we want to survive the next decade."
"And the board would fight you on these things?"
"They already are. Mary supported me but you never know which side she will take. Plus she is old. I am not sure about her successor. Charles hates you and father. He will actively protest anything by me. Elizabeth, Xavier, Ronald…all are the same. They're all fighting the last war while the battlefield changes around them."
Sebastian's lips curved in what might have been a smile. "You sound like your great-grandfather. He had the same problem with the board in the 1890s."
"What did he do?"
"Bought them out. Every last one of them and brought it under Harrows."
William leaned forward. "And it worked?"
"For a while. Then he had to sell it during depression." Said his grandfather with a shrug. "You have to understand one thing William. Eventually, you will need to bring in new partners, new investors. You can't run a major corporation entirely by yourself, William. Sooner or later, you need allies. For both. Financial as well as political support."
"I understand that. But I want to choose my allies, not inherit them."
Sebastian was quiet for another long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more reflective.
"You know, I've been thinking about legacy lately. What a man leaves behind when he's gone. Your father..." He glanced toward the hospital bed. "Francis is a good man. Honest, decent, hardworking. Brilliant engineer but a poor businessman. But he's never understood that business is war by other means. He tries to make everyone happy, and in the end, he makes no one happy."
"And you think I'm different?"
"I think you have the killer instinct that Francis lacks. You have the vision. The question is whether you have the wisdom to use it properly."
William felt the weight of the conversation shifting, becoming more personal. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that power without purpose is just destruction. Your great-grandfather understood that. He didn't buy out his board members because he enjoyed the fight—he did it because he had a vision for what the company could become. It failed…but the company served it's purpose."
"And you think I lack vision?"
Sebastian's pale eyes fixed on William again. "I think you're trying to serve two masters, and it's tearing you apart."
The words hit William like a physical blow. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?" Sebastian's voice was gentle but implacable. "You're trying to run Harrow Industries while building your little car company in Detroit. You're dividing your attention, your energy, your passion. And in the end, you'll do justice to neither."
William felt his chest tighten. "I can handle both."
"No," Sebastian said simply. "No one can. I learned that lesson the hard way during the war. You can't command a battalion while worrying about a company back home. You can't build a business while dreaming about something else."
"But Zephyr is—"
"Zephyr is your dream," Sebastian interrupted. "And Harrow is your responsibility. One is what you want to do. The other is what you need to do. And sooner or later, you'll have to choose."
The room fell silent except for the steady beep of Francis's monitors. William stared out the window at the Hartford skyline, trying to process what his grandfather was telling him.
"What if I choose wrong?"
"Then you'll learn to live with the consequences," Sebastian said. "But choosing is better than drifting. I've watched too many men destroy themselves trying to be everything to everyone."
William turned back to face his grandfather. "What would you do?"
"I'd consolidate my power and focus my energy on the biggest opportunity." Sebastian leaned back in his chair. "Which brings me to my proposal."
"Your proposal?"
"I'll sell you my shares. I'll help you acquire Richard's shares. I'll even help you in buying rest of the shares. But in exchange, Zephyr becomes part of Harrow Industries."
William felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. "You want to buy Zephyr?"
"I want to acquire it. Complete acquisition. Your team, your technology, your vision—all of it becomes a division of Harrow Industries. You run it, but you run it as part of a larger enterprise."
"But that would mean—"
"That would mean you'd have the resources of a major corporation behind your automotive vision. Instead of building one prototype in a converted warehouse, you'd have the capital to develop a complete line of vehicles. Instead of competing with the Europeans as a startup, you'd be taking them on as an established American manufacturer."
William's mind reeled. "And if I say no?"
"Then you're on your own," Sebastian said without malice. "Find another way to gain control of Harrow. If you can."
The silence stretched between them. Finally, William asked, "Why does it matter to you? You've been basically retired for fifteen years."
Sebastian's expression softened slightly. "Because I want to see this family succeed. Your father is a good man, but he's not a visionary. You are. But vision without resources is just fantasy."
"And with resources?"
"With resources, you could change the entire automotive industry. Maybe even the world."
Eleanor returned at that moment, ending the conversation. She looked between them, sensing the tension.
"I hope you two weren't discussing anything too serious," she said lightly.
"Just the future," Sebastian replied, rising from his chair. "Nothing that can't wait."
He turned to William. "Think about what we discussed. You have a week to decide."
William left for Airport at noon. He had reservations on the 2:30 PM flight to Detroit, which would get him to the city by 4:30 PM local time.
Bradley International Airport was a modest facility, nothing like the sprawling complexes that would define air travel in later decades. The terminal was clean and efficient, with large windows that offered views of the runway and the aircraft parked on the tarmac. William's flight would be on an American Airlines Boeing 707, one of the new jets that had revolutionized commercial aviation.
