Nan had few friends, a number that dwindled even further after Toby's death. Grayson, though lacking the daring of his younger siblings, tried his best to hold the family together. He was grateful that Nan still had a few steadfast friends, individuals as stubborn as she was, who refused to let her withdraw. Among these loyal companions was your grandmother.

Your grandmother was a woman of unyielding will, the heiress to a vast and intricate fortune. Her family, many generations ago, had begun diversifying their income, a practice they continued to this day. The origins of their millions were a complex web, though Grayson suspected you, with your sharp intellect, might understand them. He harbored a begrudging respect for you, standing metaphorically and physically at your grandmother's side, and named her heir by the time you were seven.

You and Grayson's rivalry began when you were both six. Both of you were rather stuck-up, wealthy children who, upon meeting each other's gaze over bowls of yogurt, instantly decided you disliked each other. Despite this initial animosity, Nan would often have your grandmother over, both women saying 'Grow up' to complaining children dressed and groomed for the 'playdate'.

It only took two visits for you to define the game. First, it was hide-and-seek, the loser forced to declare the winner's superiority aloud. Next came increasingly intricate riddles, or relentless begging until Tobias orchestrated elaborate treasure hunts to determine who was better. No matter the game—no matter how complicated or even dangerous—the two of you would relentlessly fight for the winning streak. One week, you’d stand triumphant, a captured rook clutched in your hand, while the next, he'd brandish a sheet covered in solved equations, a smug grin plastered across his face. From intricate chess matches played on the antique board in Nan’s study to elaborate treasure hunts orchestrated by a long-suffering Tobias, every encounter became a battle of wits, a relentless pursuit of the winning streak that neither of you truly grew out of.

Of course, as you got older, responsibilities mounted, and eventually your grandmothers stopped calling them 'playdates,' and later still, stopped forcing your attendance. You transferred to a separate school, and both of you made it a personal mission to dominate whenever your two private schools inevitably met for any form of tournament.

Grayson, like you, had assumed the childish rivalry had faded with adolescence. But every challenge, every new endeavor, simply rekindled that familiar competitive fire. Each year-end tally, without fail, revealed the same infuriating result: a perfect tie.

Finally, leaving school, you both began to work within the family companies. Him, within the charity, you within the complex weavings that was the line of family-own art museums. There was no longer competition, besides the occasional verbal sparring at family dinners. And, hate to admit it, Grayson missed it.