Strawberry's Descent

Mr. Saturnus sat alone in his office long after his analysts had gone for the day, the accumulated reports of the past several months spread across his desk in an untidy, discouraging sprawl.

Every figure told the same story, however he arranged them. Vendor relocations continuing steadily. Loan volume shifting further toward Low-Key Financing with each passing week. The Consortium's own reserves, which he'd always considered secure, were now showing undeniable strain for the first time in longer than he could remember.

He stroked his mustache slowly, staring at the numbers, weighing the two paths actually available to him.

He could continue the fight. Dig in further, cut costs wherever possible, weather the losses on pure institutional stubbornness, and hope, against increasingly thin odds, that Nettle's own resources eventually buckled before his did. The Consortium had survived challenges before. Perhaps it would survive this one too, given enough disciplined, grinding patience.

Or he could do something he had never once, in his career, seriously contemplated.

He could actually go and talk to her.

...The bitter end serves nobody, he thought, tired. Least of all me.

He rang for his advisor and dictated a brief letter.

"I would like to request a meeting. In person, if you're willing. I believe we have things to discuss that a rate war alone will not resolve."

He sent the man to deliver it directly to the Low-Key guild's main branch. The advisor returned within the hour, direct about the reply he'd been given.

"She said tomorrow, sir. Her main branch. Whenever suits you."

Saturnus nodded and dismissed him.

He arrived at Low-Key Financing the following afternoon, mustache impeccably groomed despite everything, greeted by Nettle herself, waiting with the same easy, unbothered confidence she'd carried through the entire conflict.

"Mr. Saturnus," she said, warm despite months of open competition between them. "I appreciate you coming."

"I appreciate you agreeing to see me," he said, settling into the offered seat, composure carefully intact despite the visible effort it took. "Since this all started, I've assumed this was a war I could simply outlast. I have recently concluded that assumption was, in hindsight, mistaken."

"That's an honest admission," Nettle said. "I wasn't expecting quite that much candor."

"I find candor less costly than continued pride, at this juncture," Saturnus said, dry. "I did not come here to concede defeat outright. I came to ask whether we might stop draining both our reserves."

"You've seen your reserves," Nettle said.

Saturnus adjusted his mustache. "Then allow me to speak for mine."

Nettle weighed that a moment. "I'm listening."

"The Consortium has generations of established trust with certain populations you have not yet fully reached," Saturnus said, careful. "Older, more traditional clientele, particularly among the Elven Court and portions of the Dwarven Republic, who remain hesitant toward newer institutions regardless of terms offered. That trust is not nothing. It could be useful to you, properly extended."

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"And what would you tell those clients about us?" Nettle asked.

"That would depend on what we agree here."

"Then let's start there."

Saturnus considered his own terms a moment before committing to them. "My people currently describe Low-Key Financing as unproven. Occasionally as reckless. I would need to correct that, publicly, if this arrangement is to mean anything at all. My clients would need to hear, from me, that you are a legitimate institution rather than an upstart to be waited out."

"That's a start," Nettle said. "I'd want it in writing, not just said once and forgotten by your senior staff the following week."

"I can arrange that."

"Good." She considered him a moment. "I'd also want to know what happens to this conversation once you leave. I'd prefer not to read tomorrow that the great Merchant's Consortium generously agreed to tolerate its upstart competitor."

"I would prefer not to discover my visit has become an advertisement by tomorrow, either. I have a reputation of my own to consider, whatever remains of it."

Nettle glanced toward the door. "I can agree to that."

"You paused."

"I was considering the wording. My guild talks. I can ask them to be discreet about the details. I can't promise nobody mentions you were here at all."

"That is fair," Saturnus allowed. "I would ask the same restraint of my own people, in turn."

"Then we're square on that much," Nettle said. "What about the vendors who already left?"

Saturnus's expression sharpened slightly, the first real edge she'd seen from him all afternoon. "I was going to ask the same. Would you be willing to encourage their return?"

"Would you encourage your remaining vendors to come here instead?"

He was quiet for a moment. "No."

"Then we understand each other," Nettle said. "I'm not going to tell people who chose me to go back to you. If you want them back, give them a reason to return."

"Then I reserve the right to make them a better offer."

"That's all I'm asking," Nettle said. "If a vendor prefers your offer, they go to you. If they prefer mine, they come here. Neither of us punishes them for choosing."

"Agreed."

"Good." Nettle reached for a blank sheet from her own desk. "Then let's actually write this down, rather than trusting either of our memories in six months."

Saturnus reached into his coat and produced a folded set of papers of his own. "I took the liberty of drafting terms in advance. I did not want to arrive here empty-handed, whatever the outcome of this conversation turned out to be."

Nettle raised an eyebrow. "You came prepared."

"I wrote several proposals," Saturnus admitted. "This was the least presumptuous of them."

She took the papers, scanning the first page with quick, practiced attention. "I'll want Dorric to review the actual language before anything's signed. He handles that better than I do."

"My own advisor will do the same, on our side." Saturnus inclined his head slightly. "I would expect nothing less from either of us, at this point."

Nettle extended a hand.

"Then I think we can find terms both our institutions can live with," she said, shaking on it firmly. "No more rate wars. Just two institutions competing on merit."

Saturnus shook her hand. "Thank you. For the meeting. And for not making this any more humiliating than it strictly needed to be."

"You earned a fair hearing," Nettle said, simply.

Saturnus rose, then paused beside his chair. "There is one thing I would still like to know."

"How much longer I could have kept going?" Nettle asked.

"Precisely. Would you show me your actual reserves?" He winced. "An absurd request. I withdraw it."

"No, it's fine," Nettle said, already pulling up her own account interface. "Here."

Saturnus blinked, startled by the immediate compliance. "You're actually going to show me."

"Sure," Nettle said, turning the screen toward him. "Why not? The fight's over."

Saturnus leaned in, expecting a number.

[Personal Account — Nettle]Current Balance: I am doing fine.

He stared at it for a long moment, certain he was somehow misreading the display.

"I'm sorry," he said. "What does this say?"

"'I am doing fine,'" Nettle read aloud, cheerful. "That's my balance."

"That is not a number."

"It's not," Nettle confirmed.

"That is your personal account."

"Yes. Dorric keeps the guild ledgers down to the last coin. I set my own account to display that instead."

"So you do know whether you could have outlasted me."

"Oh, yes."

Saturnus looked at the display again. "I see."

"Doing fine," Nettle said.