There is a camellia in a courtyard in Penang that was planted in 1949. It has bloomed every year. Three generations of one family have stood in front of it.
The first generation planted it. The second pruned it. The third did not, at first, recognise it as anything more than a shrub.
Family architectures behave the same way.
A principal commissioned Legatus™ in his early sixties. The structure was built — slowly, deliberately, in the right sequence. Protego™ was lodged. The Sealed Memo™ was composed. The Private Retirement Scheme provided his executive cohort with the continuity instrument the company had lacked for fifteen years.
He did not see the third blooming. His son saw it.
When his son sat down with the family advisor for the first time, he was handed a folio that he had not known existed. Inside was a system. Not a stack of policies. A system — a Sealed Memo, a structure, a continuity protocol — designed so that he would not have to begin from zero.
He said one thing: 'My father did this for me, and I did not know.'
That is what continuity, properly designed, looks like. The first generation builds the structure. The second tends it. The third inherits not a problem, but a courtyard.
If you would like the next generation to inherit a courtyard rather than a problem, the architecture begins with a single audience. Jasmine receives founders privately, by invitation.
