PART 2.
“They’re yours.”
The words stayed between us like something alive.
I stared at Luke.
At Violet.
At the two children who had existed for years without me.
Children whose first steps I missed.
Whose birthdays I never celebrated.
Whose Christmas mornings I never knew existed.
Then Cassandra placed the old envelope in my hand.
“This is the reason I never told you,” she whispered.
The paper was yellowed slightly at the edges, creased through the middle, and soft from being opened too many times.
But I barely noticed any of that.
I was staring at the name written across the front.
Elias Prescott.
My father.
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
My father had been dead for eighteen months.
There were buildings in three cities with his name engraved into stone.
A scholarship fund carried his initials.
Business magazines still quoted him as though he had been some kind of prophet.
To the world, Elias Prescott had been a visionary.
To me, he had been something far more complicated.
The man who taught me never to show fear.
Never to hesitate.
Never to let emotion interfere with a decision.
And now his name was sitting in my hands on an envelope Cassandra had hidden for three years.
I looked up.
“What did my father have to do with this?”
Cassandra glanced toward Luke and Violet.
Luke had returned to coloring, though I could tell from the way his crayon had stopped moving that he was listening.
Violet hugged the gray elephant beneath her chin.
Cassandra lowered her voice.
“Not here.”
My fingers tightened around the envelope.
“You just told me I have two children.”
“I know.”
“You disappeared while you were pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You let me spend three years believing you left because you didn’t love me anymore.”
Her eyes flickered.
“That was the point.”
Something cold moved through me.
“The point?”
The airplane hummed around us.
Christmas lights had been wrapped around the divider near the galley.
Somewhere farther back, someone laughed.
It felt obscene that the world was still normal.
Cassandra reached across the small table.
“Damon, please.”
I pulled my hand away.
“Don’t.”
Her face tightened.
I hated that I still recognized every expression she made.
The tiny crease between her brows when she was frightened.
The way she pressed her lips together when she was trying not to cry.
The way her left hand curled when she wanted to reach for me but didn’t know if she was allowed.
Three years had passed.
And my body remembered her before my mind could stop it.
I looked back down at the envelope.
“Can I open it?”
Cassandra swallowed.
“You should.”
So I did.
Inside was a single sheet of thick cream paper.
My father’s stationery.
His initials embossed at the top.
The handwriting was his.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Unmistakable.
I began reading.
Cassandra Hayes,
By the time you receive this, I expect you understand the seriousness of your situation.
My son has responsibilities greater than either of you seem capable of appreciating.
You will leave him.
You will not tell him you are pregnant.
You will not contact him afterward.
In exchange, I will ensure that you and the children are provided for.
If you refuse, certain information regarding your mother’s foundation will be given to federal investigators.
I stopped.
Looked at Cassandra.
“What foundation?”
She closed her eyes.
“My mother’s charity.”
“I know what it was.
What information?”
“She made mistakes.”
“What kind of mistakes?”
“Financial ones.”
I stared at her.
Cassandra’s mother had run a small housing charity in Philadelphia.
I remembered fundraisers in church basements, donated furniture stacked inside garages, Cassandra spending weekends painting apartments for women escaping abusive homes.
“What mistakes?”
I repeated.
Cassandra rubbed one thumb over the other.
“My mother trusted the wrong accountant.
Funds were moved between accounts without proper documentation.
Some grants were filed incorrectly.
Nothing was stolen, but on paper it looked terrible.”
“And my father threatened her with prison?”
“He threatened an investigation.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It was to my mother.”
I looked back at the letter.
The next paragraph was worse.
Damon will survive heartbreak.
He may not survive allowing sentiment to destroy what generations of this family built.
If you care for him, you will understand the difference.
At the bottom was my father’s signature.
Elias Prescott.
I had seen it ten thousand times.
On contracts.
Birthday cards.
Documents.
Checks.
And yet I had never hated that signature until that moment.
My vision blurred with anger.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew you were pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“With twins?”
“Not then.”
“And he said nothing to me.”
“No.”
I folded the letter carefully.
Too carefully.
Because if I let my hands do what they wanted, I would tear it apart.
