Lucien and Dorian gathered their things as the visit finally wrapped up, with Gareth and Theo walked them to the entrance of Stone & Quill.
The late-afternoon light poured through the doorway, casting long shadows across the workshop floor.
Just as Dorian reached for the door handle, Lucien stopped, turning back toward the Rendon’s.
His expression was calm. Serious. The kind of calm that came from genuine concern rather than uncertainty.
“Before we go,” he said quietly, “I want to say this clearly.”
Both Gareth and Theo straightened instinctively.
“You don’t have to feel rushed because of me,” Lucien continued. “If I overwhelmed you with everything today… take time. Think it through properly.”
Theo blinked in surprise. Gareth’s brows rose a little.
Lucien went on, voice steady and sincere.
“I don’t ever want you to feel like you made a decision you’d regret later. Not because of excitement. Not because of pressure. And definitely not because you thought I needed an answer immediately.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“So, if tomorrow or next week, you stop and wonder ‘Was I too hasty? Should I have thought longer?’… I don’t want that. Take the time you need.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then Gareth let out a stunned breath — and suddenly laughed. A deep, warm sound that filled the hallway.
“Lucien,” he said, shaking his head with a smile, “trust me — I didn’t make this decision lightly. This concerns my life. My son’s life. I didn’t agree because of pressure.”
He tapped his chest lightly.
“I agreed because it made sense. Because it’s the first real path forward, we’ve had in years.”
His smile softened.
“You didn’t overwhelm us. You opened us a door when every other one was closed. So don’t worry — I won’t be regretting this tomorrow.”
Theo nodded vigorously behind him.
“Dad’s right. We’ve talked about the future so many times… but today was the first time it felt like an actual future existed.” He chuckled nervously. “And also… thank you. My dad’s laugh—”
He glanced at Gareth with a fond grin.
“—it’s brighter than usual today. I haven’t seen that in a long time.”
Gareth shot him an exaggerated glare. “Are you saying I don’t laugh normally?”
Theo shrugged. “Not like this.”
Gareth’s expression softened into a genuine smile — the kind that reached his eyes.
“Maybe that’s because, for once, my mind isn’t twisted in knots worrying about the future of this place… or you.”
He let out a warm, unrestrained laugh and clapped Theo proudly on the back.
“Feels good to breathe properly again.”
Theo grinned, the relief unmistakable on his face.
Lucien smiled — a quiet, relieved one — as he and Dorian stepped out into the fading sunlight, leaving behind a workshop that no longer felt like a place on the verge of collapsing, but one that was finally beginning to breathe again.
The maglev doors slid shut behind them, sealing out the noise of the industrial district.
Lucien and Dorian found a pair of seats by the window as the cabin gave its familiar low hum and began gliding forward.
For a moment, neither said anything.
Then Dorian folded his arms.
Very slowly and deliberately.
“Care to explain?” he asked in a tone that was way too calm to be safe.
Lucien blinked innocently. “Explain what?”
Dorian arched an eyebrow. “What happened to ‘we’re only going to ask about their difficulties’?”
He tilted his head. “What happened to ‘I won’t commit to anything today, Dorian’?”
Lucien gave a small, nervous laugh. “It just… happened.”
“‘Just happened,’” Dorian repeated flatly, staring at him like someone evaluating a crime scene.
“Yes. Of course. Acquisition plans always ‘just happen.’ Perfectly normal.”
Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, sometimes you can’t plan everything. Some things—”
“Oh, please,” Dorian cut in, lifting a hand. “Spare me the philosophical justifications before I choke on them.”
Lucien shut his mouth.
Dorian exhaled hard, leaning back in his seat.
“On the bright side,” he admitted begrudgingly, “you were at least mature enough not to blurt out something catastrophically foolish.”
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Lucien brightened. “See? Progress.”
Dorian held up a finger. “Don’t get smug. Let me finish.”
Lucien deflated slightly.
