The man in the gray suit was still breathing.
Barely.
A doctor knelt beside him while two flight attendants cleared the aisle and ordered everyone back into their seats. I remained standing for several seconds with the photograph in my hand, staring at my father’s handwriting as though the five words might rearrange themselves into something that made sense.
Amelia. Forgive me for everything.
My sister had been born when I was four. My memories of that time were fragments: my mother crying behind a locked bedroom door, my father disappearing for days, adults lowering their voices whenever I entered a room. Then came the tiny white coffin I had never been allowed to approach. Richard told me Amelia had lived for eleven days. My mother never discussed her again.
For thirty-two years, I had believed that story.
But the photograph in my hand was recent. My father was already gray, visibly older than he had been when I started Prescott Technologies. The woman beside him looked to be in her early thirties.
Exactly the age Amelia would be.
“Sir.”
The doctor’s voice pulled me back.
“He’s conscious, but only briefly.”
I crouched beside the gray-haired man. His face had turned almost colorless, but the moment his eyes found mine, recognition appeared.
“Damon Prescott.”
“You know me.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“I knew you before you knew yourself.”
“Who are you?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Why have you been following Cassandra?”
His expression changed.
“I wasn’t following her.”
“You appeared outside her apartment and her children’s daycare.”
“I was watching for someone else.”
“Who?”
His breathing became uneven.
“Your father made enemies.”
“My father is dead.”
Daniel gave a weak, almost bitter laugh.
“That doesn’t mean his enemies stopped.”
I held up the photograph.
“Is Amelia alive?”
His eyes closed.
“Ask your mother.”
The words struck harder than anything else he had said.
“My mother died eighteen years ago.”
His eyes opened again.
“No.”
One word.
One impossible word.
“My mother died of cancer.”
“Your mother disappeared.”
My fists tightened.
“You’re lying.”
“Richard was very good at making people disappear without killing them.”
The doctor reached for my shoulder.
“That’s enough. He needs oxygen.”
But Daniel suddenly caught my sleeve.
“The drive.”
I froze.
“How do you know about the flash drive?”
“Richard gave it to Cassandra because he knew eventually you would find her.”
“Why didn’t he give it to me?”
Daniel looked past me toward row twenty-eight.
Toward Luke and Violet.
“Because you weren’t ready to choose them.”
A chill moved through me.
“Choose them over what?”
Daniel’s fingers loosened.
“Prescott.”
His hand dropped.
The doctor immediately pushed me away and leaned over him.
I returned to Cassandra with the photograph still clenched in my hand. She had heard enough to understand that whatever Richard Prescott had hidden was larger than either of us had imagined.
Violet suddenly reached toward me.
Not toward Cassandra.
Toward me.
I hesitated before lifting her from the seat. She settled against my chest, her stuffed elephant trapped between us, and rested her cheek beneath my collarbone.
Something inside me nearly collapsed.
“What happens now?” Cassandra asked.
“We land. Daniel goes to a hospital. You and the twins come somewhere secure. Then I find out what’s on that drive.”
“And Denver?”
As if summoned by the question, my phone connected briefly to the aircraft Wi-Fi.
A message appeared.
Merritt accepted Calder’s offer. Acquisition terminated.
Nine months of negotiations disappeared in three words.
Acquisition terminated.
Yesterday, losing a $780 million deal would have felt catastrophic.
Now I stared at Violet sleeping against my chest and felt almost nothing.
“I lost Merritt.”
Cassandra studied me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
The answer surprised both of us.
We landed in Salt Lake City forty minutes later. Paramedics removed Daniel first. Airport authorities questioned several passengers, but the doctor believed he had suffered a cardiac event, and there was no evidence anyone had attacked him.
I made one call.
Naomi Chen.
My chief cybersecurity officer answered on the second ring.
“Damon, where the hell are you? The board has been trying to reach you. Calder closed Merritt because you—”
“I need you in Salt Lake City.”
Silence.
“I have an encrypted drive that belonged to my father.”
Another silence.
Naomi had worked for Richard before joining my team. Very little frightened her.
This did.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why Salt Lake?”
I looked through the terminal glass at Cassandra holding Luke’s hand while Violet slept against her shoulder.
“I found my children.”
Naomi said nothing for several seconds.
Then her voice softened.
“I’m coming.”
We checked into a private hotel near the airport under Cassandra’s surname.
For the next hour, my life became almost absurdly ordinary.
Luke discovered that repeatedly opening and closing the curtains made him laugh. Violet removed everything from a drawer and arranged it across the carpet. Cassandra ordered sandwiches neither child ate.
I sat on the floor in a suit worth more than Cassandra’s monthly rent while my son tried to teach me how to draw an elephant.
Then Luke suddenly climbed into my lap.
“Are you staying?”
I looked at him.
The question was simple only to a child.
For me, it contained three lost years.
I glanced at Cassandra. She said nothing.
“Yes.”
Luke frowned.
“Tomorrow too?”
My throat tightened.
“Tomorrow too.”
He smiled, satisfied.
That dimple appeared again.
Mine.
After the twins finally fell asleep, Cassandra and I sat beside the hotel window.
“You loved your father,” she said.
“I spent most of my life trying to become him.”
“And now?”
I looked at the black flash drive lying between us.
“Now I’m terrified I succeeded.”
Naomi arrived shortly after two in the morning carrying two laptops and enough equipment to turn the small desk into a forensic workstation.
It took her forty-seven minutes to penetrate the first encryption layer.
Then she stopped.
“What?”
“There’s another authentication system.”
“Password?”
“Biometric.”
“Richard’s?”
Naomi looked at me.
“Yours.”
I sat before the laptop.
The camera activated.
A white frame surrounded my face.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED: DAMON R. PRESCOTT.
A folder opened.
Hundreds of files appeared.
Medical records.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
Legal agreements.
And one video file sat above everything else.
Its title made Cassandra inhale sharply.
FOR DAMON — ONLY AFTER HE FINDS THE TWINS.
I clicked it.
My father appeared on the screen.
He looked thin. Sick. Much older than the Richard Prescott I wanted to remember.
For several seconds, he simply stared into the camera.
Then he spoke.
“Damon, if you are watching this, Cassandra succeeded where I failed. She kept Luke and Violet away from the Prescott family long enough for you to find them yourself.”
Cassandra covered her mouth.
My father continued.
“You will hate me for what I did to her. You should. But hiding your children was not the worst thing I did.”
He lowered his eyes.
When he looked back at the camera, they were wet.
I had never seen my father cry.
“Amelia did not die as an infant.”
My fingers tightened around the desk.
“She is alive.”
I stopped breathing.
Then came the second blow.
“So is your mother.”
Cassandra whispered my name, but I couldn’t answer.
Richard leaned closer to the camera.
“They disappeared because of something Prescott Technologies buried thirty-two years ago. And if the truth becomes public, people you trust will do anything necessary to keep it buried.”
Naomi went completely still.
Then my father said something that changed the meaning of the deal I had just lost.
“The neonatal technology you were trying to acquire from Merritt Systems was never Merritt’s invention.”
He paused.
“It belonged to your mother.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Then three hard knocks struck the hotel door.
Cassandra immediately moved toward the bedroom where the twins were sleeping. Naomi closed the laptop.
I approached the door and looked through the peephole.
A woman stood outside.
Early thirties.
Sandy-brown hair.
And unmistakable green eyes.
My eyes.
She raised her face toward the door.
“Damon,” she said.
“My name is Amelia.”
My hand froze against the lock.
Then she spoke again.
“And if you want Cassandra and your children to survive Christmas morning, you need to let me in right now.”
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