“What did he give you?”
Cassandra’s head lifted.
“What?”
“He said he would provide for you.
What did he give you?”
Her expression hardened.
“Nothing.”
“I need the truth.”
“That is the truth.”
“He offered money.”
“I didn’t take it.”
“He threatened your mother and you simply disappeared?”
“I disappeared because two days later my mother was approached by attorneys carrying copies of documents that could have destroyed her.
Your father wasn’t bluffing.”
“And you never thought to call me?”
“I did call you.”
“No, Cassandra.
You didn’t.”
“I did.”
My voice dropped.
“When?”
“The morning I left.”
My stomach twisted.
“I never received a call.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because your father answered.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
She continued.
“I called your apartment first.
No answer.
Then your office.
Your assistant transferred me.
Your father picked up.”
“That makes no sense.”
“He was in your office.”
My mind went backward three years.
Back to that week.
Back to the morning after Cassandra vanished.
My father had been there.
I remembered now.
He had arrived unusually early.
He had told me Cassandra had returned the engagement ring through a messenger.
He had been the one who said she didn’t want to speak to me.
I felt sick.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
Cassandra’s voice cracked.
“He said you had read the letter.”
“What letter?”
“The one I wrote you.”
I shook my head.
“I never got one.”
Her face changed.
That was the moment she finally understood.
Not suspected.
Understood.
“You never saw it?”
“No.”
She sat back.
“Oh God.”
“What was in it?”
“I told you everything.”
My heart pounded.
“The pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
“The threat?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed he gave it to me?”
“He called me two hours later.
He said you had made your decision.”
“What decision?”
Her eyes filled.
“That you wanted nothing to do with me or the babies.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“He said you considered the pregnancy an attempt to trap you.”
“No.”
“He said you told him to handle it.”
“Cassandra, no.”
“He knew private things.”
“What things?”
“Things only you and I had talked about.
Your worries about becoming a father.
About the company.
About whether you could give a family enough time.”
I stood so quickly the table shook.
Luke looked up.
Cassandra immediately reached for my sleeve.
“Damon.”
I stopped.
Luke’s face had gone frightened.
I forced myself to sit.
That frightened me more than anything else.
Because whatever rage existed between Cassandra and me, the children were watching.
My children.
The thought still didn’t fit inside my head.
Violet slowly lifted the stuffed elephant.
“You can hold Mr.
Buttons.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She pushed the toy toward me.
“When Mama is sad, Mr.
Buttons helps.”
My throat closed.
Cassandra looked away.
I took the elephant.
“Thank you.”
Violet nodded solemnly.
Luke watched me.
“Are you really our dad?”
Cassandra’s eyes snapped toward him.
“Luke—”
“No.”
He frowned.
I leaned forward.
“No, your mom doesn’t need to stop you.
You can ask me anything.”
Luke considered this.
“Are you?”
I looked at Cassandra.
Then back at him.
“If your mother says I am, then yes.”
“Do you know how to make pancakes?”
The question hit me so unexpectedly I almost laughed.
“Sometimes.”
“Animal pancakes?”
“No.”
He looked disappointed.
“But I can learn.”
That seemed acceptable.
He returned to his drawing.
For five full seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Then my phone vibrated.
I had forgotten we had landed.
Around us, passengers were already pulling bags from overhead compartments.
My screen lit up.
Twenty-three missed notifications.
The acquisition.
Denver.
Merritt Systems.
The deal that had consumed nine months of my life.
A message from my COO sat at the top.
Where are you?
Cars are waiting.
Calder moved the deadline up.
We need you downtown in forty minutes.
Another message arrived.
If you don’t sign tonight, we lose it.
I looked at the time.
8:47 p.m.
Christmas Eve.
Forty minutes.
Seven hundred and eighty million dollars on one side.
Two children on the other.
I laughed once.
Quietly.
Cassandra looked at me.
“What?”
“My entire board is waiting for me.”
Her expression shifted.
“The Merritt acquisition?”
I looked at her sharply.
“You know about it?”
“Everyone knows about it.”
“That deal closes tonight.”