As he waited in the departure lounge, William reflected on the conversation with his grandfather. The old man had presented him with an impossible choice—or was it impossible? The more he thought about it, the more he began to see the logic in Sebastian's proposal.
Zephyr was his dream, but it was also a financial black hole. They had burned through most of their initial capital developing the prototype, and future funding was uncertain. Right now company was running on money from his pocket and whatever he was making on the stock market by leveraging his future knowledge. But this money was not unlimited. The automotive industry required massive investment in tooling, manufacturing facilities, and even more on research and development. Even if they successfully launched their first car, they would need millions more to develop a second model.
Plus, with supercars like them, they worked on small orders and most suppliers wouldn't even entertain their requirements. That means arranging their own manufacturing facilities, buying machinery, hiring labours etc.
But with Harrow's resources behind them, they could do things that were currently impossible. They could build a proper manufacturing facility, hire the best engineers, invest in research and development. There was a reason why most sports cars and supercar companies were owned by major automobile firms. For them these cars were advertisement and test bed for new technologies and not a means to earn money.
The boarding call interrupted his thoughts. William gathered his briefcase and joined the queue of passengers. The Boeing 707 was still a marvel of modern technology, its swept wings and four engines promising to cut travel time in half compared to the old propeller aircraft.
As the plane lifted off from Bradley, William looked down at Connecticut spread below. Somewhere down there, his father lay unconscious in a hospital bed, and his grandfather waited for an answer.
The flight to Detroit took two hours, during which William tried to read the business magazines he had brought but found his attention wandering. He kept thinking about the conversation with Sebastian, trying to parse the old man's words for hidden meanings.
Detroit Metropolitan Airport was busier than Bradley, reflecting the city's status as a major industrial centre. As William disembarked, he could smell the mixture of automotive exhaust and industrial emissions that characterized the Motor City. It was the scent of prosperity, of a city that built things and was proud of it.
Su Kim was waiting for him at the gate, impossible to miss in her pink leather jacket and black jeans. Her eccentric choices stood out from the masse of suits, skirts and puffed up sleeves. Her Korean features were animated with excitement, and she bounced on her toes as she spotted him.
"Well, well," she said, taking his briefcase. "If it isn't the conquering hero."
"Hardly," William replied. "More like the confused heir."
"Same thing, isn't it?" Su grinned. "Come on, I've got the car outside. Tommy's making his famous pizza."
As they walked through the terminal, Su chattered about the progress the team had made in his absence. The engine was finally tuned to satisfaction of engine team, the suspension had been dialled in, and they had solved the cooling problems that had plagued the prototype. But brakes were still giving issues.
"Christopher's been working on the colour schemes for the interior," she said. "He's got some ideas that would make a peacock jealous."
"And the doors?"
"Oh, those are working perfectly. Wait until you see the mechanism in action. It's like something out of a science fiction movie. It goes like whoosh…and whooom" she said excitedly showing how the door popped out and turned complete 90 degrees.
They emerged into the cool Detroit evening. The city skyline glowed in the distance, a monument to American industrial might. This was 1961, and Detroit was still the unchallenged capital of the automotive world. The Big Three—Ford, General Motors, and Chrysler—dominated the landscape, their headquarters buildings standing like temples to the internal combustion engine.
Su's pink Thunderbird was parked in the short-term lot, its custom paint job gleaming under the streetlights. She had modified the car extensively, lowering the suspension and adding custom wheels that gave it an aggressive stance. The machine had also been experimented upon by Zephyr team.
"Nice work," William said, admiring the new paint job.
"Thanks. I figure if you're going to drive something, it might as well be memorable."
The drive to the Zephyr facility took them through downtown Detroit, past the Renaissance Center construction site and the gleaming towers of the financial district. The city pulsed with energy, its streets filled with the latest Detroit iron—massive Cadillacs, powerful Chryslers, and sleek Fords that represented the pinnacle of American automotive design. And barely any Harrows.
The Zephyr facility occupied two large warehouses on the outskirts of Detroit, in an industrial district that had seen better days. From the outside, the buildings looked unremarkable—weathered brick and corrugated metal, with small windows and loading docks that spoke of purely functional design.
But inside was a different world entirely. William and his team had transformed the space into something that belonged more in a design studio than a traditional factory. The rusted steel roof had been replaced with a combination of glass and steel that flooded the interior with natural light. The concrete floors had been polished to a mirror finish, and the brick walls had been sandblasted to reveal their original texture.
The centerpiece of the main floor was the prototype car, its sleek lines looking impossibly futuristic under the overhead lighting. Next to it sat the full-scale clay model, every curve and detail refined to perfection. The car was a study in controlled aggression—low, wide, and purposeful, with an aura of barely contained power. It was an alien with a monster inside.
