Chapter 3 - WHAT MY FATHER HAD TO DO WITH IT
My father had been dead four years.
Richard Prescott.
Founder of Prescott Technologies.
Brilliant.
Difficult.
The person who taught me that every missed opportunity belonged to somebody faster.
He died six months before Luke and Violet were born.
“How could Dad ask you to hide children who weren’t born yet?”
Marcus said:
“He knew Cassandra was pregnant before he died.”
My hands tightened.
“How?”
“She contacted him.”
Cassandra stared at me.
“What?”
She had never called my father.
At least she did not remember doing so.
Marcus explained.
Cassandra had emailed the Prescott family office after failing to reach me.
The message was forwarded to Richard.
Richard called her from a blocked number.
Cassandra looked pale.
“There was an older man.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked how far along I was.”
“You never told me.”
“I thought he was one of your attorneys.”
Marcus continued.
“Richard believed the pregnancy created a governance problem.”
I almost laughed.
Of course he did.
Two unborn children.
And my father saw cap tables.
“What governance problem?”
Prescott Family Trust.
My shares.
Succession.
Richard had created a complicated voting structure after Emma died.
He was terrified the company would break apart across future heirs.
If I had children before age thirty-five, certain trust blocks would automatically split into separate beneficiary trusts.
I had been thirty-two.
Luke and Violet would each trigger future economic interests.
Not immediate control.
But enough to matter.
“So Dad wanted them hidden?”
“No.”
Marcus said it too carefully.
“He wanted confirmation.”
“DNA?”
“Yes.”
“Before birth?”
“He wanted paternity established privately after delivery.”
“That still doesn’t explain three years.”
Marcus went quiet.
Then:
“Richard died before the plan was completed.”
“And you decided for everyone.”
“Yes.”
Rage came slowly.
Cold.
“You intercepted Cassandra.”
“I restricted access until paternity could be verified.”
“Did you arrange verification?”
“No.”
“Then you did not wait for proof.”
Silence.
“You buried them.”
“I protected the company.”
“You buried my children.”
Marcus’s voice sharpened.
“Damon, you were negotiating the Merritt platform even then.”
“No.”
Three years ago Merritt was much smaller.
But Prescott had been evaluating neonatal technology.
Marcus had reason to know family medical history mattered.
Then he said:
“Richard believed your obsession with Emma had become dangerous.”
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“He thought if you knew Cassandra was carrying twins and one showed cardiac risk, you would reshape the company around them.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“It’s my company.”
“Exactly.”
The ugliest part was that he thought he was protecting me from myself.
Then Cassandra whispered:
“Violet’s first abnormal rhythm happened at six days old.”
I looked at the phone.
“Did you know that?”
Marcus said nothing.
“Marcus.”
“Yes.”
Everything inside me went silent.
“You knew my daughter was in neonatal cardiac care.”
“Yes.”
“And you still kept me out.”
“Richard’s instruction was explicit.”
“My father was dead.”
Silence.
That was when I understood Marcus had not been following Richard anymore.
He had been using Richard’s dead authority to justify his own decisions.
Then my phone buzzed.
Merritt Systems CEO:
Damon, we need clarity within 20 minutes.
I ignored it.
“Why is Merritt connected to this?”
Marcus said:
“It isn’t.”
Too fast.
I looked at Cassandra.
She saw it too.
“What did Dad know about Merritt?”
Silence.
Then Marcus answered:
“Richard invested in them personally.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Early-stage. Five million.”
“Through Prescott?”
“No.”
“Through what?”
“A family vehicle.”
“Which?”
He resisted.
Then:
“Emma Medical Trust.”
My sister’s name.
The trust established after Emma died.
I had believed it only funded pediatric cardiac research grants.
Apparently it also held venture investments.
Merritt had been one.
“How much of Merritt does Emma Trust own?”
“Currently about eight percent.”
I stopped breathing.
The $780 million acquisition was not merely Prescott buying an outside company.
My family already owned part of it.
Then Cassandra opened the medical folder.
One letterhead caught my attention.
MERRITT CHILDREN’S CARDIAC PROGRAM.
“What is that?”
She looked confused.
“Violet’s foundation subsidy.”
“Who referred you?”
“A social worker.”
“Which foundation?”
She checked.
Emma Children’s Continuity Fund.
My dead sister’s trust had been helping pay for my daughter’s treatment while everyone kept the child hidden from me.
I felt sick.
Then Marcus said quietly:
“Damon, do not assume that happened by accident.”
“What?”
“Your father built a trigger.”
Of course.
“What trigger?”
“If a Prescott descendant entered neonatal cardiac treatment through a Merritt-affiliated program, the Emma Trust’s investment rights changed.”
“How?”
Marcus exhaled.
“From passive equity…”
May you like
A pause.
“…to a controlling option.”
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