Debenzer Family Meeting (2)
It was June 12, 1979, inside the conference room of the vast library at Debenzer Manor. The walls, lined floor to ceiling with ancient volumes, lent the space an oppressive weight. Every chair at the long mahogany table was occupied except the one at the head. The moment Henry pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, the low murmur of conversation died as if severed by a blade. The twenty-odd managers rose in unison, chairs scraping sharply against the floor. Henry answered their deference with a brief nod rather than a full bow and walked straight to the head of the table. Only after the leather chair creaked under his weight did he speak.
“Everyone, please sit. Let’s begin with some light praise. You’ve all worked hard. In the chaotic days after my parents and the family’s key figures were lost, you held your posts and allowed us to stabilize quickly. The way you organized my mother’s inheritance and folded it cleanly into the family trust was especially excellent work. Thanks to that, my personal account now holds only the ten thousand dollars that was essentially my allowance. But that’s fine. I’m satisfied.”
The instant Henry finished, applause erupted and filled the room. He clapped briefly in return, and the heavy atmosphere softened a notch. Henry stopped clapping and moved straight to business.
“First item on the agenda. I intend to establish a fund for the family personnel who died in the accident. I’m considering roughly five hundred thousand dollars per person. What are your thoughts?”
The somber mood that had settled over the room was broken by Bart, seated near Henry.
“I support the creation of the fund itself, but the amount is excessive. Five hundred thousand dollars per head? Fifteen people were on that plane. Even excluding the Lord and Lady plus the media specialist we rushed to recruit, the total approaches five and a half million dollars!”
“I agree with Mr. Kensington. You must not forget that this is June—the month with the heaviest tax burden. The deadline is in three days. A massive sum is already scheduled to leave our accounts. Adding another five and a half million for a welfare fund would be unreasonable.”
“I understand your heart, my Lord, but the existing insurance payouts and the family’s own welfare programs already offer compensation on an entirely different scale from other houses. There is no need to layer cash on top of that.”
“I am also opposed. We already cover children’s education, medical expenses, and even grant surface rights to housing on the estate for a nominal one-dollar management fee. Even if we added cash, they would soon forget the gratitude.”
“With this level of welfare alone…”
As though on cue, every voice rose in opposition. These were elders or long-serving retainers, yet the idea of actual cash leaving the coffers seemed intolerable to them.
Henry nodded, signaling that he was listening attentively. Naturally, he had zero intention of withdrawing the proposal. When the room had grown sufficiently heated, he spoke again.
“I’m well aware that our family’s welfare is already generous. Very well. Then let’s do this instead. I will contribute one million dollars per year for six years to build the trust. We won’t touch the principal. In today’s high-interest environment, simply parking the money in MMFs or Treasury bonds should yield a laughably easy ten percent annually. Use those returns to pay ten thousand dollars per household in annual pensions. Any surplus will be reinvested and later upgraded into a ‘Family Protection Fund’ to prepare for the retirement of the elders here and any unforeseen accidents. Would you still oppose it under those terms?”
“If it is operated solely on returns, I have no objection. However, the sub-trust agreement must include a clause stating that, upon request from the main family trust, fund assets may be withdrawn to the upper trust beyond that year’s dividend allocation.”
“I agree with Sir Bartholomew!”
“As do I…”
Henry smiled in satisfaction as unanimous consent rippled around the table. He would personally chair the investment committee that managed the fund and selected its beneficiaries. The vehicle would simultaneously expand his authority inside the family and serve as a secret weapon—delivering overwhelming returns drawn from his future knowledge and dramatically improving the family’s cash flow.
Henry clapped once more to settle the room.
“I’m pleased by your agreement. Once the fund’s returns stabilize, we’ll also shift the existing welfare expenses currently paid from general accounts into this trust. It will greatly improve the family’s liquidity. We’ll name it the Debenzer Pension Trust. Now, let’s move to the next item. This one is especially meaningful to me: the matter of how I am addressed.”
Throughout the inspection period, the wildly inconsistent titles had grated on Henry’s nerves. Even here, the variety had grown absurd. Young Master, Master, High Lord, Lord of the House, Patriarch—each person and each situation produced something different. It irritated him to no end.
