Chapter 3 - THE DESCENT INTO DENVER
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The descent into Denver International Airport was notoriously bumpy, especially during a winter storm, but tonight the turbulence felt like a physical manifestation of the war zone raging inside my head. Outside the reinforced cabin windows, sheets of blinding white snow whipped horizontally across the tarmac, illuminated by the harsh amber glow of runway floodlights.
Seated in row twenty-eight, I felt miles away from the privileged comfort of the first-class cabin I had abandoned three hours ago. I had spent the remainder of the flight squeezed into the middle seat between Cassandra and the twins, holding Violet while she slept, answering Luke’s endless stream of curious questions about why airplanes had wings, and memorizing every single detail of their little faces—the way their noses crinkled when they laughed, the exact shade of their hazel eyes, the soft, sweet scent of baby shampoo that somehow managed to pierce through the stale air of a commercial airliner.
Every minute I spent holding my daughter was a searing reminder of the three years I had been robbed of. Every smile Luke flashed me felt like a miracle I didn't deserve, engineered by a woman who had carried the entire burden of my absence in silence.
When the plane finally touched down with a heavy, metallic thud and taxied toward the gate, the collective sigh of relief from the passengers echoed through the cabin.
"Stay close to me," I told Cassandra as unbuckled seatbelts began to snap open across the rows. "Marcus and the acquisition team are waiting at the private terminal FBO, expecting me alone. They have no idea you're here. They have no idea I know about the forged document."
Cassandra adjusted her heavy diaper bag over her shoulder, balancing Luke on her hip with practiced, effortless grace. Her face was tense, guarded by the hard-earned armor of a mother who had spent years defending her perimeter. "Damon, if Marcus has as much power as you say he does, walking into a room full of your corporate executives with two toddlers and an estranged ex-girlfriend is tactical suicide. They'll crush us."
"Let them try," I said, my voice dropping into a dark, razor-sharp register. "Marcus thinks he's the apex predator of Prescott Technologies because I gave him the keys to the kingdom. He forgot who forged the sword."
We moved down the jet bridge amid the jostling crowd of weary holiday travelers, stepping out into the bustling terminal of Denver International. The holiday decorations—towering Christmas trees wrapped in sparkling white lights and giant red ribbons—mocked the cold, high-stakes reality of our situation.
True to form, waiting just beyond the security exit by the baggage claim was one of my regional corporate fixers—a nervous young associate named Greg whom Marcus must have sent to escort me straight to the boardroom.
Greg spotted me immediately, breaking into a brisk jog through the crowd, holding a thick leather portfolio under his arm.
"Mr. Prescott! Thank God," Greg panted, stopping short a few feet away. He blinked rapidly as he noticed Cassandra, Luke, and Violet standing right beside me. "Uh... sir? The board meeting was moved up to ten o'clock at the downtown penthouse office. The Merritt Systems executives are already there, and Mr. Vance is reviewing the final escrow sign-offs. We need to leave—"
I cut him off with a single, chilling raise of my hand.
Greg swallowed hard, finally registering the absolute lack of warmth in my expression. "Sir?"
"Greg," I said smoothly, stepping forward until I towered over the panicked associate. "Listen to me very carefully. You are going to walk back to your car, drive downtown to the penthouse, and inform Marcus Vance that the acquisition is on hold."
Greg’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "On hold? Mr. Prescott, the $780 million transfer window closes at midnight! If we don't sign tonight, Calder’s group will swoop in and—"
"I don't give a damn about Calder’s group, and I don't give a damn about the midnight window," I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave, carrying an absolute, terrifying finality. "Tell Marcus that the CEO is currently indisposed, attending to a much more critical family matter. And if he has any questions, he can wait for me in the boardroom. I'll be there as soon as I finish settling a score."
Greg looked like he was about to pass out. He glanced nervously at Cassandra, then back at me, realizing that arguing with a man possessed was an exercise in futility. "Yes, sir. I... I'll inform Mr. Vance."
"Run along, Greg," I said.
Without another word, the associate spun on his heel and bolted back toward the exit, terrified of the unpredictable monster he had just encountered.
I turned back to Cassandra. "My car is parked in the VIP executive bay. Let's go."
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice tight with anxiety.
"Not to the boardroom," I said, a grim, predatory smile touching the corners of my mouth. "We're going to my private estate in the foothills. I have a secure home server there, an independent notary public on retainer, and a digital forensics workstation that is going to pull every single email, text message, and encrypted file Marcus Vance has sent or received over the last four years. We are going to build our case before we walk into the lion's den."
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She looked at me for a long moment, searching my eyes for any trace of the old, work-obsessed Damon who had discarded her for a balance sheet. What she found there seemed to satisfy her. A slow, determined nod replaced her guarded expression.
"Lead the way, Damon," she said.
