Sovereign Wealth Infrastructure Alignment: Provisionally Approved.
Gage stood at the head of the long conference table, one hand on the back of a chair, the other loosely curled near his side. Victoria’s eyes snapped to him. Nate sat forward. The rest of his team, six of the sharpest minds King Global had, watched for his reaction.
He gave none. Except a slow exhale.
At what it meant for London.
Three years. Four at most.
Not a guarantee. A reasonable estimate: long enough to solidify the first phase, deliver enough wins to justify his return. The hardest part—the early oversight, the public performance—would fall to him and Nate.
It also unlocked something else: a phased succession plan. His father could step back.
And for the first time, he could say the words to Bea.
Come with me. It won’t be forever. We’ll come back.
He hadn’t said it earlier because there was no vision to offer her. He had no choice but to go, but he wouldn’t ask her to jump into the unknown without even a timeline.
“Lock it down,” Gage instructed.
Victoria was already moving, issuing directives, syncing calendars, notifying legal teams. The tension in the room began to dissipate. Half an hour later, the team filed out.
Only Nate remained.
Gage didn’t move until the door clicked shut behind them. 4:53 p.m.
He braced a hand on the edge of the table.
This wasn’t relief. It was calculus. One variable finally falling into place. Not just for King Global. For himself.
Bea had already adjusted for him. Bent to fit the shape of his world. Imperium. The Harvest Summit. Catherine.
London would demand more.
In the UR, he could manage the press, shield her from the worst of it. Here, she had cover. Friends, rhythm, the space to breathe. London would strip that away, and he knew realistically he wouldn’t have time to hold her hand through all of it.
“You finally gonna tell her?” Nate guessed.
He nodded once. “Tonight.”
The room was cocooned from the noise of the main dining floor, a space reserved for conversations that didn’t belong in public.
Their waiter had appeared once to take their order, twenty minutes earlier, then vanished.
He reappeared with the wine. Gage glanced up, nodded, and thanked him.
Bea watched the exchange. He did that more often than not, she realized. Met their eyes. Spoke. The waiter finished pouring, gave them both a nod, and exited.
Bea reached for her water glass, fingers brushing condensation.
Gage was watching her.
She sipped, then lowered the glass. “What’s up?”
He leaned forward. “We need to talk.”
Okay. Those four words should come with a seatbelt. She moved back into her chair.
