The private dining room at L'Espalier maintained a careful balance between luxury and discretion. Old money Boston preferred its elegance understated, and the restaurant delivered with perfect precision. Caspian sat across from his mother, his enhanced vision cataloging subtle details as she reviewed reports on a secured tablet.
"The quantum physics project with young Stark," Carrie noted, setting the tablet aside. "Your father mentioned Dr. Pierce's concerns about experimental parameters."
"Tony's enthusiasm occasionally exceeds standard safety protocols," Caspian acknowledged, cutting his duck with careful precision. "I maintain necessary oversight."
"Much like Howard with Tobias in their early days." A ghost of amusement touched her lips. "Though they nearly destabilized reality only twice."
The waiter appeared with practiced timing, refilling water glasses and vanishing with professional efficiency. Carrie waited until his footsteps faded before continuing.
"Your progress reports from Phillips are exceptional," she said, her tone carrying the particular mix of pride and analytical assessment unique to Valemont parenting. "Though I notice you're cultivating specific social connections."
"The Marcus Wells situation resolved itself efficiently," Caspian replied. "His father's banking concerns with Valemont Enterprises provided adequate leverage."
"Indeed. And the others?"
"Standard prep school politics. Nothing requiring intervention."
Carrie studied her son with careful consideration. At seven, he already carried himself with the precise control that marked Valemont training. Yet she noted the subtle signs others would miss - the measured way he maintained friendship with Tony Stark, the careful balance of academic excellence against social dynamics.
"The Academy's winter break approaches," she said, changing subjects with practiced ease. "Your father has arranged additional training protocols."
"The enhanced vision continues to evolve," Caspian confirmed. "New mathematical patterns emerge during complex calculations."
"Yes. The latest neural scans show unprecedented integration." She paused, selecting her next words with characteristic precision. "The Valemont legacy carries certain expectations."
"Power exists to serve purpose, not ego," Caspian quoted the family maxim.
"Precisely." Carrie's tone held approval. "Your capabilities continue to exceed projections. The question becomes how best to direct such potential."
The restaurant's subtle ambiance wrapped around them, violin music providing perfect cover for private conversation. Caspian processed his mother's underlying meaning with analytical clarity. The Valemont name demanded more than mere excellence - it required perfect understanding of power's purpose.
"The A.T.L.A.S. briefings mentioned increased activity in eastern Europe," he noted, shifting to relevant intelligence matters.
"Yes. Certain patterns suggest coordinated movement. Your father's contacts report unusual technological transfers."
They continued their discussion of global security matters with practiced ease, the conversation flowing naturally between mother and son, director and heir. Around them, Boston's elite conducted their own careful social dances, unaware of the deeper currents moving beneath surface politics.