"She's beautiful," William said, running his hand along the car's flank.
"She's more than beautiful," Su replied. "She's revolutionary. Once we get her on the road, nothing will ever be the same."
The team was working. Some gathered around the prototype model, others on tables and glass boards. William could see the pride in their faces. This wasn't just a job for them—it was a passion project, a chance to create something that had never existed before.
Christopher emerged from the design studio, his blonde hair dishevelled from hours of work. He wore paint-stained jeans and a t-shirt that read "Form Follows Function," his unofficial motto.
"William! Perfect timing. I've got the final renderings for the interior." He led them to a drafting table covered with sketches and color swatches. "I'm thinking aircraft-inspired—lots of switches and gauges, but elegant. Like a fighter jet cockpit, but luxurious. Maybe put some radium in. Or even better a start button! Like a nuclear launch button. You open the latch and press...Boooom"
"Show me," William said.
Christopher's sketches were breathtaking. The dashboard curved slightly around the driver like a cockpit, with every control positioned for maximum efficiency. The seats were sculpted to provide support during high-performance driving, upholstered in pure white leather that would be both beautiful and functional.
"The gear shifter is my favourite part," Christopher said, pointing to a detailed drawing. "It will be machined from a single piece of aluminium, with a gate pattern that makes shifting feel like operating precision machinery."
Sam joined them. Dressed in overalls. He was wiping his hands on a rag. Along with him was Tommy, the Italian engineer. He was wearing an apron which was covered with dough and sauce. While Sam was built like a boxer, with broad shoulders and powerful hands that could fabricate parts with incredible precision. Tommy was the complete opposite. Lean, lanky with serious dose of ADHD. Sam was currently heading the R&D Team, while Tommy worked on quality control.
"William!" he greeted with a high five.
"Sam. How's your engine doing?" William asked meeting the high five in mid air.
"The engine's running like a dream," he reported, his accent thick with excitement. "Four hundred horsepower, smooth as silk. I've got it tuned to produce maximum power at seven thousand RPM, but it's tractable enough for street driving. And the sound it makes…" he gave a chef's kiss on that.
The engine was finished almost six months back. It was his personal design which took inspiration from later years BMW and Lamborghini. But Sam and his team had not been happy with the rumbling sound it made. They took it upon themselves to tune it to satisfaction.
"What about the sound?" William asked.
"Ah, the sound! It's like nothing you've ever heard. Deep, powerful, but refined. Like a classical musician playing rock and roll. You will love it."
They climbed the stairs to the second-floor office, where the rest of the team was waiting. The office was built on large mezzanine. The space was open and collaborative, with workstations arranged around a central conference area. Whiteboards covered the walls, filled with equations, sketches, and design concepts.
Liz spotted him coming up the stairs and gave him a large wave. On the other she was holding a large slice of pizza. "Will! Have this. Tommy has outdone himself. And I have good news for you."
"Liz." He greeted her back with smile. "Good News?"
"Well, Goldman is already on it. Should be done by end of November. And Ronald sold his shares. Didn't even negotiate" She replied back with a look of wonder. He smiled. That was indeed good news.
He spotted Lucas in another corner. He was eating a margherita slice with complete concentration. He nodded towards him in greeting. And Lucas greeted back.
The greetings and pizza party went for a while. And for that small moment William completely forgot about everything.
But he needed to back to reality. He clapped his hands to gain attention, "Team, Conference Room 1. We need to talk."
Everybody gathered and sat around the large table. The table itself was nothing but four old door bound together.
"So, before we come to serious parts. What's the overall update? We missed this month's meeting as I had to rush out." Asked William.
Su raised her hands. "William, we need to talk about the production timeline," she said without preamble. "If we're going to have the car ready for Geneva and later production, we need to make decisions now."
"The manufacturing setup is going to be the biggest challenge," she said. "We're going to need specialized tooling, trained workers and god… basically everything. We are targeting small quantities. Like 200…300. Most companies won't give a fuck about us."
He nodded. He understood the issue. Thanks to the alien shape of the car and their need for beautiful interiors, they couldn't just buy parts of the shelf. Every button and switch was bespoke. The leather inside the cars would be hand sticthed. The wood panelling will require artisians help. Plus, although the main structure was steel, the exterior made heavy use of aluminium. It was expensive and incredibly difficult to work with in this era. Whether they get it from suppliers or manufacture it in house. In both cases it would be an expensive endeavour.
Bill seems to agree with his thoughts.
"The numbers are daunting," he admitted. "We're looking at an initial investment of at least two million dollars just for the setup. And that's assuming we can find suppliers willing to work with us on relatively small volumes."
William looked around the table at his team—his friends. They had followed him to Detroit because they believed in his vision of creating something revolutionary. Now he was about to tell them that their independence might be coming to an end.
