The morning light filtered through the centuries-old stained glass, casting prismatic patterns across the polished oak of the conference table. Maximilian von Hohenberg watched the play of colors absently, his attention focused on the subtle shifts in posture among the twelve people seated around him. Family council meetings at Schloss Hohenberg always began precisely at nine, a tradition maintained through wars, economic collapses, and the dissolution of the very monarchy that had once elevated their ancestors.
"The quarterly performance reports have been distributed," his father said, tapping a manicured finger against the leather portfolio before him. Friedrich Wilhelm von Hohenberg, at sixty-eight, remained an imposing figure—spine straight, silver hair impeccably styled, his bespoke suit a subtle declaration of wealth that required no ostentation. "I trust everyone has reviewed them thoroughly."
Maximilian suppressed a smile. The question was directed at him, of course. The prodigal son returned from Harvard, expected to falter under the weight of family scrutiny. He met his father's gaze directly.
"The diversification strategy for Asian markets shows promising initial returns," Maximilian said, "though I question the conservative position on emerging technologies. We're underexposed to quantum computing applications in financial services."
His brother Alexander shifted in his seat, the movement almost imperceptible. "The technology is unproven," he countered, his voice carrying the polished accent of European boarding schools and Oxford. "Our responsibility is to preserve capital, not chase speculative trends."
"Preservation is stagnation," Maximilian replied, keeping his tone light despite the challenge. "Several major financial institutions are already positioning for quantum disruption through their venture funds."
His mother, Sophia, intervened with practiced grace. "Perhaps we might benefit from hearing Maximilian's perspective in more detail. Harvard's proximity to MIT must have provided unique insights into technological developments."
Maximilian nodded gratefully. His mother had always been his most reliable ally in family politics, her aristocratic pedigree and cultural refinement concealing a mind as strategic as any banker's.
"Thank you, Mother." He opened his tablet and projected a series of charts onto the wall screen. "I've prepared an analysis of potential quantum computing applications in risk assessment and high-frequency trading. The mathematics suggests a 40% efficiency improvement over classical algorithms."
For the next twenty minutes, he guided his family through the technical details, watching their expressions shift from skepticism to reluctant interest. Even his father's perpetual frown softened slightly as the potential returns became clear.
"Implementation costs?" his uncle Klaus asked, ever practical.
"Substantial," Maximilian admitted, "but the first-mover advantage justifies the investment. I've already identified three potential acquisition targets—small firms with promising patents but insufficient capital."
"You've been back in Germany for less than a week," Alexander interjected, a note of accusation in his voice. "When exactly did you conduct this analysis?"
Maximilian smiled. "I began researching while still at Harvard. The time difference between Boston and Berlin is convenient for making calls to both Europe and Asia."
His father closed his portfolio with a decisive snap. "An interesting proposal. The investment committee will review it." The words were noncommittal, but Maximilian recognized the small victory. Friedrich von Hohenberg never dismissed ideas outright; his resistance took the form of committees, reviews, and deliberate delay.
"Thank you, Father." Maximilian closed his presentation and settled back in his chair, prepared for the next item on the agenda.
His sister Victoria, seated across from him, caught his eye with a subtle nod of approval. At twenty-eight, she had already established herself as a rising diplomatic talent in Brussels, her work providing the family with valuable political intelligence. Unlike Alexander, who viewed Maximilian's ambitions as a threat, Victoria recognized the potential for alliance.
The meeting proceeded through its remaining items: a review of their real estate holdings in Munich, a discussion of philanthropic commitments for the coming year, and an update on the legal dispute over forestry rights on their eastern properties. Maximilian contributed where appropriate but primarily observed, cataloging the power dynamics and alliances that had evolved during his years abroad.
As the meeting concluded, his father gestured for him to remain behind. The other family members filed out, his mother pausing briefly to squeeze his shoulder—a silent gesture of support.
When the heavy oak door closed, Friedrich von Hohenberg moved to the window, gazing out at the ancestral grounds. The castle had been in their family since the late 12th century, surviving wars, revolutions, and the legal abolition of nobility itself.
