Margaret POV
November 1973
The house on Chester Square was settling into its autumn rhythm. Daniel was more in Bristol overseeing the shipping interests, leaving a quiet echoed by Damien's rugby practice and Daphne's intricate negotiations with her dolls.
Andrei, however, had launched a new campaign: the Conquest of the Library.
It started with simple requests. "Mother, may I look at the picture books in Father's study?" Then it evolved. "This book on taxation has very interesting graphs." Now, he would sit for an hour, legs dangling from a large leather chair, frowning at Daniel's dry copy of "The Principles of Corporate Finance."
I'd had my worries. Raymond Cattell's tests had confirmed it—a above average IQ, a mind that worked on a different frequency. "Gifted," he'd called it, with a warning about emotional development needing equal focus.
Watching Andrei with his siblings was my chosen remedy.
Damien, all kinetic energy, would burst into the study. "Andrei! Come on! We're playing captains on the stairs! I need a first mate!"
Andrei would look up, his eyes refocusing from the abstract world of ledgers to his brother's flushed face. "A first mate has to know naval logistics, Damien. Have you calculated the ballast for the stair-carpet sea?"
Damien would blink, then grin, grabbing his wrist. "You can do the sums after we've defeated the pillow monster! Come on!"
And, sometimes, to my surprise and relief, Andrei would go. He'd let the book fall shut, a faint smile on his face as he was dragged into the whirlwind. He was learning, I realized. Not from the books, but from them. He was learning to translate.
With Daphne, it was different. She'd climb into the chair beside him, her head resting against his arm, content with silence. Once, I saw him close his finance tome and begin telling her a story—not from a fairy-tale book, but a simplified, thrilling tale of a spice trader navigating by the stars, complete with drawn maps on scrap paper. It was finance as adventure. Her eyes were wide. So were mine.
His stated goal was "to help Father." A noble, childlike wish Daniel cherished. But the specificity of his reading… it felt directed. Strategic.
My answer came on a rainy Tuesday. I was reviewing a manuscript chapter when Andrei approached, clutching a notepad.
"Mother," he began, in that terribly formal tone he used for Important Topics. "I have been analysing Father's business."
"Have you now?" I said, setting down my pen.
"Yes. He owns parts of ships and mines. They are… tangible assets. But their value changes with the weather and politics."
"A very astute observation," I said, my professional interest piqued.
"I read about another kind of asset," he pressed on, pointing to a carefully drawn chart on his pad. It was a simple timeline. "One that is… intellectual. It says here that if you own an idea—a story, a brand—and it becomes popular, it can generate revenue for a very long time with less… variable cost."
He was parroting terms, but the conceptual grasp was unnerving.
"What kind of idea, darling?"
He flipped the page. There, drawn in surprisingly confident lines for a five-year-old, was a character. A friendly, clever mouse in a detective's trench coat and hat. Beside it were bullet points: "Mysteries for children. Simple logic puzzles. Merchandise potential: toys, clothing."
"It's a potential content property," he said, perfectly mimicking the language of my own business journals. "The initial capital outlay is low—just paper and printing. The risk is manageable. If it succeeds, it creates a foundation of capital and, more importantly, a demonstrable IP asset for future ventures."
I stared at him. I looked at the mouse detective. I looked at his serious, expectant face.
This wasn't a child's doodle. This was a business proposal. A sound one, at that.
The cool-headed economist in me warred with the astonished mother. The economist won, first. "The market analysis? Competition?"
"The Tales of Peter Rabbit is evergreen, but there is a gap for mystery-solving protagonists in contemporary settings for the 5-9 demographic," he recited. "I have prepared a list of potential publishers."
I took a deep breath. "Andrei… this is remarkable. Truly. But… why a mouse detective?"
For the first time, his composure slipped into something that looked like genuine, five-year-old enthusiasm. "Because everyone underestimates a mouse. But a smart mouse can see things others miss, and solve the puzzles everyone else overlooks."
He wasn't just reading about business. He was starting one.
I reached out and took the notepad. "Alright, Mr. Stevens. Let's draft a proper proposal. We'll need to discuss royalties, copyright retention, and illustrator contracts."
His grin was sudden, brilliant, and utterly triumphant. "Thank you, Mother. I've drafted some preliminary terms on the next page."
A/N
Andrei's first IP is launched. But how will the market of 1974 react to "Mortimer the Mouse Detective"? And what bigger move is this small success secretly funding?)
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