“We had no idea that you were the scion of House Brugh,” said a rather plump woman as she sat next to her thin and wiry husband. He didn’t look particularly thrilled to be here.


    “I didn’t make it obvious, I hope.” Willem smiled. “It wasn’t relevant, then. But for the Society of Assured Prosperity, there’s a need to establish legitimacy. Beyond the van Brugh name, this building was also provided to me by Countess Anne Claire van der Duyn, a founding member of our mutual aid society. The count’s office has established charters lending us authority to operate in Gent, and the church has personal oversight of our operations. They also provided the financial information, which I’ve taken upon myself to draft a preliminary membership agreement well-suited for your financial situation.”


    The thin man scoffed. “The church. Of course.”


    Willem slid the document over, then stared at the man. “I’m sensing some reservations. Regardless of how the information came into my possession, the short and narrow of it is this; do you love your wife?” He looked at her, giving her his best smile. “Would you like to be sure that she’s always taken care of by your community, by our society? Death can come suddenly. While the number may seem large at first glance, it’s a small price to pay for assured prosperity.”


    The man read through the contract, studying the figure listed. He looked at Willem’s smiling face, then at his wife, whose chubby-cheeked smile seemed a great deal more dangerous. With a bead of sweat running down his forehead, he signed it and gave a forced smile.


    The first signature, and then the next clients.


    “This is a great deal of money to pay a glorified executor of my will,” complained a thick, barrel-chested man. “I could get the merchant’s guild to do this.”


    Willem looked to his wife, but could tell she deferred to him. He refocused on the man. “There are benefits you could enjoy now.”


    “Such as?” He narrowed his eyes.


    “We would loan out held money to preserve its value as the crown mints more coins,” Willem explained. “Society members would be the primary beneficiaries of these loans, getting access to preferential interest rates and clauses in the debt that waive any right to indentured servitude in the event of a catastrophic default.”


    “Interesting.” He reexamined the document. “My wife is rather shy. I’d like you to see to it that the society members treat her well.”


    “Of course.” Willem smiled. “You can rest easy.”


    Another signature, another sum of money, another new client.


    “Is it true that Countess Anne Claire is a member?” a well-dressed woman inquired, having come without her husband.


    “Yes, she’s a founding member. We speak quite often, and she’s expressed some intent to have a personal hand in managing the society.”


    “Well…” the woman hesitated. “How often would we actually meet? I mean, what do society meetings entail?”


    Willem grasped the question behind the question, and clasped his hands above his desk. “The Society of Assured Prosperity is just beginning, but it’s only natural for its members to have access to certain exclusive events. I’ve been very rigorous about our selection process to ensure we only have high-class, wealthy clientele. I assure you; you’ll be able to attend events that are the envy of even capital nobles.”


    The woman’s eyes seemed to glow, and she retrieved a gargantuan bag. “I brought all of the gold. Give me the contract.”


    “It’s right here,” he said, sliding the paper over. “A pleasure.”


    Willem opened the bag, peering into the shining brilliance. Perhaps gold wasn’t so bad after all.


    ***


    “Three clients have already agreed to pay the annual fee once we work out the details. The bigger news is this: thirty-four others have agreed to attend the first monthly meeting as ‘provisionary members.’” Willem picked his cup of tea off the saucer, staring into the amber liquid. “It makes sense. Three were interested in the service, but the rest? They want to see if this organization is as credible as it presents itself to be before making commitments. Tomorrow I’ve got two more potential clients. It’s been quite the start.”


    Willem, Dirk, and Anne Claire all sat at a table. Dirk looked exhausted, while Willem looked rather at his best.


    “How did you get them to agree so readily?” Anne Claire asked, surprised.


    “Ample legitimacy, proper preparation, and the core of it all—I gave people something they were already looking for. Nobles have laws and a suite of servants to settle inheritance, but wealthy merchants? They’re underserved. Local guilds handle most of those matters, but that has its own problems. We might become a little more heavily involved in settling estates than I’d intended, but the society members themselves will be able to pick up some slack.”


    Anne Claire beamed at him. “You work very quickly, my boy. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t come to me for help getting your first members. Nevertheless, you’ve quite the knack for getting these merchants to crawl out of their homes. I’ve heard from the guards that you’ve been making quite the stir as a precocious lad, but I never expected it was to this extent.”


    “Dirk is the salesman,” Willem said plainly, patting the man’s back. His servant jumped, then grabbed his shoulder with a wince. “I just push them over the edge. He gets them to come to me—that’s the hard part.”A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    “Really?” Anne Claire looked at him. “You, young man?”


    “Yes, my lady,” he answered respectfully, straightening his posture. “I’ve found that telling them the story about how my father died, and how I’ve needed to work since I was very young to take care of my siblings, works wonders.”


    “Dirk’s smart. He learns quickly,” Willem praised unabashedly. “He’s harmless and unassuming, evoking images of an orphaned child. I suppose he is a literal orphan, although I had no idea. He’s done well for himself in spite of that.”


    “Not an orphan. My mother’s alive.” Dirk shook his head.


    “Ah.” Willem pursed his lips. “You’re slightly less impressive than I said. Forgive me.”


    “Thanks. Thank you.” Dirk nodded with a bitter smile.


    Anne Claire elegantly sipped her tea—she’d grown used to their banter. “I’m pleased it’s working out well. Do you have any idea how far intend to take this?”