"Your presentation was impressive," his father said finally, still looking outward. "But technology is not our foundation. Land, gold, connections—these endure when markets collapse and innovations fail."
Maximilian joined him at the window. Below, the formal gardens extended toward distant forests, the geometric precision of human design yielding gradually to nature's complexity.
"The world is changing, Father. The next generation of wealth won't be built on the same foundations as the last."
Friedrich turned, studying his son's face. "You think I don't know this? The Hohenbergs have survived by adaptation. Your great-grandfather moved from land to industry, my father from industry to finance. But adaptation is not revolution."
"Sometimes it must be," Maximilian said quietly.
His father's expression hardened. "You've been given extraordinary privileges, Maximilian. The best education, unlimited resources, the weight of our name. What you haven't earned is the right to risk our legacy on your theories."
"Then let me prove them," Maximilian countered. "Give me a portion of the family capital to manage independently. Judge me by my results."
A long silence followed, broken only by the distant call of birds from the estate grounds. Finally, Friedrich nodded once, decisively.
"Five million euros. Your own investment vehicle, separate from Hohenberg Holdings. Quarterly reporting to the family council." His father's blue eyes—so like Maximilian's own—narrowed slightly. "But understand this: in our position, financial success alone is insufficient. How you achieve it, the relationships you build or burn, the reputation you establish—these matter equally."
"I understand."
"Do you?" His father's voice softened unexpectedly. "You have your mother's brilliance and my ambition, a dangerous combination. The world you're entering isn't fair or meritocratic, despite what they taught you at Harvard. Old powers don't yield gracefully to new ones."
Maximilian felt a sudden, surprising connection to his father—a recognition of shared understanding beneath their differences. "That's precisely why we need to evolve. The old powers are vulnerable precisely because they believe their position is secure."
Friedrich almost smiled. "Perhaps." He returned to the conference table and retrieved his portfolio. "The funds will be transferred today. I suggest you begin by establishing an office separate from our existing operations. Independence should be visible as well as functional."
"Thank you, Father."
Friedrich paused at the door. "Your brother will not be pleased."
"Alexander has never approved of my choices."
"He carries different burdens. As the eldest, he's been raised to preserve, not to create." His father's expression was unreadable. "Family businesses rarely survive the third generation, Maximilian. The founder builds, the children maintain, the grandchildren squander. We've defied that pattern for centuries because we understand that family comes before individual ambition."
"I'm not forgetting that," Maximilian said. "Everything I build will strengthen the Hohenberg name."
His father studied him for a long moment. "We shall see."
After Friedrich departed, Maximilian remained alone in the conference room, watching the colored light shift across the ancient wood. Five million euros was a pittance compared to the family's total wealth—a test sum, barely enough to establish serious operations.
He smiled to himself. It was enough. He would leverage it into ten million, then fifty, then hundreds. He would build something that even his father would have to acknowledge as transformative.
His phone vibrated with an incoming message. A name appeared on the screen that sent a jolt of anticipation through him: Sophia Müller.
Not his mother—this Sophia was something else entirely. Brilliant, ambitious, and entirely self-made, she had been two years ahead of him at university, her working-class background and exceptional mind making her both an unlikely friend and an intriguing challenge.
The message was typically direct: *Back in Berlin. Drinks tonight? I have information about Steiner Bank you might find interesting.*
Maximilian typed his reply immediately: *The Monarch Bar, 9 PM. Looking forward to it.*
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, already calculating possibilities. Heinrich Steiner's banking group was old money, conservative and powerful. Information about their operations could be valuable, particularly if it revealed vulnerabilities.
As he left the conference room, Maximilian felt the weight of the castle around him—centuries of history, of careful accumulation and strategic marriages, of power maintained through upheaval and revolution. His ancestors had built something remarkable, but they had played by the rules of their times.
He would honor their legacy by breaking those rules entirely.
Outside, his Mercedes-Maybach S680 waited on the circular drive, sleek and imposing amid the gravel and stone. The contrast pleased him—tradition and innovation coexisting, the past and future in productive tension.
Five million euros. By this time next year, his father would be offering fifty.
Maximilian smiled as he slid behind the wheel. The game was finally beginning.