William was in the middle of reviewing seed funding applications when his phone rang. It was Mr. Henderson, the head of history at Saint Jude’s Prep.
“Mr. Croft,” the teacher sounded hesitant. “I’m calling about Leo’s term paper.”
“Is there a problem?” William asked, leaning back in his chair. “Did he not turn it in?”
“No, he turned it in early,” Henderson said. “The prompt was to analyze a historical leader. Most boys chose Churchill or Lincoln. Leo chose… Machiavelli. And the essay–he titled it *The Necessity of Fear in Leadership*.”
William went still.
“He argues that love is a volatile variable,” Henderson continued, reading from the paper. “‘Love creates dependency. Fear creates structure. A leader who seeks to be loved invites chaos; a leader who is feared ensures order. Mercy is a luxury of the powerless.’”
The silence on the line was heavy.
“Mr. Croft,” the teacher whispered. “It’s brilliant. Truly. But it is… deeply disturbing for a twelve-year-old. It reads like a manifesto.”
William hung up the phone. He looked out the window at the skyline his family had built. He thought he had buried Alistair. But as he replayed the words–*Mercy is a luxury of the powerless*–he realized with a sick feeling that Alistair wasn’t dead. He was being reborn in his son.