“Let’s standardize it. The titles are so scattered that even I lose track sometimes. From now on, just use my name. You are all essentially my family, so that feels most natural. Ah, Joshua—I know. If that truly feels too uncomfortable, then simply call me ‘Boss.’”
When Joshua began to raise his hand with an expression of absolute refusal, Henry cut him off by offering the compromise first. Still, when Joshua and several elders continued to look displeased, Henry drove the point home before they could speak. This was something he had genuinely wanted to say.
“Titles aside… honestly, let me speak plainly. I may have become the head of a distinguished house, but I cannot live like this any longer. Authority, honor, rigid etiquette—none of it suits me. From now on I intend to live comfortably in my own style. Let’s leave the stiff formalities to our ancestors in their graves and be flexible, like living people. Rather than waste time on ceremony, I would rather put even one extra dollar into the family vault. That is the fastest way to cross this swamp of recession. Understood?”
Henry had braced for fierce backlash, yet the room’s atmosphere remained strangely lukewarm. The elders exchanged glances and released deep sighs. Their expressions looked less like opposition and more like resigned acceptance—So it finally happened.
When Henry raised an eyebrow in mild confusion, Bart adjusted his glasses and spoke.
“Sigh… I expected a day like this would come. From the day you packed your bags for Stanford, declaring you would abandon Yale’s traditions to mingle with Western transients, we have been preparing for the moment our family etiquette would bungee-jump out those windows. These past few days you actually observed proper decorum, so I secretly wondered whether becoming family head had performed a miracle and changed you one hundred and eighty degrees.”
“The rumor has already spread throughout New York society. An unprecedented heretic has finally claimed the Debenzer throne.”
“I oppose it as well, but… when have you ever listened to us, Henry? I gave up long ago. On the day you packed for the West, even the previous Lord could not persuade or force you to stay. Who could break that stubbornness?”
The elders continued their relentless barrage of facts. Inside, Henry broke into a cold sweat—Looks like the Henry from my previous life really was a complete bastard—yet outwardly he kept an easy smile.
“Still, Henry, you must understand one thing. When you chose the West and severed those precious Eastern connections and circles yourself, this is precisely the time to tighten the armor of etiquette even more firmly. Without tradition, people will see you as nothing more than a lucky businessman.”
“Of course I’m not saying I will abandon intentional etiquette, formality, and protocol. I know how critical relationship management is in business. Family-hosted events or social gatherings? I will attend without fail. I simply ask that you stop expecting me to always appear solemn and dignified. Therefore…”
Henry met each elder’s eyes in turn.
“What I am saying is that I will also claim the freedom to remove that armor depending on the place and the person. When the image of a grave and dignified head is required, I will squeeze out whatever dignity I can muster and perform. I will observe the necessary boundaries, but I refuse to remain crushed beneath heavy etiquette even among ourselves or at practical negotiation tables. Etiquette should be a weapon to overwhelm opponents, not a prison that confines us. Don’t you agree?”
“Ahem…”
“Hmm.”
Most of the responses came from the elders. The other specialists kept their mouths firmly shut, reading the room, but Henry could read their hearts. They were probably cheering inside at being freed from the shackles of etiquette thanks to him. Maintaining the family’s demanding formalities had to be exhausting for those who served.
Yeah, after work you guys probably want to loosen your ties and grab a cold beer too. I’m even protecting your work-life balance here.
He had not received an explicit yes from the elders, but Henry chose to interpret their silence as consent. The mere thought that he would no longer have to overload his brain running simulations to select refined words and elegant phrases made him feel like he could fly.
“Well, I’ll take it that everyone understands and declare this item passed! Let’s move on. There should be documents I prepared in front of each of you. I trust you’ve already looked through them. Even before I entered the library, I could hear your whispering all the way from the far end of the corridor. So, let’s talk about ‘this item.’”
The moment Henry finished, Gilberto Piorsen, the family’s financial manager, raised his hand first, as though he had been waiting for exactly this moment, and spoke.