in patreon chapters stops at 36 bc no one ask for more if one member ask for more it will be updated weekly +5 chapters
CHAPTER 30: AUSTERLITZ — Part 3
Dinner was a performance.
Long table. Too much food. Everyone in their assigned seats like some twisted Last Supper painting.
Logan at the head. Marcia on his right. The children arranged by birth order. Partners scattered between.
Dr. Helen had declined to join us. "I think the family needs space to process," she'd said. Diplomatic way of saying she'd given up.
I didn't blame her.
The meal proceeded with forced civility. Shiv and Tom discussed politics. Connor talked at anyone who'd listen about ranch management. Logan held court about quarterly projections.
No one mentioned the therapy session. The elephant in the room was the size of the house.
Kendall picked at his food. I caught his eye once. He gave a small nod. Acknowledgment. We're okay.
I nodded back.
After dinner, Logan retreated to his study. Marcia with him. The rest of us scattered to various parts of the estate. Shiv and Tom to the guest wing. Connor to wherever Connor went.
I found myself in the library. Massive room. Floor-to-ceiling books that probably no one read. Leather chairs. Fireplace with actual fire.
I sat. Stared at the flames.
The Empathy Engine pulsed quietly in the background. I didn't push it. Just let it rest.
Today had been... a lot. Watching Kendall break. Facing Logan's challenge. The moment on the tennis court.
Layers of performance and genuine emotion and strategic positioning all mixed together.
I was tired. Not physically. Mentally. Emotionally. The kind of tired that came from holding too many things at once.
My phone buzzed. Gerri.
How's the family therapy going?
I smiled despite everything.
Me: About as well as you'd expect. Logan destroyed Kendall. Therapist basically gave up. Standard Roy dysfunction.
Gerri: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah. Tired. But okay.
Gerri: When are you back?
Me: Tomorrow morning. Want to have lunch?
Gerri: Can't. Board meeting. Dinner?
Me: Our place?
Gerri: Obviously. 8pm.
Me: See you then.
I set the phone down. Stared at the fire.
Our place. The quiet restaurant. The thing between us that was real and secret and potentially disastrous.
Something to look forward to. Something that wasn't family warfare or corporate politics.
Something... good.
Footsteps in the doorway. I turned.
Shiv stood there. Glass of wine in hand. Assessing expression.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked.
"Free country."
She sat in the chair across from me. Sipped her wine. We watched the fire in silence for a moment.
"That was brutal," she said finally. "What Dad did to Kendall."
"Yeah."
"You didn't participate."
"No."
"Why not? Usually you'd make a joke. Deflect. Join in the sport of tearing each other down."
I looked at her. "Because it wasn't funny. It was cruel."
She studied me. Politician eyes trying to read subtext. "You're different lately. Since the hostage thing. Since before that, actually. Since the stroke."
"People change."
"Roys don't. Not usually." She swirled her wine. "You went to Kendall afterward. On the tennis court. I saw you both walking back."
"He needed someone."
"And you decided to be that someone."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Same question Kendall had asked. Why was I being different? Why was I choosing support over sabotage?
"Because someone should," I said simply. "Because this family's default is destruction. And maybe if one of us chooses differently, it doesn't have to be that way."
Shiv's expression shifted. Something underneath the political mask. "You actually mean that."
"I do."
"Interesting." She took another sip of wine. "Tom thinks you're positioning. Building alliances for some future play."
"Tom thinks everyone's always positioning."
"Aren't they?"
"Not always. Sometimes people just do things because they're right."
She laughed. Quiet. Almost sad. "God, you really have changed."
We sat. The fire crackled. The house settled around us.
"For what it's worth," Shiv said eventually, "I think what you did in Pennsylvania was impressive. And I think the way you handled Dad today was smarter than anything Kendall or I managed."
"Thanks."
"Don't let it go to your head." She stood. "But yeah. You're different. I'm still deciding what to do with that information."
"Let me know when you figure it out."
She smiled. Actual smile, not the political one. "Will do."
She left.
I stayed. Watched the fire until it burned low. Thought about family and change and the weight of being different in a system designed to keep you the same.
Eventually, I headed to bed. The guest room was opulent and soulless. Too much money, not enough warmth.
I lay awake for a while. Processing the day. The therapy disaster. The moment with Kendall. Logan's challenge. Shiv's assessment.
And underneath it all: Gerri. Tomorrow. Dinner. Something real in this performance.
I slept eventually. Dreamless. Exhausted.
Morning came with grey light through expensive curtains.
I packed. Dressed. Headed downstairs.
The family gathered for breakfast. Subdued. No one mentioned therapy. Dr. Helen had already left—early morning departure. Professional retreat.
Logan read the paper. Marcia poured coffee. The children ate in relative silence.
As we were finishing, Logan looked up. "Roman. Kendall. My office. Five minutes."
He left. We exchanged glances.
"This should be fun," Kendall muttered.
Logan's office in the estate was smaller than his Waystar one but no less imposing. Dark wood. Heavy furniture. The smell of cigars and old money.
We stood in front of his desk like students called to the principal.
Logan looked at us. "The therapy was a waste of time."
Neither of us responded.
"But it confirmed something," he continued. "Kendall. You need to get your head straight. Figure out what kind of man you want to be. Stop caring so much about what everyone thinks."
Kendall's jaw tightened. "Okay."
"Roman." Logan's eyes shifted to me. "You're developing. The hostage situation. The way you handled yourself yesterday. Keep it up."
Simple. Direct. As close to praise as Logan got.
"Understood," I said.
"Good." Logan leaned back. "Now get out. I have actual work to do."
We left. Walked down the hallway in silence.
At the door, Kendall stopped. "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"The tennis court. That actually helped. So... thanks."
"Anytime."
"I mean it. This week. Teaching. I want to learn."
"We'll start Tuesday. Coffee at nine."
"I'll be there."
He got in his car. Drove away.
I watched him go. Then got in my own car. Headed back to Manhattan.
The wounded king, returning from the battlefield of family.
Scarred. Tested. But somehow still whole.
And tomorrow—dinner with Gerri. Something to look forward to in all this chaos.
I drove toward the city. Toward work. Toward whatever came next.
Changed. Different. Better, maybe.
Or at least trying to be.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0