Not every person rose immediately.
But the meeting chair did, followed by the others.
Naomi paused.
The change felt almost uncomfortable.
She remembered standing beside the same table while Graham spoke to her as though she were incapable of understanding the document before him.
Now she had been invited to participate because her responsibilities under the stewardship trust were directly relevant to the discussion.
She wasn't there as a symbol.
She wasn't there to be congratulated.
She was there to ask questions and help ensure that a legally significant process was carried out properly.
The new chair greeted her.
“Ms. Carter.”
She shook his hand.
“Thank you for having me.”
He gestured toward an open seat.
“Please.”
Naomi sat.
The meeting began.
Engineers described proposed changes.
Hospital representatives explained practical concerns.
Lawyers identified the provisions requiring trust review.
And financial advisers discussed the costs associated with maintaining the protected licensing arrangements while supporting continued research and development.
Naomi listened carefully.
She didn't pretend to know more engineering than the engineers.
Or more law than the attorneys.
When she didn't understand a term, she asked.
When she needed more information, she requested it.
And when somebody proposed a compromise that might weaken an important protection, she asked who would bear the cost.
At one point, a senior executive argued that certain licensing limits reduced Northstar's potential revenue.
Naomi nodded.
“I understand.”
He looked surprised.
She continued.
“Then the question is whether the proposed change is necessary to sustain the program and consistent with the obligations we're required to honor.”
The executive considered that.
Then nodded.
“That's a fair question.”
For several minutes, they discussed alternatives.
There were difficult tradeoffs.
Real costs.
And legitimate differences of opinion.
But nobody shouted.
Nobody dismissed a concern because of the person who raised it.
And nobody treated asking a difficult question as a personal insult.
Near the end, Naomi opened her father's old letter.
She didn't read all of it.
Most of the words were private.
But one sentence seemed relevant.
She looked around the table.
“Samuel Brooks wrote something I think we should remember.”
The room became quiet.
Then she read.
“The important question isn't how much money a document can make. It's who pays the price when the people signing it are wrong.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then the new chair nodded slowly.
“Thank you, Ms. Carter.”
Naomi closed the letter.
She looked toward the windows.