“I’m not my father,” Alfred smiles disarmingly. As though it were a fundamental, undisputed truth of the universe. “My old man would rather be shot than let go of his empire, sure. He’d like to think the Atlantic Charter applies only to Europe, not his colonies.” A flash of an almost impish smile, breaking through. “But as you surely know, I’m not the most filial son. And right now, it’s me who keeps the mighty British Empire's head above the water. I can just as easily let go. And he knows it.”
“You, challenging your father over his empire?” Yao wonders if the irony could come any thicker. “You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe. At least, when it comes to my part of the world.”
"Oh, but I will," Alfred insists. His smile never wavers, bright and gregarious and shark-like. "If that old fool stands in the way of my vision. In the way of progress."