    “I’m not sure. The list I gave to Dirk has a little over a hundred households he could seek out, but it’s unreasonable to expect all of those families to get involved. That first event could make prospective clients eager, or ward them away entirely.” He looked at Anne Claire. “On that note, I may have volunteered you for something.”


    “And what is that?” She looked at him patiently, not upset at all.


    “You said you wanted to be involved. I thought it would be best if you chaired the monthly society gatherings. I can handle parties fine if you’re unwilling, but I imagine you’re quite adroit at it.” Willem set his teacup down without having a single drink. “In time, I imagine these meetings could be hosted at other society member’s homes. A few of them seem to enjoy showing off their wealth, and they’d like to form connections. But for now, could you…?”


    “Certainly. I can bring some friends who might be interested, as well.” Anne Claire nodded.


    “That’s more than I can ask for. Thank you, Anne Claire.” Willem leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “We’ve got the baseline offering set up. We’re ahead of the pack. But I want to be one step ahead. I anticipate other people will try and emulate this idea.”


    “What?” Dirk looked at him. “You really think so?”


    “Absolutely. We have the advantage of being the first movers, but ideas spread fast. People are smart, resourceful, talented. Above all, they smell the scent of money. We have to build a moat, ere the wolves grow hungry.” Willem’s gaze grew distant, as if in daydream. “I want us to be trusted, to be reliable. When people think of safety and security, I want them to think ‘Society of Assured Prosperity.’ I want our members to hold their heads up high and say with pride their association. I want our organization to be the very first they consider. It should permeate the nation’s collective minds, and some beyond it. I want market share in people’s minds.”


    Dirk seemed to get it—in something like insurance, customer trust would be invaluable for business. Willem had mentioned the idea of a sustainable competitive advantage in the past. Anne Claire, meanwhile, looked at Willem like he was a precious little angel with noble ideas.


    “Once Dirk’s exhausted the list of names, I want to focus on branding. I want to have something prepared at the first gathering.” Willem leaned in, speaking his thoughts without filter. “It needs to signal the core of what the society is about, needs to be eye-catching, needs to be memorable. The idea I had was just SAP, in bold letters, but I’ve no idea. I’m no artist.”


    Dirk pondered that, but Anne Claire tapped her fan against the palm of her hand.


    “I may be able to help,” the dowager countess said. “There’s a workshop that deals in heraldry. They generally work a house’s heraldry into something like a weapon, a tablecloth, or what have you… but I think it could apply well to this situation.”


    Willem perked up. “Really? I don’t recall hearing about a place like that locally. It’s not outside Gent, is it?”


    “No, it’s here. They don’t open their doors to the public—they’re for nobles only, after all. But with a word from me, they should see you,” Anne Claire said proudly. “They certainly can’t refuse a visit from the scion of House van Brugh when I tell them to.”


    “I’m certainly glad I came here to Gent, first,” Willem said with a smile.


    “I’m of the same mind, my boy. I only wish I could come around more often.” She sighed, betraying some exhaustion. “I’m dealing with some troubles.”


    Willem frowned. “What’s troubling you?”


    “Persistent cockroaches. Blond rats,” Anne Claire explained. “They keep coming back, no matter what I do. It’s quite vexing. They haven’t done anything too disruptive, but I’ve learned it’s best to deal with them before they become a problem.” She took what could only be described as an angry sip of tea. “But I’ve a plan. Don’t worry, my boy.”


    ***


    Lennard looked up at the walls of Gent, taking a deep breath of fatigue. The past week, he and the majordomo had been riding on horseback heading to this city. He certainly hadn’t dared to ask his father to use the enchanted carriage after the tremendous rage he’d seen on his face. He thought the biggest obstacle would be persuading Willem to return—or worse yet, handle the fallout if his brother had already spent the gold he’d taken.


    Instead, he hadn’t even been allowed entry into the city.


    All sorts of thoughts ran through Lennard’s head when the guards requested he remain outside, but most of them led back to Willem. He’d arrived here first—he’d been the first to speak to their sister, Catharina, and the first to tell his story. The more conspiratorial notions Lennard conjured revolved around this being a deliberate plot by the van der Duyns to get their stockpile of gold, but that was so far-fetched as to be insane.


    Whatever the case, the count of Gent surely wouldn’t want to cause a diplomatic incident. The king, in order to foster cohesion and improve aura strength in strategic portions of the realm, had arranged the marriage between their two houses. If it reached His Majesty that Gent was denying entry to a member of House van Brugh, it could become a problem for them. To that end, Lennard had been camping outside the walls—not too forceful, but enough to demonstrate his unwillingness to back down.


    Yet… four days had passed. Each day, he was refused entry. It was only today that the countess had agreed to meet him—yet even then, she would be meeting him outside the city. It was insulting, but Lennard had no leverage.


    His father’s majordomo rushed up to Lennard as he stared up. “They’ve come, young lord. The countess’ knights, I mean. She’s waiting in the gatehouse.”


    Lennard nodded without responding, then turned to where the majordomo pointed out. Cresting the hill concealing their camp, he laid eyes upon the knights. He could feel the aura within their bodies with one look at them. They were both a fair amount weaker than he was, but considering the van Brugh family was a martial house, that meant they were probably the best knights in the county. Lennard didn’t like the implications.


    Nevertheless, he followed the knights. True to their word, they took him to the gatehouse. When they opened the door, he expected to see his sister. Instead, he saw a well-dressed old woman fanning herself.


    “Lennard van Brugh,” greeted the woman. “I am Dowager Countess Anne Claire.” She snapped her fan shut forcefully. “Have a seat.”