“At least,” Dorian continued, “you didn’t commit to something idiotic like a fifty-fifty partnership on the spot.”
He shot Lucien a pointed look.
“Or worse — vow to personally take responsibility for all their loans.”
Lucien winced. “Well—”
“No.”
Dorian sliced the air with a clean, merciless gesture.
“If you had said either of those, I swear to every deity in Caelora, I would have thrown you out of the nearest window. Or dragged you out by the collar in pure rage.”
Lucien snorted. “You’re dramatic.”
“I’m reasonable,” Dorian corrected. “And someone in this mess has to be.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, continuing in a calmer, advisory tone.
“Lucien… we haven’t even seen their full debt sheets. Their liabilities, asset condition, machine age, collateral situation. There’s so much due diligence to do before we even think about signing anything.”
Lucien nodded quickly. “I know, I know. You’ll handle that.”
“Correct,” Dorian muttered. “Because if you handled it, you’d probably sign a contract written on a napkin because it ‘felt right.’”
Lucien coughed. “I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you absolutely would.”
Lucien stared out the window. “…Okay, maybe.”
Dorian sighed again — long, exhausted, but slightly fond.
“But I will say this,” he added. “Promising them operational autonomy was the right move. We genuinely don’t know anything about running a press. Leaving management to them is smart.”
Lucien’s face brightened immediately, smugness returning like a sunrise.
“See? That’s what I told you earlier.”
He lifted his chin.
“Didn’t I say I’d surprise you?”
Dorian didn’t blink.
He didn’t speak.
He simply picked up the folded magazine from the seat pocket and and flung it straight at Lucien’s chest with perfect, deadpan precision.
Lucien yelped and nearly flew out of his seat.
“OKAY, OKAY, I’LL STOP!” he yelped, hands up in surrender.
Dorian leaned back with a dignified huff.
“Good.”
Lucien rubbed the spot where the magazine had smacked him, giving Dorian a wounded look. “You didn’t have to throw it.”
“I absolutely did,” Dorian replied flatly. “As a behavioral intervention.”
Lucien sighed, slumping back into his seat as the maglev sped along the track. For a moment, he stared out the window — then exhaled slowly.
“…Dorian.”
“Hm?”
“I really did think… maybe something like fifty–fifty ownership.”
He hesitated, then added quietly, “Is that wrong? Or is it about percentages? I’m not sure.”
Dorian's expression softened — not much, but enough.
“It’s not wrong,” he said, tone patient. “No percentage is wrong. In business, fifty–fifty, ninety–ten, seventy–thirty… they’re all just numbers. The issue isn't the percentage itself.”
He lifted a finger.
“It’s what the percentage represents.”
Lucien blinked. “Represents?”
“Yes,” Dorian said. “Ownership isn’t a reward you hand out because someone is good, or loyal, or pitiful. It reflects how much capital someone is committing, and how much risk they’re carrying.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“If we look through their documents and realize that the Rendon’s don’t have usable assets, or cash, or collateral… and the only person who can shoulder the financial risk is you—”
Lucien winced.
“—then why on Caelora,” Dorian continued, “would you give away half the ownership of a business you are single-handedly saving?”
Lucien opened his mouth.
Dorian cut in again.
“Let me put it simply: risk should equal reward.”
Lucien sat straighter, thinking that through.
“And even if,” Dorian continued, “you want to give them a percentage — they must be responsible for that percentage’s capital. That’s how it works.”
He held up both hands as if weighing invisible scales.
“If you say ‘fifty percent ownership,’ that means they are responsible for fifty percent of the capital required. If you say ‘thirty percent,’ they take on thirty percent of the financial burden.”
Lucien nodded slowly. “So, I can’t just give it because I want to.”
“Exactly.”
“And even if I try—?”
Dorian gave him a knowing look. “Even if you offered it, I highly doubt Gareth or Theo would accept. From what I’ve seen, they’re sincere and grounded. They wouldn’t take a share they didn’t earn.”
