Chapter 198
Chapter 198
One year later.
The Prescott Group's stock price, after its initial frenzy, climbed steadily and became a blue-chip staple in countless pension funds and sovereign wealth funds.
"FutureNest" had long since grown beyond a product brand. It had become a byword for a whole way of life.
That year, Yasmin's studio tripled in size, yet turned down ninety percent of all commercial partnership offers.
She poured most of her energy into something that had nothing to do with business.
In early summer, in an arts district carved out of an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Beijing, the "Little Brush" Children's Design Foundation officially opened its doors.
The launch ceremony was simple and low-key. No media were invited.
The only people there were a handful of educators and representatives from nonprofit organizations.
Yasmin stood at a makeshift podium, with children's drawings of "the home of the future" covering the wall behind her — painted in the most unsteady, tender strokes.
"Design is the art of solving problems. But I gradually came to understand that before we can solve a problem, we first have to learn to see it. To see the inconveniences in everyday life. To see the environment crying out. To see the needs of others that go unnoticed."
"That ability to see shouldn't belong only to designers. It should belong to everyone. Especially to children — because their eyes are closest to the world as it really is."
"The Little Brush Foundation doesn't want to raise the next great design master. We just want to hand more children — especially those in remote areas, in places with few resources — a paintbrush and a blank sheet of paper. To give them a chance to draw the world they see, and to build the very first solution to a problem that exists in their minds."
"We're not selling stock. We're selling the next ten years of how people will live."
What she had told Time magazine a year ago now had a much clearer meaning.
In the audience, Theodore sat in the most unassuming seat in the room.
He watched Yasmin on the stage, and the drawings behind her — crooked and uneven, yet full of life.
This, he thought, is Yasmin's real ambition.
When the ceremony ended, Theodore walked over and handed her a bottle of water. "That was a good speech."
"I just said what I meant." Yasmin twisted off the cap and took a sip. "I've already brought in a professional team to manage the foundation's finances. Every cent will go where it's supposed to."
"Right," Theodore said, then asked out of nowhere, "Do we have enough money?"
Yasmin paused, then smiled.
That was such a Theodore question.
"I put thirty percent of the studio's profits from last year into the foundation. After that, it'll run mainly on donations and project partnerships." She explained, "We're fine for now."
Theodore looked at her and said nothing more.
The next day, the Prescott Group's official website published an announcement: the Prescott Group and Theodore personally would jointly donate one billion dollars to the Little Brush Foundation, to be used over the next ten years to establish one hundred children's arts education centers around the world.
---
The first annual report after the IPO sent a quiet ripple through the capital markets.
Revenue was up forty percent. Profit margins far exceeded the industry average.
Most notably, the overseas expansion — judging by the numbers — was no longer a series of tentative moves. It was a solid, established presence across multiple markets.
On the earnings call, analysts fired one pointed question after another, trying to find even the slightest crack in those impressive figures.
Ryan sat beside Theodore, his palms sweating.
Theodore said a few words at the opening, then leaned back in his chair and let the newly promoted heads of each business unit handle the rest.
Those young faces were a little nervous, but their answers were airtight.
Ryan watched his boss. He noticed that Theodore was listening far more than he was talking. He was no longer the commander who had his hands in everything and controlled every detail. He was more like an observer sitting at a height, watching the machine he had built — checking whether it could still run precisely once he let go.
After the meeting, Ryan set a new project proposal on Theodore's desk.
"Boss, this came from the European team. They're proposing an acquisition of a well-established German industrial design firm. It would fill the gaps we have in traditional manufacturing processes."
Theodore flipped through a few pages, then closed it.
"Have Erik lead it. Put together an evaluation team. You just sign off on the final risk review."
Ryan paused. For a deal this size, Theodore used to lead the charge himself.
"I can—"
"Haven't you still not taken your vacation?" Theodore cut him off, glancing out the window. "Take your wife and kids somewhere. This company isn't held up by one person."
As Ryan walked out of the office, he felt like the floor was shifting under him. Had the boss... changed?
---
At that same moment, the mood inside Yasmin's studio was unusually tense.
Maria slid an invitation letter across the desk to Yasmin, barely able to contain her excitement.
"Yasmin — it's the Louvre. They want to invite us to design a permanent light installation for the east wing of their contemporary art museum."
For any spatial designer, this was about as high as the career ladder went.
Everyone in the studio looked at Yasmin, waiting for her to say yes.
But Yasmin just sat quietly, looking at the gold-embossed invitation.
What came to her mind wasn't the Louvre's glass pyramid. It was Noah and Sebastian.
She looked up and met Maria's expectant gaze.
"You lead this one."
Maria's smile froze. "Me? But this is the Louvre—"
"I know." Yasmin smiled. "You've been with me for five years. You're ready. From now on, the day-to-day operations and most of the commercial projects — I'm handing those over to you and the team."
---
That evening, Theodore came home on time — which was rare.
When he walked in, Yasmin was sprawled on the carpet with Noah and Sebastian, building a castle out of Lego.
"This tower keeps falling, Dad. Look."
Theodore took off his jacket, sat down beside them without a word, took the pointed top piece, pulled out two blocks, turned them in a different direction, and snapped them back in. The tower held firm.
"It's like a mortise and tenon joint," he told Sebastian. "Have you learned about that? I'll take you to the Forbidden City this weekend to see how it works."
After dinner, Noah and Sebastian went to bed.
Yasmin was curled up on the couch flipping through a home décor magazine. Theodore sat beside her, going through emails.
"I gave the Louvre project to Maria," Yasmin said, not looking up.
"Okay." Theodore's response was just as calm, as if he'd already seen it coming.
"Going forward, I'm only going to stay involved in the core direction of the studio. I want to keep more time free."
Theodore closed his laptop and set it aside.
He looked at her and said nothing.
"The company's gone public. Things have settled. We have enough." Yasmin finally looked up at him. "Theodore — do we have to keep running so hard?"
They had both been like tops wound too tight, driven by ambition, responsibility, and a fear they could never quite name — spinning and spinning, too afraid to stop. Afraid that if they did, they'd fall. They'd fall behind.
But now, the ground beneath them was solid enough.
Theodore reached over and pulled her close.
"I'm going to Noah's class open day tomorrow," he said.
Yasmin laughed softly against him.
---
The next day, at the Prescott Group's quarterly meeting, the regional presidents were deep in a heated debate over the budget for entering a new market.
Theodore listened for a while, then checked his watch.
Four-thirty.
He knocked on the table.
"Finance and strategy will put together a joint assessment by next Monday. That's it for today."
He stood up and walked out of the conference room, leaving everyone staring after him.
Ryan caught up with him in the hallway. "Boss, the dinner with Morgan tonight—"
"You go." Theodore didn't slow down. "Tell them my son's class needs a parent to play a tree in the forest."
Ryan stood there with his mouth open, watching Theodore's straight-backed figure disappear into the elevator. It took him a long moment to close it.
He had a feeling the world might actually be changing.
---
The vacation, like a picture book turned to its last page, was carefully folded into memory.
"Mom, the PM2.5 index here is three hundred percent higher than on the island." In the back seat, Sebastian held up his kids' smartwatch and delivered his findings with great seriousness.
"Noted, my little scientist." Yasmin turned around and straightened his collar, which had slipped when he'd been craning his neck to look outside.
Sebastian was cradling a big conch shell she'd picked up on the island, pressing it to her ear and listening hard.
"It's not making any sound anymore," she said, a little sad. "Do you think it got carsick too?"