Cassandra pulled a thick bundle of envelopes from her bag.
They were tied together with a faded blue ribbon, the kind of ribbon that looked as though it had been untied and retied dozens of times. Some envelopes were creased at the corners. Others had small stains across the paper. But what made my stomach tighten was the handwriting on the front.
My name.
Damon Prescott.
My old Portland address appeared beneath it.
I reached for the bundle, but Cassandra hesitated before letting go.
“What are these?”
“The first one was written three days after I found out I was pregnant.”
I stared at her.
She looked toward Luke and Violet. Luke had returned to coloring, blissfully unaware that his entire life had just shifted beneath our feet. Violet was rubbing one ear of her stuffed elephant between her fingers.
“I called you first,” Cassandra continued quietly. “Your number had changed. I emailed you. The messages bounced back. Then I went to your apartment.”
“I moved to Seattle for the expansion.”
“I know that now.”
Her words landed with quiet accusation.
I opened the first envelope.
Across the front, stamped in red, were two words.
RETURN TO SENDER.
My pulse accelerated.
The second envelope carried the same stamp.
So did the third.
“How many?”
“Eleven.”
I looked up sharply.
“You sent me eleven letters?”
“Over seven months.”
My mind raced backward through those years. Seattle. Investors. Eighteen-hour workdays. New assistants. New phone. New apartment. A company growing so quickly that everything from my old life had been handled by employees whose names I sometimes barely remembered.
“But Prescott Technologies had a forwarding address.”
“I know.”
Something in Cassandra’s voice made me stop.
She removed another envelope.
This one was different.
It had been opened.
My name was written across the front, but there was no postal stamp.
“I delivered this one personally.”
My fingers went cold.
“To where?”
“Your Seattle office.”
I remembered that building perfectly. Glass walls. Forty-second floor. The place where I had practically lived during Prescott Technologies’ first major expansion.
“Who did you give it to?”
Cassandra studied my face as if deciding whether I could survive the answer.
“Your father.”
I stopped breathing.
Richard Prescott had died fourteen months earlier.
For most of my life, he had been the architect behind every decision I made. He had taught me that love distracted, hesitation destroyed opportunity, and successful men sacrificed whatever weaker men were afraid to lose.
He had hated Cassandra.
Not because she had done anything wrong.
Because she reminded me there was a life outside Prescott Technologies.
“What did he say?”
“That you didn’t want to see me.”
My jaw tightened.
“He said you knew about the pregnancy?”
Cassandra nodded.
“He told me you had already moved on. He said you were preparing for an international expansion and that a family would destroy everything you had worked for.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I know that now.”
“Why?”
Her eyes finally met mine.
“Because before he died, Richard sent me something.”
Before I could ask what, Luke suddenly leaned against my arm.
“Are you really our daddy?”
Every word inside me disappeared.
Cassandra closed her eyes.
Luke waited.
I crouched slightly so we were eye level.
“I think I am.”
His little forehead wrinkled.
“You think?”
A broken laugh escaped Cassandra despite the tears in her eyes.
I swallowed.
“No. I know I am.”
Luke considered this with extraordinary seriousness.
Then he handed me his red crayon.
“You can use this one.”
I stared at that ridiculous crayon and felt something inside me crack open.
My phone vibrated.
The Denver deal.
I ignored it.
Cassandra noticed.
“You should answer.”
“No.”
“Damon, whatever is happening between us doesn’t erase your company.”
“And my company doesn’t erase this.”
For the first time, she looked genuinely shaken.
My phone vibrated again.
Then again.
Finally I pulled it out.
Four missed calls from my chief operating officer.
One message.
Calder increased his offer. Merritt’s board wants confirmation within twenty minutes. If you don’t join the call, we lose the deal.
Seven hundred eighty million dollars.
Nine months of negotiations.
Hundreds of employees waiting.
I looked at Luke.
Then Violet.
Then Cassandra.
I typed four words.
Proceed without my signature.
I pressed send.
Cassandra stared at me.
“What did you just do?”
“Something I should have learned to do three years ago.”
Her expression hardened instead of softening.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Turn us into some grand sacrifice so you can feel like a better man.”
That hurt because she was right.
I put the phone away.
“Then tell me about my father.”
For several seconds she said nothing. Finally she reached into the inner pocket of her bag and removed a small black flash drive.
“Richard mailed this to me six weeks before he died.”
I stared at it.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never opened it?”
“It’s encrypted.”
The plane lights dimmed around us as we flew over the mountains.
“Why bring it tonight?”
“Because yesterday someone called me.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He told me not to take the twins to Denver.”
I looked toward the dark windows.
“Did he threaten you?”
Cassandra shook her head.
“That’s the strange part.”
“What did he say?”
Her fingers tightened around the flash drive.
“He said, ‘If Damon sees the children, Richard Prescott’s secret dies with all of you.’”
Then Violet suddenly pointed past me toward first class.
“Mama.”
Cassandra turned.
A man stood several rows away.
Gray suit. Silver hair. Phone held loosely beside his leg.
The instant Cassandra saw him, every trace of color disappeared from her face.
“That’s him,” she whispered.
“The man who called me.”
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