Chapter 1 - THE LETTERS HE NEVER RECEIVED
Cassandra reached into her bag and pulled out a bundle of envelopes.
Not one.
Not two.
At least twenty.
Every envelope had my name on it.
DAMON PRESCOTT.
Some were yellowed slightly at the corners.
Some had hospital return addresses.
One had a photograph taped to the front.
A newborn hand wrapped around an adult finger.
My throat closed.
“What are those?”
“The letters I sent you.”
I stared.
“I never got them.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because most of them came back.”
She handed me the top envelope.
RETURN TO SENDER.
RECIPIENT DECLINED.
My stomach dropped.
“I didn’t decline anything.”
Cassandra looked at me.
“That’s what I eventually realized.”
Luke was drawing on the tray table beside us.
Violet slept against Cassandra’s shoulder.
The normality of them made everything worse.
Children had routines.
Favorite foods.
Bad dreams.
Songs.
And somewhere inside the three years I had spent flying between boardrooms and laboratories, an entire family had been living without me.
I opened the first letter.
Damon,
I don’t know if you want to hear from me, but I’m pregnant.
Twins.
The doctor says they are measuring small, and I’m terrified.
I know how much you still carry what happened to Emma.
I stopped.
Emma.
My infant sister.
She had died from a congenital cardiac complication when I was ten.
That loss had shaped everything.
My obsession with medical systems.
Prescott Technologies.
The Merritt acquisition.
Cassandra knew that.
She continued in the letter:
I don’t want to force you into anything.
I only need you to know these babies exist.
Please call me.
I looked at Cassandra.
“When did you send this?”
“Two weeks after I found out.”
“I never saw it.”
“I sent email too.”
“I never got that either.”
“Texts?”
“Nothing.”
She looked down.
“That’s why I thought you were ignoring me.”
“What happened to your number?”
“You changed yours.”
I had.
After our breakup, my phone had become impossible.
Investors.
Reporters.
People calling at all hours.
My chief of staff arranged a new private number.
Cassandra’s messages went to the old one.
“Why didn’t you come to the office?”
“I did.”
My pulse changed.
“When?”
“Three times.”
“Who stopped you?”
“Security.”
“Who told them to?”
She pulled out another document.
A visitor denial notice.
PRESCOTT TECHNOLOGIES EXECUTIVE SECURITY.
AUTHORIZED BY:
M. CALDER.
I froze.
Marcus Calder.
My former mentor.
Current chairman of Prescott Technologies.
And now—
the man leading the competing offer against me for Merritt Systems.
No.
That had to be coincidence.
“Calder denied you access?”
“Yes.”
“He knew you were pregnant?”
“I told the receptionist.”
“That doesn’t mean he knew.”
“He called me himself that night.”
I stopped breathing.
“What did he say?”
Cassandra looked away.
“He said you didn’t want contact.”
“No.”
“He said your family had already lost one child and you refused to be emotionally manipulated with another pregnancy.”
My hands went cold.
“I would never say that.”
“I know that now.”
“But you believed him then.”
“Yes.”
Fair.
We had broken badly.
I had missed her graduation dinner for a board emergency.
She accused me of loving the company more than her.
I accused her of forcing me to choose.
Neither of us behaved well.
Then she told me she was leaving.
I said if that was what she wanted, I would not chase her.
Pride finished what exhaustion started.
Calder may have stepped into that silence.
But why?
Then Cassandra handed me a second packet.
Medical records.
Luke Hayes.
Violet Hayes.
Birth date:
March 19.
Premature.
Thirty-two weeks.
My chest tightened.
“Premature?”
“Yes.”
“How long in NICU?”
“Luke, three weeks. Violet, almost seven.”
I could barely breathe.
Violet.
Small.
Fragile.
Like Emma.
I had missed all of it.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Cassandra’s eyes hardened.
“Someone did.”
“What?”
She gave me another envelope.
This one was not addressed to me.
It was addressed to:
MARCUS CALDER.
Inside was a certified delivery receipt.
Signed.
Received.
Then a photocopy of the letter.
Mr. Calder,
If Damon truly refuses contact, please at least give him the attached neonatal records. Violet’s doctors are concerned about a hereditary cardiac marker.
My blood went cold.
Hereditary cardiac marker.
The exact family history that made Merritt Systems personally important to me.
“What marker?”
Cassandra whispered:
“SCN5A.”
I knew enough to understand the implications.
Arrhythmia risk.
Cardiac conduction abnormalities.
Potential hereditary component.
“Is Violet sick?”
“She’s stable.”
“Stable is not the same as fine.”
“No.”
Then Cassandra said:
“She sees a specialist in Denver.”
Denver.
My acquisition team was waiting in Denver.
Merritt Systems was headquartered outside Denver.
The company I was racing to buy built neonatal predictive systems.
The city I had believed was only about business was also where my daughter received cardiac care.
Then I looked again at the Calder receipt.
“Why would Marcus hide this?”
Cassandra shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
May you like
I did not either.
But suddenly the $780 million deal in my inbox felt less like a transaction and more like a door someone had been holding shut for three years.
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