Chapter 3 - Cold harbor light
The port of Rotterdam was a monument to modern scale—an endless horizon of towering steel cranes, stacked shipping containers in neon orange, blue, and burgundy, and black water churned by massive cargo vessels coming in from Singapore, Shanghai, and Santos.
Rain lashed against the windows of the historic brick harbor house where the Van den Berg board had assembled. Inside, the temperature was uncomfortably warm, heated by an ancient radiator system that hissed and clanked in the corner of the room.
Nathaniel sat at the head of the long oak table, flanked by Vivian on his right. Across from them sat the Van den Berg family: Old Pieter, frail but stubborn, gripping a silver-topped cane; his son Willem, sweat glistening on his forehead as he continuously checked his phone; and Freja, sharp-eyed, dressed in a sleek charcoal suit that signaled her allegiance to corporate modernism.
"The terms have not changed, Mr. Cross," Freja said, her tone crisp and clipped. "SinoMaritime has offered a valuation twelve percent higher than your firm’s current tender. My father’s sentimental attachment to European ownership does not outweigh our fiduciary responsibility to the shareholders."
Nathaniel didn't look at Freja. He kept his eyes fixed on Pieter, the patriarch, who was staring out at the rain-soaked cranes through the window.
"Sentimental attachment is not a flaw, Miss Van den Berg," Nathaniel said softly. "It is a risk profile. If you sell to SinoMaritime, the European Union anti-monopoly commission will block the transaction within ninety days. They will freeze your assets, conduct a six-month audit, and by the time the lawyers are finished, your liquidity will be zero. You will be forced to liquidate at pennies on the dollar."
Freja sneered. "That is a theoretical risk."
"It is not theoretical," Vivian interrupted smoothly, opening her binder and sliding a single piece of paper across the polished oak toward Freja. "That is the draft injunction from the European Competition Directorate, scheduled for filing in Brussels at ten o'clock tomorrow morning should SinoMaritime announce an acquisition."
Freja picked up the paper, her eyes skimming the text. Her face paled slightly. She shot a furious look at her brother, who shrank back into his chair.
"Where did you get this?" Freja demanded, looking at Vivian.
"I have excellent contacts in Brussels," Vivian replied coolly. "And a very clear understanding of regulatory timing."
Nathaniel didn't offer a compliment. He simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the trap.
"You have two options, Pieter," Nathaniel said, addressing the patriarch directly. "You can accept Cross Enterprises' offer at the current valuation, keeping your family name on the dockyards and preserving three thousand local jobs. Or you can gamble on a Chinese bid that will be dead in the water before the week is out, leaving your legacy in bankruptcy court."
Old Pieter slowly turned his head, his cloudy eyes moving from Nathaniel to Vivian, then down to the documents spread before him.
"You speak with great certainty, young man," Pieter rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves blowing across gravel. "And your assistant... she speaks like someone who has already bought the keys to my house."
"She is thorough," Nathaniel said, without looking at Vivian. "That is why she is here."
"Is she your assistant, or your brain?" the old man asked suddenly, a faint spark of shrewd humor flashing in his eyes.
The room went quiet, save for the incessant clanking of the steam radiator.
Nathaniel’s eyes flicked to Vivian for a fraction of a second—a glance so swift no one else at the table caught it.
"She is my executive assistant," Nathaniel stated coldly. "And her authority in this room is absolute. If she tells you the Brussels injunction is real, it is real. If she tells you the offer expires at five o'clock, it expires at five o'clock."
He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket with a single, practiced motion.
May you like
"We will give you two hours to confer with your legal counsel," Nathaniel added, checking his platinum wristwatch. "Miss Hale and I will be at the harbor hotel across the plaza. Have your decision emailed to her by four."
Without waiting for a response, Nathaniel walked toward the heavy oak doors. Vivian immediately gathered her documents, slid them into her case, gave the Van den Berg family a polite, perfectly measured nod, and followed him out into the cold Dutch rain.
