Chapter 8 - The Morning After
Christmas morning broke over the Rocky Mountains with an almost blinding brilliance.
The blizzard had blown itself out in the early hours before dawn, leaving behind a pristine, untouched world buried under three feet of crystalline white powder. The sky above Aspen was a brilliant, sapphire blue, and sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cabin, painting the cedar walls in shades of warm honey and gold.
I woke up on the massive leather sofa, something soft and warm resting heavily on my chest.
I cracked my eyes open.
Violet was curled up like a kitten directly over my heart, her thumb tucked into her mouth, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythmic peace. Her little hand was loosely curled around the button of my rumpled dress shirt.
On my left side, Luke was sprawled out across the cushions, one foot kicked over my knee, snoring softly with his mouth open. His forehead was cool to the touch. The fever had completely broken during the night.
I didn't move. I barely dared to breathe.
I had closed billion-dollar mergers, addressed world economic forums, and stood atop the glittering towers of Tokyo, London, and New York. None of it—not a single second of that manufactured glory—compared to the weight of my children sleeping on my chest in the quiet light of Christmas morning.
In the kitchen, the soft clatter of porcelain caught my attention.
Cassandra was standing by the stove, wearing an oversized gray cashmere sweater that belonged to the cabin’s owner. Her hair was tied up in a loose, messy bun, and the morning sun caught the golden highlights in her caramel strands. She was humming a soft, familiar melody—the same lullaby she used to sing when we were young, broke, and dreaming in that drafty apartment in Chicago.
She turned, holding two mugs of fresh coffee, and caught me watching her.
A slow, radiant smile spread across her lips. It was the first completely unguarded, authentic smile she had given me in three years.
“Look at you,” she whispered, walking softly across the rug so she wouldn't wake them. “The ruthless Damon Prescott, completely incapacitated by twenty-five pounds of toddler.”
“I’m pinned,” I whispered back, a grin spreading across my face. “I can't reach my phone. I can't check the markets. I am officially a hostage.”
“Good,” she murmured, setting the mugs on the heavy cedar coffee table. She sat down on the edge of the sofa near my feet, curling her legs beneath her. “Because Wall Street will survive without you for a few hours.”
I looked down at Violet’s peaceful face, then back up at Cassandra. “Robert Sterling called my private line at six this morning while you were sleeping.”
Cassandra’s smile faded slightly, replaced by quiet caution. “What did the board say?”
“The board ratified the revised acquisition unanimously at midnight,” I told her. “The SEC has already published the filing. Merritt Systems is officially an independent subsidiary of Prescott Technologies, locked into a permanent non-profit charter. The neonatal respiratory platform is protected. The first manufacturing run of the infant lung monitors rolls out to forty rural hospitals by February.”
Cassandra let out a long, trembling breath. Her eyes shimmered with fresh, happy tears. “Oh, Damon. Clara would be so proud of you.”
Hearing my sister’s name spoken with love, rather than weaponized as leverage, settled something deep and wounded within my soul. The phantom ache that had driven me to ruthless ambition for two decades finally went quiet.
“And your father?” she asked softly.
“Marcus was served with a federal subpoena at his private hangar in Aspen two hours ago,” I said plainly. “The Justice Department is investigating the forged NDAs, and our board has formally initiated a clawback of all his historical stock options. He’s done, Cassandra. He will spend the rest of his life answering to federal judges.”
Cassandra reached out, her hand resting gently on my knee, right beside Luke’s curled-up toes. Her touch was warm, grounding, and full of forgiveness.
“What happens now, Damon?” she asked. “When the snow plows clear the pass... what happens to us?”
I looked at her, letting the silence stretch between us, making sure she saw every ounce of devotion and certainty in my eyes.
“Three years ago, I let my empire take priority over my life,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I am not that man anymore, Cassandra. I don't care about the penthouse in Chicago. I don't care about the private clubs or the social registry. If you want to stay in Grand Junction near your mother, I’ll buy a house next door. If you want me to commute by train every weekend just to have dinner with them, I’ll do it. But I am never letting you struggle alone again. And I am never spending another Christmas without you three.”
Cassandra’s chin trembled. She looked down at Luke, then at Violet, before looking back into my eyes.
“Grand Junction is small,” she said softly, a playful, tearful spark returning to her voice. “And Luke has your temper. He needs room to run. And... Violet needs someone who knows how to negotiate with her elephant.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Is that an invitation?”
Before she could answer, Luke stirred, letting out a loud, theatrical yawn. He rubbed his eyes with both fists, sat straight up on the sofa, and looked around the sunlit room.
He spotted me, then looked down at his sister sleeping on my chest, and finally looked up at Cassandra.
“Mommy,” Luke announced with absolute toddler seriousness. “Santa didn't bring toys down the chimney. But he brought the big man.”
Cassandra laughed—a rich, beautiful sound that filled every corner of the cabin.
I reached out, scooped Luke up with one arm while keeping Violet secure with the other, and pulled him into a tight, warm hug against my shoulder.
“I’m not Santa, buddy,” I whispered into his hair, kissing his warm forehead.
Luke leaned back, tapped the deep dimple in my left cheek with his tiny finger, and then tapped his own.
May you like
“I know,” Luke said proudly, showing off his matching dimple. “You’re my Daddy.”
***