"There's something I need to discuss with all of you," he began. "Something that could change everything. And help us solve all of this…" he gestured around.
The room fell silent. William could see the concern in their faces, the fear that their adventure might be coming to an end.
"Liz or Lucas would have probably given an overview. My father is in coma, and the Harrow's board has selected me as president."
Everybody nodded. This is why they had thrown a party. To celebrate but also to take his mind away from all the stress.
"Earlier the plan was Liz, Lucas, Bill, maybe Tommy and Su joining me at Harrows for a while. The team here would be taken by your deputies." He continued, "But things have sort of changed. My grandfather has made me an offer. He's willing to sell me his shares in Harrow Industries—enough to give me controlling interest in the company. But there's a condition."
"What kind of condition?" Liz asked.
"He wants Zephyr to become part of Harrow Industries. A complete acquisition."
The silence that followed was deafening. William could see the team processing the implications, weighing the pros and cons of such a dramatic change.
Tommy was the first to speak. "Would we still be able to build the car we want to build?"
"Yes. We have certain things planned. That will give me complete control." William said slightly looking at Liz. "We'd have more resources, better facilities, access to established suppliers and distribution networks."
"But we'd be working for a big corporation," Christopher said. "What about creative freedom? What about being able to take risks?"
"That would be up to us," William replied. "I'd still be running Zephyr, but as a division of Harrow instead of an independent company."
Su leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "What do you think, boss? What's your gut telling you?"
William was quiet for a long moment. "My gut says that we could do things as part of Harrow that would be impossible as an independent company."
"What kind of things?" Sam asked.
"Racing, for one. Real racing—not just building one prototype but developing a complete motorsports program. With Harrow's resources, we could compete at Le Mans, in Formula One, in American racing series. We will have enough budget to experiement...go wild."
Bill looked up from his report. "From a financial standpoint, it makes sense. We'd have access to capital, established credit lines, and the kind of stability that would allow us to plan for the long term."
"But we'd also have to deal with corporate bureaucracy," Tommy pointed out. "Committees, approvals, people who don't understand what we're trying to do."
"Not necessarily," William said. "Zephyr will be a division of Harrow, but we'd still control our own destiny."
The discussion continued for another hour, with each team member expressing their concerns and hopes. Gradually, a consensus began to emerge.
"Look," Su said finally, "I didn't come here to play it safe. I came here to build the most amazing cars in the world. If joining Harrow helps us do that, then I'm in."
Christopher nodded. "Same here. I care about the cars, not the corporate structure."
Tommy grinned. "As long as I get to make Ferrari cry, I'm happy. Zephyr vs Ferrari at Le Mans…Oh I am getting excited just thinking about it."
One by one, the team members voiced their support. They understood that the decision wasn't really about money or corporate structure—it was about having the resources to achieve their shared vision.
As the meeting wound down, William felt a strange sense of relief. The choice that had seemed impossible just hours earlier now felt like the logical next step. He still had concerns, but he also had clarity.
"There's one more thing," he said. "Whatever we decide, we do this our way. We maintain our culture, our values, our commitment to excellence. We don't become just another corporate division."
As the team dispersed, Su lingered behind. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think your grandfather is smarter than you're giving him credit for. He's not trying to kill Zephyr—he's trying to give it the best possible chance to succeed."
William considered this. "Maybe. But what if he's wrong? What if being part of Harrow changes us in ways we can't control?"
"Then we make sure it doesn't," Su said simply. "We're not the kind of people who compromise our vision for anyone."
Outside, the Detroit night was alive with possibility. The city's smokestacks rose like monuments to American industry, and the lights of the downtown skyline created a golden glow against the October sky. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a train whistle echoed across the urban landscape, a reminder that this was a city built on movement, on the endless flow of goods and ideas that powered the American economy.
William stood at the window of his office, looking out at the city skyline that had become his second home. In a few hours, he would call his mother as promised, to check on his father's condition and to reassure her that everything was proceeding according to plan. Tomorrow, he would call his grandfather and close on the acquisition.
But tonight, he allowed himself to dream. He imagined Zephyr cars. Their alien designs becoming synonymous with speed and performance. He pictured them at racetracks around the world, leaving everyone from Ferrari to Porsche in dust.
The future was uncertain, but for the first time in weeks, William felt confident that he was moving in the right direction. The choice between duty and dreams had turned out to be a false dilemma. With the right resources and the right team, he could have both.
As he prepared to leave the office, William took one last look at the prototype car. Even in the dim light, it looked ready to leap forward, to burst from the confines of the warehouse and show the world what few engineers with a generous budget, an a vision to build the fastest car could do.
The future was his to shape, and he intended to make it extraordinary.