The billionaire couldn't understand how someone he'd trusted so completely could make that choice.
His daughter visited him one evening.
He was sitting alone in his Manhattan apartment, staring toward the river.
For a while, she said nothing.
Then she sat beside him.
The chairman looked older than she remembered.
His shoulders were slightly hunched.
His expression exhausted.
Finally, he spoke.
"Did I raise him badly?"
His daughter turned toward him.
For a moment, she seemed surprised.
Then she took a breath.
"I don't know."
He stared.
She continued.
"He made his own choices."
The chairman nodded slowly.
"But I gave him power."
"Yes."
"I trusted him."
"Yes."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then his daughter added something difficult.
"You also made it hard for people to question him."
The billionaire turned toward her.
She continued carefully.
"When I raised concerns about the development, you said I didn't understand business."
He lowered his eyes.
"When independent specialists identified water risks, you called them overly cautious."
For a moment, her voice trembled.
"And when people questioned the financial arrangements, you trusted the executives who told you everything was fine."
The chairman closed his eyes.
His daughter reached for his hand.
"I'm not saying you caused what he did."
She paused.
"But you helped create an environment where the people closest to you believed they could avoid scrutiny."
For a long moment, he remained silent.
Then whispered.
"I thought I was protecting the company."
She squeezed his hand.
"I know."
He opened his eyes.
Then asked.
"How do I fix it?"
His daughter looked toward the city.
For several seconds, she considered the question.
Finally, she answered.
"Start by listening before deciding."
The chairman traveled to Japan six weeks after the restaurant incident.
His physicians had cleared him to resume ordinary travel, and he had completed the necessary interviews related to the investigation.
He didn't announce a grand tour.
He didn't invite reporters.
And he didn't arrive in the mountain village surrounded by a procession of executives.
Instead, he traveled with his daughter, two technical advisers, and a small security team.
Their destination was the tea-growing region where Naomi had spent so many afternoons with Mrs. Morita.
The landscape was beautiful.
Rows of carefully maintained tea plants followed the contours of the hills.
Narrow roads wound between small farms.
And traditional wooden houses stood beside gardens that had been tended for generations.
The chairman hadn't visited in almost fifteen years.
As the car climbed toward the village, he recognized places from his childhood.
A small bridge.
A shrine beside the road.
And a narrow path leading toward an old family tea house.
He looked through the window.
For a moment, he remembered his mother walking beside him, carrying a basket of freshly harvested leaves.