“Then you should go.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She began gathering crayons.
“You need to go.”
“You just told me I have children.”
“And they’ll still be here tomorrow.”
I almost snapped back.
Then I understood.
This was old Cassandra.
The Cassandra who stepped aside whenever she thought someone else needed space.
The woman who had sacrificed herself because my father convinced her that loving me meant leaving.
“No.”
She froze.
“No what?”
“No, I’m not doing this again.”
“Damon—”
“You don’t get to disappear for me anymore.”
Her face went still.
“And I don’t get to let you.”
I typed a message.
Delay closing.
My COO responded instantly.
Impossible.
I typed again.
Then lose it.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Damon, this is $780M.
I looked at Luke drawing a crooked rocket ship.
At Violet whispering to Mr.
Buttons.
Then I typed:
I know.
I shut off my phone.
Cassandra stared at me.
“You can’t throw away your company because of this.”
“I’m not throwing away anything.”
“Your board—”
“Can survive one night without me.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Damon Prescott I knew.”
“You haven’t known Damon Prescott for three years.”
Pain crossed her face.
I regretted the sentence immediately.
But before either of us could answer, Luke held up his drawing.
It was a rocket ship.
Four stick figures stood underneath it.
One tall.
One with long hair.
Two small.
I pointed at the tall figure.
“Who’s that?”
Luke shrugged.
“A man.”
“What man?”
He looked embarrassed.
“The dad man.”
Cassandra closed her eyes.
Something inside me broke quietly.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just a crack.
Deep enough that I knew I would never be the same afterward.
We left the plane together.
At baggage claim, I noticed Cassandra scanning the terminal repeatedly.
At first, I assumed she was overwhelmed.
Then I realized she wasn’t looking for luggage.
She was looking for someone.
“Who are you expecting?”
“No one.”
“That’s not what your face says.”
“Damon.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the glass doors.
“A car service.”
“You’re lying.”
She flinched.
There was a time when Cassandra could lie to almost anyone.
Never to me.
I stepped closer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She hugged Violet tighter.
“Not here.”
Again.
Those two words were beginning to sound like a warning.
We entered the parking garage.
Snow blew beneath the concrete levels in thin white sheets.
My driver was waiting beside a black SUV.
He stepped forward.
“Mr.
Prescott, downtown?”
“No.”
He paused.
I opened the rear door for Cassandra.
She hesitated.
“Where are we going?”
“My hotel.”
She stared at me.
“No.”
“It has security.”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“Because people know where you stay.”
My body went still.
“What people?”
She looked at the children.
Luke was hopping between painted parking lines.
Violet dragged Mr.
Buttons by one ear.
Cassandra lowered her voice.
“I didn’t come to Denver by accident.”
A pulse started in my temple.
“What does that mean?”
“I was bringing them to see you.”
“What?”
“I found out about the acquisition meeting.
I knew you would be here.”
“You were coming to find me?”
“Yes.”
“After three years?”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
She looked terrified again.
And suddenly I remembered the fear on her face when she had first seen me on the plane.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of what would happen once I knew.
Cassandra reached into her bag again.
This time she pulled out a small flash drive.
Black.
Unmarked.
“I received this four days ago.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know everything on it.”
“Who sent it?”
“No return address.”
“What does it contain?”
“Documents from your father’s private records.”
I stared at her.
“My father’s been dead for eighteen months.”
“I know.”
“And someone mailed you his records?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent it knew about the twins.”
Cold spread through my chest.
I looked toward the children.
“Get in the car.”
Cassandra didn’t move.
“Damon—”
“Get in the car.”
Something in my voice convinced her.
The driver shut the doors.
I climbed into the front passenger seat.
“Take us to the private terminal.”
Cassandra leaned forward.
“What?”
“Not the hotel.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere nobody expects.”
My driver glanced at me.
“Mr.
Prescott, your corporate aircraft is fueled.”
“Good.”
Cassandra grabbed the headrest.
“You’re planning to leave Denver?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You cannot improvise a kidnapping.”
I turned around.
“They’re my children.”
“You learned that forty minutes ago.”
