WONDERING WONDERLAND

ARISTOCRATS

Tanuja Eares Duff. His full name sounded like something lifted from the opening page of a fairy tale, printed in golden letters on the cover of a leather-bound book cracked by the passage of time. He was the seventh-generation descendant of the Eares Duff family of the Kingdom of Edinburgh. His ancestors had crossed over to New Zealand after the world wars ended on European soil, bringing their name, their antique chests, and a pride that had refused to burn away with everything else. To this day, they were regarded as one of the oldest and most respected aristocratic families, like an oak tree whose roots ran deeper than anyone's memory.

Ever since the Industrial Revolution, steel had become the lifeblood of the Eares Duff family. Their wealth could not be captured by any precise figure. Numbers were too narrow to contain something that had accumulated over centuries, passed from one hand to another like a flame that had never been allowed to die.

Tanuja had four siblings. The children of Everst Eares Duff and Moon Eares Duff had grown in different directions. Dani Eares chose coal, dark and heavy. Lanus Eares chose gemstones, small and brilliant. La Liberty, the only daughter in the family, immersed herself in the world of fashion and stitched her own name into the fabric of the industry. Meanwhile, Tanuja followed in his grandfather's footsteps, forging steel.

All five had achieved remarkable success in New Zealand, like five rivers flowing from a single spring, each taking a different course yet eventually emptying into the same sea of prosperity.

The name Eares Duff was more than a family name printed on corporate documents. It was an inheritance that came with obligations, something to be protected even when its bearer no longer had the freedom to determine the course of his own life. In a family like theirs, success did not end with the ability to make money. There was history to preserve, relationships to maintain, and a reputation that could not be allowed to crumble because of one careless decision.

Perhaps that was what had shaped Tanuja into someone slightly different from most people I knew. He was accustomed to rooms filled with influential figures, accustomed to seeing how a single decision could alter the fate of a company, even how one misplaced sentence could strain business relationships built over decades. To him, all of it was probably part of everyday life. Something he no longer needed to learn because he had witnessed it all from an intimate distance since childhood.

I myself had never truly understood what it felt like to be born with a name that commanded respect before its bearer had done anything to deserve it. To me, a good reputation was something to fight for, prove, and defend every single day. Yet for some people in this room, their family name seemed to open doors before they even had the chance to knock.

And now, at this round table, I was witnessing something rather amusing: a silent battle of stares between two people who seemed to dislike each other yet continued to maintain a cordial relationship for the sake of business.

Mrs. Saitako stared. Tanuja stared back. Between their gazes lay a carefully contained tension, like two seasoned chess players who had memorized each other's opening moves.

There was something strangely entertaining about watching them, the kind of amusement felt by a spectator who knew she was perfectly safe in her seat in the stands.

Mrs. Saitako raised her glass slightly, took a sip, then set it down again with such composure that anyone who wasn't paying attention might have assumed she had done nothing at all. But I noticed how the corner of her eye drifted toward Tanuja once more. A brief glance, almost meaningless, yet enough to tell me that whatever had been turning over in her mind, she wasn't finished with it.

Tanuja, on the other hand, appeared perfectly relaxed. He leaned back in his chair, turned his glass between his fingers, and spoke to Mr. Kenzuro as though nothing had happened. I caught fragments of their conversation: iron ore prices, the Port of Auckland, a ship delayed by two days.

His voice remained low and even, never rising once. A smile appeared from time to time, light and controlled. Had I not witnessed the way he had returned Mrs. Saitako's gaze moments earlier, I might have believed he genuinely didn't care.