Chapter 16 - The Empire Nico Chose to Lose
The offer sat on Nico’s desk for six days.
Arthur read it twice.
“You could negotiate higher.”
“I know.”
“You always negotiate higher.”
“I know.”
“You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Nico looked toward him.
“If I sell, what do I do?”
Arthur almost laughed.
“That may be the most normal question you’ve ever asked.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
For decades, Nico’s identity and his companies had been inseparable.
Employees called him boss even when no hierarchy remained.
Restaurants gave him private tables.
People returned calls immediately.
Doors opened.
Influence moved ahead of him like weather.
Selling meant becoming merely wealthy instead of powerful.
For most people, the distinction would sound absurd.
For Nico, it was existential.
He discussed it with Dr. Greene.
“What are you afraid of losing?” the therapist asked.
“Purpose.”
“Power isn’t purpose.”
“It feels like it.”
“What would remain if nobody feared disappointing you?”
Nico disliked the question.
Which meant it was useful.
He talked with Elena too.
Their relationship remained cautious.
Weekly phone calls.
Nothing forced.
She told him something he remembered.
“Your father could enter a room and make everyone quiet.”
Nico waited.
“He thought that meant respect.”
“What did it mean?”
“That everyone was waiting for him to leave.”
Two days later, Nico accepted the offer.
He kept one legitimate real-estate development division, heavily restructured and independently managed.
Everything else was sold.
Arthur signed his own final papers.
Then entered Nico’s office carrying two glasses.
“Scotch?”
Nico looked at them.
“Coffee.”
Arthur sighed.
“You’ve ruined every tradition.”
They drank coffee.
At five in the afternoon, Nico walked through the headquarters one final time.
Employees lined the hallway.
Some shook his hand.
Some avoided his eyes.
Some thanked him.
Others probably hated him.
For once, Nico did not need unanimous loyalty.
He entered the elevator alone.
No entourage.
When the doors opened downstairs, I was waiting.
He stopped.
“You came.”
“Arthur told me.”
“Traitor.”
“He said you’d pretend this wasn’t emotional.”
“Arthur talks too much.”
I held out my hand.
Nico took it.
“How do you feel?”
“Unemployed.”
“You’re not unemployed.”
“Underemployed.”
“You own a development company.”
“One company.”
“Tragic.”
We walked outside.
No convoy waited.
Just Nico’s car.
He looked at the headquarters behind him.
“My entire adult life happened in that building.”
“I know.”
“What if I regret it?”
“You might.”
He looked at me.
“That’s your comforting answer?”
“You don’t need me telling you every difficult decision was perfect.”
A slow smile.
“Right.”
“You need dinner.”
“That I accept.”
We drove to my apartment.
Nico cooked.
Badly.
I fixed it.
Later, he stood by the window.
“I used to think giving this up would make me nobody.”
“And?”
“I’m still figuring out who nobody is.”
I wrapped my arms around him from behind.
He covered my hands with his.
“Nobody isn’t so bad,” I said.
“You like being nobody?”
“I like choosing who knows me.”
He turned.
“And I get to?”
“Sometimes.”
We smiled.
Our relationship rebuilt in ordinary pieces.
Tuesday dinners.
Saturday walks.
Arguments.
Apologies that arrived before days of silence could grow around them.
Nico occasionally slipped.
Once he had security change our restaurant reservation without asking because he disliked the crowd.
I called him on it.
His first reaction was defensive.
Then he stopped.
Apologized.
Changed it back.
I slipped too.
Sometimes I withheld feelings because part of me expected anger.
Nico noticed.
Instead of demanding answers, he waited.
Trust returned not as one grand gesture but hundreds of tiny choices.
Six months passed.
The community project became successful.
Dawson & Reed received national attention.
Evelyn made me partner.
When she told me, I thought she was joking.
“I’m thirty.”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’ve only been back in the profession—”
“You’re arguing against a promotion?”
“I’m processing.”
“Process quickly. I have lunch.”
I called June first.
Then my parents.
Then Nico.
“Partner?”
His pride nearly broke the phone.
“We’re celebrating.”
“Tonight?”
“Obviously.”
“No surprise party.”
A pause.
“Nico.”
“I canceled it mentally.”
I laughed.
We ate at the diner instead.
My choice.
Afterward, Nico drove me home.
He stood at my apartment door.
“Come inside.”
He did.
There were flowers on the table.
From Evelyn.
A bottle of champagne from June.
Nico looked around.
“This apartment is getting crowded.”
“You still hate my furniture.”
“That sofa is objectively hostile.”
I threw a cushion at him.
He caught it.
Then became unexpectedly serious.
“Would you ever live with me again?”
The question hung between us.
A year earlier, my answer would have been no.
Six months earlier, not yet.
Now?
“Maybe.”
He waited.
“Not in your house.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours.”
He understood.
“New place?”
“Someday.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
Hope entered his face.
“But not tomorrow.”
“I know.”
He kissed my forehead.
“Someday is more than I expected.”
Two weeks later, we started looking casually.
No mansion.
No penthouse.
No fortress.
Just homes.
At the third viewing, a realtor showed us a brick house with large windows, a messy garden, and a kitchen that needed renovation.
Nico hated the cabinets.
I loved them.
There was a spare room facing east.
“Office,” I said.
“Yours.”
“Maybe yours.”
“I thought we were building equality.”
“Exactly. You get the ugly room.”
He smiled.
In the backyard stood a huge old maple tree.
I looked up through the branches.
For the first time, I could imagine a future that did not look like returning.
It looked like building something entirely new.
But buying a house together was not the decision that frightened Nico most.
Three nights later, he opened the safe in his Lincoln Park home.
Inside, among documents and his mother’s old letter, was a small velvet box.
He stared at it.
Then closed the safe.
He was not afraid I would say no.
Not exactly.
He was afraid of asking the question for the wrong reason.
So he did something the old Nico would never have done.
May you like
He waited.
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