“And someone has been monitoring you.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We know enough.”
Luke leaned forward between us.
“What’s kidnapping?”
“Nothing,” Cassandra and I said together.
He smiled.
For one ridiculous second, so did I.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
“Prescott.”
Silence.
Then a distorted voice.
“Walking away from Merritt was a mistake.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
“Who is this?”
“You should have signed.”
The call ended.
Cassandra had seen my face.
“What happened?”
I showed her the screen.
Her color disappeared.
My driver accelerated.
Ten minutes later, my security chief met us inside a private aviation hangar.
Marcus Reed had served six years in Army intelligence before joining my company.
He never panicked.
Tonight, he looked concerned.
“Sir.”
“Lock down the aircraft.”
“What happened?”
“Unknown caller.
They knew I walked away from the deal.”
“That’s not classified information.”
“It happened less than fifteen minutes ago.”
Marcus stopped.
“That is different.”
I handed him the flash drive.
“Clone this.
Air-gapped system.
Nothing connected to our network.”
Cassandra grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
Marcus looked at me.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“There’s one file you need to see first.”
She took the drive back.
“Alone.”
My jaw tightened.
“Cassandra.”
“Trust me.”
“I did.”
The words landed harder than I intended.
Her eyes shimmered.
Still, she held my gaze.
“Then trust me one more time.”
Marcus cleared the room.
The children were taken into the adjoining lounge with one of the flight attendants, hot chocolate, and enough Christmas cookies to occupy them for a while.
Cassandra inserted the drive into an isolated laptop.
Folders appeared.
Legal documents.
Bank records.
Emails.
Audio files.
Scanned letters.
Then a folder labeled:
PROJECT HEIR
My skin went cold.
“Open it.”
Cassandra did.
There were photographs inside.
Me leaving my office.
Cassandra entering a medical clinic three years ago.
Ultrasound scans.
Hospital records.
Birth certificates.
A photograph of Luke and Violet in a park.
Taken from a distance.
Last summer.
I stared at it.
“Someone was watching them.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Cassandra scrolled lower.
Then she stopped.
One file.
EP_FINAL_DIRECTIVE.mov
EP.
Elias Prescott.
My father.
Cassandra clicked it.
The screen went black.
Then my father appeared.
He was sitting in his home office.
The date in the corner showed he had recorded the video six weeks before his death.
He looked older than I remembered.
Smaller.
But his voice remained strong.
“If this recording has been released, then certain conditions I hoped to avoid have occurred.”
I leaned closer.
My father continued.
“Damon will believe Cassandra Hayes was removed from his life because she was unsuitable.”
Cassandra inhaled sharply.
“That is not entirely true.”
My hands curled.
“The greater concern was always succession.”
I frowned.
My father looked directly into the camera.
“The Prescott family has maintained controlling influence over Prescott Technologies through a succession trust established by Damon’s grandfather.”
I knew about the trust.
Everyone did.
Or I thought everyone did.
“Under its original terms, if Damon Prescott has biological children before his thirty-fifth birthday, controlling voting rights transfer into a protected family structure at the time of my death.”
I stopped breathing.
I was thirty-four.
My father had died when I was thirty-two.
Luke and Violet had already been born.
My father continued.
“If no recognized biological heir exists, those voting rights remain temporarily consolidated under executive trustees.”
I whispered, “Recognized.”
Cassandra nodded.
My father’s eyes seemed to stare through me.
“That distinction matters.”
A horrible realization formed.
“The board.”
Cassandra said nothing.
I stood.
“The executive trustees are board members.”
“Yes.”
“Which means if my children become legally recognized—”
“You regain the votes.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Not me.”
I remembered the structure.
The old trust language.
Safeguards meant to prevent a CEO from selling the company.
“If I have heirs, the controlling block doesn’t transfer to me.”
Cassandra looked at me.
“Then who?”
I knew before I said it.
“The children.”
Silence.
Luke and Violet.
Two toddlers who probably believed the most valuable thing they owned was a stuffed elephant.
Together, they might control a technology empire worth billions.
My father’s video continued.
“I made decisions I believed necessary to preserve the company.