Lucien’s lips curled into a small smile — warm, appreciative.
“…Having you is more than enough, Dorian.”
Dorian blinked.
Lucien added, grin widening, “Honestly, I should just give you fifty percent. You’re the one who understands all this.”
The magazine was airborne before Lucien even saw it coming.
“OW—! WHY?!”
“Because,” Dorian said, retrieving the magazine calmly, “that is the single worst idea you’ve had today. And that includes trying to buy a printing press during lunchtime.”
Lucien laughed helplessly, rubbing his arm again.
“Fair enough.”
He leaned back, watching the city blur past the window, his mind quieter now — more focused.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
Dorian shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Lucien shook his head. “No… you’re doing more than that.”
For the first time since they boarded, Dorian didn’t argue.
He simply looked out the window as well, letting the silence settle peacefully between them.
Lucien rested his chin on his hand, still thinking.
“…Okay. Then what about ESOPs? Employee stock options.”
Dorian turned his head slowly, giving him a surprisingly approving look.
“That,” he said, “is actually a very reasonable choice.”
Lucien blinked. “Really?”
“It’s one of the most common structures used everywhere,” Dorian explained.
“Especially when the founder is the one putting in the entire capital, and the management team is contributing through skill, labour, and long-term commitment rather than direct money.”
Lucien straightened. “So, ESOPs make sense for the Rendon’s?”
“Extremely.”
Dorian shifted into explanation mode — his voice firm, his fingers tapping lightly against his slate.
“Let me simplify ESOPs for you:
- You own the company fully.
- The management gets stock options — not free shares.
- They vest over time, based on performance or years.
- They give the managers the incentive to grow the business, because they benefit when it grows.”
Lucien nodded slowly. “So, it’s like… they don’t put in capital, but they still get a stake?”
“A conditional stake,” Dorian emphasized. “Shares that only activate when they’ve fulfilled certain obligations — years of service, hitting targets, rebuilding the press, things like that.”
He tilted his head, studying Lucien’s expression.
“It’s the perfect middle ground. You’re not gifting ownership irresponsibly. And they’re not getting a free ride. They earn their portion.”
Lucien tapped the seat beside him thoughtfully. “So instead of saying ‘here, take 30%,’ it’s more like ‘you can earn 10% over three years,’ something like that?”
“Exactly.”
Dorian nodded once. “It rewards loyalty, hard work and skill, the things that actually matter and it ensures the people running the business care about it — long-term.”
Lucien exhaled.
“That… actually sounds ideal.”
“It is.”
Dorian smirked very slightly. “And it’s entirely in your control. You decide the percentages. You decide the vesting period. You decide the structure.”
Lucien looked relieved. “Good. Because I want Gareth and Theo to be rewarded — but not in a way that makes everything risky.”
“That’s why ESOPs exist,” Dorian said. “They align everyone’s interests without you giving away the store.”
Lucien nodded firmly now, shoulders relaxing.
“So… if I acquire the press completely, they’ll remain in charge of daily operations, and I can give them ESOPs tied to performance and longevity.”
“Correct.”
“And that’s normal?”
“Lucien,” Dorian said dryly, “that’s not just normal. It’s standard. It’s done everywhere — from small businesses to giant corporations.”
Lucien grinned. “Then we’ll do that.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow. “We will do that after I look at their financials. After valuations. After debt structuring. After—”
Lucien held up a hand, grinning wider.
“Yes, yes — after all the boring paperwork.”
Dorian huffed. “It prevents you from accidentally bankrupting yourself.”
Lucien laughed. “Which is why I have you.”
Dorian pretended not to be pleased but failed spectacularly.
“Good,” he said finally, relaxing into his seat. “So long as we’re doing this properly.”
Lucien looked back out the window — the city lights sliding past like comet trails — and for the first time since the idea had crossed his mind, he felt the path forward clearly.