Seb sighed, and his tone gentled. “All I’m trying to do is make our impact—on the planet, on the communities we operate in—less bad.”

Max did not know what to say. After several uncomfortably long moments of silence, he went with the truth. “I’m sorry I never knew all this.” He thought of Dani calling him “relentlessly honest.” He was proud that someone like her saw him that way. He was not a person who refused to see the truth when it was in front of him, who declined to take responsibility for that truth. No, that was Father.

“It’s all right,” Seb said, and suddenly Max wondered if Seb’s perpetual agreeableness wasn’t about agreeing so much as it was about self-preservation. One way to not be hurt by people was to make yourself immune to their opinions, as Max had done. But perhaps another way was to simply agree with them?

“Tell me about this garden project Father spoke of at Christmas.”

“It’s not a garden project. It’s a mining reclamation project.”

“Tell me more.”

“Essentially, it’s an answer to the question of what happens to mines when they’re not useful anymore, when they’re depleted or are no longer cost-effective to keep operating. And I hasten to add that it’s not as if this is an outrageous topic. It’s a standard part of the planning process for mines these days. I started thinking about the Lubin mine. It probably only has five profitable years left. We don’t need another call center. What are we going to do then? Abandon it?”

“Yes?”

“But what if we didn’t? What if we made it into something else? Something that kept people employed and ideally also did some good environmentally?”

“Like a charity? You could do that with an old mine?”

“Not like a charity. That’s what I can’t seem to make anyone see. It can be a legitimate business venture. It can make money. Not right away, but as with any new business, you invest at the beginning so it can be profitable later. And yes, you can do that with an old mine. You can do lots of things with old mines if you think creatively.” Seb proceeded to spin a tale of on old clay mine in Cornwall that had been transformed into an enormous domed botanical garden. “Just because this one use—mining—has run its course doesn’t mean we need to walk away.”

“That’s astounding.” Max had underestimated his brother. Probably for years. “Could we do something with a historical angle?”

“You mean a museum? Mining history? There’s no reason we couldn’t do that at one of our properties.”

“Not mining history per se. I’ve been thinking about our mines in Innsbruck, actually. What do we mine there?” He should know, but he didn’t.

“Quartz.”