Starlight by Carrie Lofty Page A

Textiles.
    “Yours is a small operation, Christie, and suddenly caught in dire circumstances. With so few looms to start with, you’ll have no means of keeping up with the output of larger competitors.”
    “Such as yourself,” Alex said evenly. He was quite proud of that evenness, to be honest, because what Bennett proposed absolutely could not occur—at least not until the two-year contract was concluded. Selling the business was strictly prohibited by Sir William’s will. Not that Alex had the power to do so. He merely served as a manager in the employ of a board of directors.
    The board could decide to sell, however, especially after the sabotage. The cost of rebuilding might outstrip the benefit. They were under no obligation to ensure that Alex turned a profit. Their only genuine obligation was to the shareholders.
    “Yes, such as myself,” Bennett said. “My backers are prepared to pay cash within the week, not stock or options. Cash. What do you say to that?”
    “That it’s a very generous offer, one the board will most certainly hear. But I have no intention of giving up my inheritance without a fight. I haven’t had time to assess the damage,” he said, pointedly referring to the clock on the mantel. Bennett had appeared unannounced on his doorstep at half past seven, demanding an audience. The first of many such meetings Alex was likely to field.
    Vultures on a carcass.
    He understood professional competition. Truly he did. Yet clamoring over a tenured position at a prestigious university proceeded with quite a differenttimbre. Polite exchanges at dinner parties. Comparing others’ accomplishments against one’s own. Subtly negotiating into higher circles of influence. Alex had not played the game particularly well, but his steady work led to good opportunities, no matter the politics.
    The frenetic pace of industrialism was a very different animal. Little peace to be had. Little time to reflect and contemplate. He was swimming against the currents of so many streams. Steady work would not be enough in Glasgow.
    “But why resist, Christie? You could be done with this place and home before summer.”
    “I have my reasons.”
    And he had no reason whatsoever to reveal them to the likes of Bennett. The terms of the will had never been made public, not beyond the necessary board members. That by no means ensured total secrecy. Anyone could be bribed, as Josiah Todd had demonstrated. News of a million-dollar bonus would only cause trouble. Suddenly people might agree to Alex’s proposals only in hopes of earning a piece of it. The cost of securing consent would be determined in dollars rather than negotiations.
    Bennett finished his breakfast of Scotch. “You’re a bloody fool if you think you can chase your father’s legacy. No one can fill Sir William’s shoes, not even his firstborn.”
    Alex hid an inner wince. He knew that as surely as he knew the sound of his son’s soft cry. But damn it all if he wouldn’t try. Although he had never shared his father’s lust for business, he had observed everytrick, every tactic. Sir William Christie had insisted, and Alex had always been a quick study. He had never applied that latent store of knowledge. Now he would.
    “I’m well aware of my limitations with regard to trade,” he said without false modesty. “That does not mean I’ll change my stance. From now on, deal directly with the board regarding these matters. They may want to sell, but I do not.”
    Pulling to his feet meant Bennett led with his copious stomach. He swallowed a belch. “I’ll do that. In the meantime, you have a duty to stand with us masters when it comes to those union agitators.”
    “Oh?”
    “We won’t let them pollute our industry with violence. The ringleaders will be brought to justice. Maybe your misfortune has been a blessing in disguise,” he said with no attempt to hide his satisfaction. “With the union discredited, we’ll dismiss their wage demands and