Silence. Richard Sterling’s eyes narrowed. Caleb looked confused. It was Madeline who recovered first. “An impressive recitation,” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Did you learn that from a tour-guide brochure?” “I learned it while writing my doctoral dissertation on the secularization of Buddhist art during the Ashikaga shogunate,” Clara replied without a trace of arrogance. “My focus was on the very school of artists that Kaito Tanaka, Ms. Tanaka-Hayes’s grandfather, spent his life championing and collecting.”
The air went out of the room. A waitress. A doctoral dissertation. The pieces did not fit in their ordered, hierarchical world. Caleb let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re a what? A doctor of art? And you’re serving sea bass?” “Life is full of unexpected turns, Mr. Sterling,” Clara said, her expression unreadable. Ami seized the opening Clara had created. “The foundation is not an asset,” she said, her voice ringing with newfound authority. “It is the soul of my company. It is the embodiment of my grandfather’s philosophy. The technology is a tool, but art is what gives it purpose. To liquidate it would be to tell the world that we value profit more than our own identity. It is not for sale. It is not negotiable.”
Richard Sterling studied her, then Clara, then back to Ami. He was a man who prided himself on reading people, on finding their leverage points. He had assumed Ami’s was her youth and inexperience. He had assumed Clara’s did not exist. He had been wrong on both counts. “This is sentimental nonsense,” Caleb muttered, looking to his father for support. “It’s business.” “Perhaps,” Richard said slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “Or perhaps we’ve been reading the wrong prospectus.” He turned his full attention to Ami. “Your father, Robert, he agreed to the terms. He understood the need for this.”
This was the painful truth. Her American father, a pragmatist to his core, had been worn down by the board and his illness. He had seen the deal as the only way to secure the company’s future. “My father is unwell,” Ami said, her voice softening with pain. “He was pressured. But he made me promise to be here tonight. He told me to protect the heart. I didn’t fully understand what he meant until I heard you talk about selling it off for parts.” She then turned slightly in her chair, looking up at Clara. She switched back to Japanese, her voice now carrying a note of genuine inquiry. “Tell me. What did they take from you?”