Victoria sat at her desk until the building emptied, watching the sun set over Newport Harbor through her floor to ceiling windows. She should go home. Should eat something, review tomorrow's briefing materials, maintain the routines that structured her days. Instead, she opened her laptop and searched for Kieran Hayes.
His website was minimalist, almost austere. A portfolio of installations and architectural projects, each accompanied by sparse descriptions. A studio space in Providence. No press releases or corporate speak, just images that spoke for themselves. There was a confidence in that simplicity, a refusal to over explain or justify. It was so unlike the business world Victoria inhabited, where everything required three layers of PowerPoint and executive summary.
She clicked through his work. An installation at the New Museum that transformed a gallery into a meditation on light and shadow. A boutique hotel in Portland where every surface told a story about the building's industrial past. A private residence in Cambridge that somehow made concrete feel warm. The work was stunning, but it was the artist's statement that caught her attention.
"I believe spaces should make you feel something," he'd written. "Not just function efficiently or photograph well, but actually move you. We spend so much of our lives in environments designed for profit or productivity. What if we designed for joy? For contemplation? For the full complexity of being human?"
Victoria read it three times. When was the last time she'd been in a space designed for joy?
Her phone rang. Harrison's name on the screen, calling from God knows what time zone. She answered immediately.
"Hi, sweetheart."
"Hey." His voice sounded far away, distorted by distance and whatever cheap connection he was using. "Did I wake you?"
"It's only seven thirty here. How's Singapore?"
"Hot. Crowded. Amazing." She heard the smile in his voice. "I'm staying in this hostel in Little India. There are like thirty people in a room and everyone's traveling alone and we just talk all night about life and philosophy and what we're running from."
What we're running from. Victoria let that pass. "Sounds wonderful."
"It is. It's so different from..." He trailed off, but Victoria knew what he meant. Different from Newport. Different from boarding school and Yale and the suffocating expectations of being an Ashford. Different from her.
"I'm glad you're having an adventure," she said, meaning it.
"Are you?" Harrison's voice sharpened. "Because it kind of feels like you think I'm wasting my time."
"I never said that."
"You don't have to say it. I can hear it in your voice. That tone you get when you're disappointed but too polite to say so."
Victoria closed her eyes. When did communication with her son become such a minefield? "I'm not disappointed. I'm happy you're exploring the world."
"But you wish I was doing it with a plan. With objectives and metrics and a clear ROI."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Harrison laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Everything with you is strategic. Everything has to serve a purpose. God forbid anyone just exists without optimizing their potential."
"Harrison." Victoria tried to keep her voice level. "I don't know what you want from me."
"I want you to be real with me. I want to know what you actually think, what you actually feel. Not the corporate approved version. The real you."
The real you. As if Victoria had any idea who that was anymore.
"I think," Victoria said carefully, "that you're young and the world is open to you in ways it wasn't to me at your age. I think you should take advantage of that. Explore. Make mistakes. Figure out who you are outside of the family name."
"Have you ever done that?"
The question hit harder than Harrison probably intended. "No."
"Why not?"
Because I was scared. Because I needed security. Because I married your father at twenty three and spent the next twenty years being what everyone needed me to be.
"Different circumstances," Victoria said instead. "Different times."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
Silence on the line. Victoria could hear music in the background wherever Harrison was, voices speaking languages she didn't understand.
"I should go," Harrison said finally. "We're heading to the night market."
"Be safe."
"I will. And Mom? You should try it sometime. Being unsafe. Doing something without a strategy. You might like it."
He hung up before she could respond.
Victoria sat holding the phone, feeling the familiar ache of maternal failure. Harrison wasn't wrong. She had become exactly what he accused her of: strategic, controlled, emotionally unavailable. The perfect CEO and the imperfect mother, unable to separate the two roles because somewhere along the way they'd fused into her entire identity.
She thought about Kieran Hayes's artist statement. Spaces designed for joy. For the full complexity of being human.
When was the last time Victoria had allowed herself to be fully human? To want something without calculating the cost? To feel something without immediately trying to control it?
The answer was simple and devastating: she couldn't remember.
Her email pinged. A message from Margaret Ashford, sent to the full board with Victoria cc'd. The subject line: "Concerns Regarding Strategic Direction."
Victoria opened it with a sense of dread that proved entirely justified.
"Dear Board Members," Margaret had written in her characteristic clipped style. "Following today's quarterly review, I feel compelled to raise formal concerns about the flagship renovation project. Six months without a decision suggests either indecisiveness or inability to execute at the level this initiative requires. I propose we form a special committee to oversee the selection process and ensure we're positioning the brand for long term success. Given the strategic importance of this project, we cannot afford missteps."
Translation: I don't trust Victoria's judgment and I'm building a coalition to undermine her authority.
Victoria read the email twice, feeling something cold settle in her chest. This was worse than the usual sniping. This was a formal challenge to her leadership, distributed to every board member, creating a paper trail that suggested incompetence.
She should respond immediately. Should defend her process, articulate her vision, demonstrate decisive leadership. Instead, she found herself looking at Kieran Hayes's website again, at those images of spaces that made people feel something.
Margaret wanted decisive action? Victoria would give her decisive action.
She pulled up the calendar invitation from Simone and sent a brief email: "Confirmed for Tuesday. Please prepare full presentation materials and ensure Mr. Hayes is ready to discuss the timeline and budget."
Then she sent another email to the full board: "Margaret, thank you for your input. I'm pleased to inform you that we have a finalist for the flagship renovation and will be presenting to the board within two weeks. The selection process has been thorough precisely because this project is critical to our long term positioning. Details to follow."
She hit send before she could second guess herself.
Bold leadership. Decisive action. Everything the board wanted to see.
Victoria just hoped she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her career.
She gathered her things and headed to the parking garage, her heels echoing in the empty building. The Range Rover started with its usual quiet competence. The drive home took her along Ocean Drive, past the massive summer cottages that lined the coast. Old money, old families, old expectations.
She'd never quite belonged in this world, despite twenty years of trying. She was the scholarship girl from Providence who'd married into the Ashford dynasty. The widow who'd had to prove herself worthy of her dead husband's company. The mother who couldn't connect with her own son.
At home, the mansion felt cavernous and silent. Victoria poured a glass of wine and stood on the terrace overlooking the water. The ocean was dark, infinite, indifferent to her small human concerns.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Simone: "Saw your email to the board. Ballsy. He's going to blow your mind."
Victoria smiled despite herself. When had she last taken a risk that felt genuinely dangerous? When had she last done anything that couldn't be justified in a PowerPoint deck?
She thought about Harrison's accusation. You should try being unsafe sometime.
Maybe she would.