Some of those decisions were cruel.”
I almost laughed.
Cruel.
A clean word for what he had done.
“However, if Damon discovers the children before the trustees restructure the trust, the balance of control may shift permanently.”
The recording distorted.
Then my father leaned closer.
“And if that happens, he must understand one thing.”
Static cracked through the speakers.
The image froze.
Marcus entered immediately.
“Sir.”
“What?”
He held my phone.
“You need to see this.”
A notification from my board secretary.
Emergency shareholder announcement.
I opened it.
At 9:32 p.m. on Christmas Eve, the Prescott Technologies board had called a special meeting.
For 7:00 a.m.
Christmas morning.
Purpose:
Removal of Damon Prescott as Chief Executive Officer.
I stared at the message.
Then the laptop.
Then Cassandra.
“The acquisition was never the real deadline.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“They needed me in Denver tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Distracted.”
“Yes.”
“While they moved against me.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the lounge where Luke and Violet were laughing at something.
Then I understood the part that mattered.
“They know about the children.”
Cassandra whispered, “I think they always did.”
Before I could answer, an alarm sounded inside the hangar.
Marcus touched his earpiece.
His expression changed.
“Sir, we have a vehicle at the south gate.”
“Who?”
“Unknown.”
“Send them away.”
“They already breached the outer barrier.”
Cassandra stood.
“What?”
Marcus moved to the door.
“Get the children onto the aircraft.”
Then the hangar lights went out.
Darkness swallowed us.
Cassandra gasped.
A second later, emergency lights flashed red.
Somewhere outside, tires screamed.
I ran toward the lounge.
“Luke!”
“Mama!”
Violet began crying.
I reached them.
Dropped to my knees.
“I’m here.”
Luke grabbed my coat.
For the first time in my life, someone holding onto me didn’t feel like a responsibility.
It felt like purpose.
Marcus shouted from the doorway.
“Aircraft.
Now.”
We moved.
Security surrounded us as we crossed the hangar.
Snow blew through the opening ahead.
The jet waited with engines running.
Twenty feet.
Ten.
Five.
Then Cassandra stopped.
I turned.
“What are you doing?”
She wasn’t looking at me.
She was staring at the far side of the hangar.
A man had stepped beneath the red emergency light.
Gray coat.
Silver hair.
Tall.
Familiar.
Impossible.
Every security officer raised a weapon.
The stranger slowly lifted his hands.
My heart stopped.
Because I knew that face.
Not well.
But enough.
I had seen it in old family photographs.
Always standing beside my father.
Always described as the man who died in a boating accident twenty-seven years ago.
My father’s younger brother.
My uncle.
Nathaniel Prescott.
A dead man.
He looked at Luke.
Then Violet.
Then me.
And smiled.
“Hello, Damon.”
Nobody moved.
I heard Cassandra whisper something behind me.
“No.”
Nathaniel took one step forward.
Marcus raised his weapon.
“Stop.”
Nathaniel obeyed.
His eyes stayed on mine.
“You’re wondering why I’m alive.”
I couldn’t speak.
He smiled again.
“But that isn’t the question you should be asking.”
“What question?”
His expression changed.
The smile disappeared.
“You should be asking why Elias spent thirty years making sure you believed I was dead.”
I stared at him.
Nathaniel reached slowly inside his coat.
Security shifted.
He pulled out an envelope.
Another envelope.
Cream-colored.
My father’s initials embossed across the front.
Nathaniel held it up.
“This is the letter your father never expected you to read.”
My pulse thundered.
“What does it say?”
He looked at Cassandra.
Then at Luke and Violet.
Finally, back at me.
“That Elias Prescott wasn’t your biological father.”
Everything inside me went silent.
Cassandra made a sound behind me.
I barely heard it.
Nathaniel lowered the envelope.
“And if Elias wasn’t your father, Damon…”
His eyes moved to my children.
“…then those twins don’t inherit Prescott Technologies.”
I felt the floor vanish beneath me.
Nathaniel’s voice dropped.
“I do.”
Then every light in the hangar went dark.
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
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Source: Stories of Destiny · Thao Thao
