Chapter 3 - Blizzard on the TarmacFlight 402 didn't land in Denver; it fought its way onto the tarmac like a wounded animal wrestling a hurricane.
The moment the landing gear slammed against the icy runway, the Boeing 737 fishtailed violently, groaning under the crosswinds while passengers gasped and clutched their armrests. Outside, horizontal sheets of blinding white snow completely obliterated the runway lights, turning the Denver airport into a blinding, arctic maze.
When the plane finally taxied to a shuddering halt at the gate, the atmosphere inside the cabin was a mix of collective relief and holiday panic. People began standing up immediately, unzipping overhead bins, and jostling for position in the narrow aisle.
I stayed seated, my body forming a protective barrier between Cassandra and the rush of impatient travelers.
“Damon, your phone has been buzzing nonstop for the last ten minutes,” Cassandra whispered, gesturing to my jacket pocket where the muffled vibration of corporate emergency had become a steady hum. “Your acquisition team... they’re going to kill you if you miss the midnight signing.”
“Let them kill me,” I replied, helping her pull the heavy diaper bag and child carrier out from beneath the seat. “Nothing on that contract matters anymore. My priority is right here.”
As we shuffled slowly down the aisle with the trailing passengers, the cold reality of our situation began to set in. Cassandra was exhausted, her face pale beneath her woolen beanie, and the twins were cranky from the turbulent flight and disrupted sleep schedules. They didn't have a car waiting for them, nor did they have a hotel reservation in the middle of a historic Colorado blizzard.
When we finally stepped out through the jet bridge into the bustling, chaotic terminal of Denver International, the scale of the holiday chaos hit us like a physical wall. Thousands of stranded passengers were camped out on folding chairs, sleeping on luggage carts, and crowding around canceled flight boards.
My phone finally stopped vibrating, replaced by a glaring red text message notification on the screen:
Marcus Vance: It’s 10:15 PM. Calder’s legal team is on site. If you aren't at the corporate tower by 11:30 PM to sign, the deal goes to them. You just threw away seven hundred million dollars.
I glanced at the screen, then looked over at Cassandra, who was struggling to balance Violet on her hip while holding Luke’s tiny, mittened hand. She was shivering slightly in her thin corduroy jacket.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I reached into my pocket, powered off my phone entirely, and dropped it deep into my carry-on bag.
“Damon? What are you doing?” she asked, noticing the gesture. “Your phone... that was your company, wasn't it?”
“My company can wait,” I said, shrugging off my expensive cashmere overcoat and wrapping it securely around Cassandra’s shoulders. The coat swallowed her frame, smelling faintly of cedarwood and expensive cologne, but it instantly brought color back to her pale cheeks. “Come on. Let’s get out of this terminal before the roads completely freeze over.”
“We’re taking the public bus to Boulder,” she protested quietly, adjusting the coat. “I have a ticket voucher from the airline—well, half a ticket voucher.”
“You’re not taking a bus anywhere in a blizzard with two toddlers,” I said firmly, taking her hand. Her fingers were freezing cold. “My driver is waiting outside.”
“Your driver?” She stopped dead in her tracks near the baggage claim. “Damon, I thought you said you didn't plan for this.”
“I planned for a business trip, Cassandra. Not a family reunion,” I admitted honestly. “But my security detail and corporate transport are parked in the executive VIP lane. And right now, they’re about to become your private transit system.”
Before she could argue further, I spotted Thomas, my head of security and personal driver, standing near the sliding glass exit doors holding a digital tablet with my name on it. He looked freezing, bundled up in a heavy black parka, scanning the sea of frantic holiday travelers.
When Thomas spotted me walking toward him flanked by a woman holding a toddler and a little boy clutching my coat hem, his jaw literally dropped. He blinked twice as if he were hallucinating.
“Mr. Prescott,” Thomas stammered, stepping forward. “We’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. The board is screaming. Mr. Vance said you missed your connection—wait, sir, what’s going on?”
“Cancel the board meeting, Thomas,” I ordered calmly, taking the diaper bag from Cassandra’s shoulder and handing it to him. “Pull the Cadillac Escalade right up to the curb, turn the rear heater on maximum, and load these bags in the back.”
Thomas looked from me to Cassandra, took in the twin toddlers with striking green eyes, and being a smart security veteran who had worked for me for five years, he didn't ask a single unnecessary question.
“Right away, sir,” Thomas said, pivoting sharply toward the exit.
As we pushed through the automatic doors into the howling, snow-choked night, Cassandra looked up at me, snowflakes melting in her dark hair.
“You really gave up the acquisition, didn't you?” she whispered over the roar of the wind. “Seven hundred million dollars... gone just like that.”
“It wasn't gone, Cassandra,” I said, opening the heavy door of the Escalade and helping her and the twins into the warm, leather-lined interior. “I spent my whole life chasing numbers on a screen to fix a tragedy from my past. But tonight, I finally realized that the only things worth saving were sitting right in front of me.”
May you like
She didn't say anything, but as I climbed into the back seat beside her and pulled Luke onto my lap, she reached out and gently rested her hand over mine.
Little did we know, the storm outside wasn't the only danger waiting for us that night. Down in downtown Denver, Marcus Vance and the board of directors weren't going to let seven hundred million dollars slip away without a fight—and they were already tracking my phone's last known GPS ping.
