Chapter 6 - THE CORPORATE RAIDDamon stared at the intercom screen in absolute disbelief.
Richard Vance—a man who hadn't stepped foot in Denver outside of a federal courthouse in a decade—was standing in his private elevator lobby on Christmas morning, flanked by corporate thugs and looking like an executioner.
And standing right behind him was Nora, looking apologetic yet resolute.
“Mr. Prescott,” Nora’s voice crackled through the intercom speaker. “I’m sorry. Mr. Vance intercepted me at my hotel this morning. He knew about the canceled acquisition. He wants a direct audience.”
Damon’s jaw tightened into a hard, dangerous line. He pressed the master release button.
“Send them up,” Damon muttered coldly.
Cassandra walked over, her face pale as she scooped Luke into her arms and pulled Violet close. “Damon, who is that? Is it dangerous?”
“It’s just business, sweetheart,” Damon said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch grounding her. “Take the twins into the master suite and lock the door. Do not come out until I tell you.”
“Damon—.”
“Trust me, Cassandra. Please.”
She hesitated, seeing the absolute steel in his green eyes, then nodded and hurried down the hallway with the children.
A moment later, the private elevator chimed.
The doors slid open to reveal Richard Vance—short, silver-haired, and wearing an expensive tailored overcoat that reeked of old money and predatory ambition. Behind him, Nora looked away, unable to meet Damon’s eyes.
“Merry Christmas, Damon,” Vance sneered, stepping out into the pristine penthouse without an invitation. He looked around the minimalist space with undisguised contempt. “Looks like someone’s palace is crumbling.”
Damon didn't flinch. He walked over to the dry bar, poured himself a black coffee, and turned to face his uninvited guest.
“Vance. You must be deeply insecure to fly private to Denver on Christmas morning just to check on a failed acquisition.”
Vance chuckled darkly, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Failed? Oh, it’s far from failed, boy. Your little sudden withdrawal last night triggered a massive panic among Merritt’s board. They thought you were pivoting to a hostile takeover.”
“I’m not interested in Merritt anymore,” Damon said flatly.
“No, you’re not,” Vance snapped, spinning around, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “Because you’re broke.”
Damon raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”
“Don’t play games with me, Prescott!” Vance slammed a leather-bound folder onto the marble kitchen island. “Your personal liquidity is tied up in three major tech startups and real estate portfolios across the Pacific Northwest. When you pulled out of the Merritt deal and announced a massive, self-funded non-profit pediatric initiative, your stock value took a forty-percent hit before the markets even opened! Your primary investors are calling for your head!”
Nora stepped forward, looking miserable. “Damon... Mr. Vance is right. If you don’t sign the emergency restructuring papers by noon today, the board will vote to strip you of your CEO title. They’re calling an emergency shareholder meeting.”
Damon looked at them both. He felt a strange, liberating sense of peace wash over him.
For ten years, he had been a slave to his company, his stock price, and his terror of being powerless. Now, standing in his penthouse with Cassandra and his twins just down the hall, he realized something profound:
They could take every dollar he owned. They could strip away his title, his penthouse, and his empire.
They couldn't touch what actually mattered.
“Let them strip it,” Damon said calmly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Vance stared at him, stunned. “Are you out of your mind? You’ll lose everything! You’ll be a nobody!”
“I built this empire from a laptop in a Denver apartment when I had twenty dollars in my pocket,” Damon said, his voice dropping into a register that made even Vance step back. “I can do it again. But this time, I won’t be doing it alone.”
Before Vance could reply, the master suite door down the hallway clicked open.
Footsteps approached.
Damon turned his head. Cassandra walked into the living room. She had changed into a simple cream sweater and dark jeans. She looked every bit the fierce, independent woman who had walked out on him three years ago—and she was holding little Luke by the hand, with Violet trailing close behind.
She looked at Richard Vance, then at Nora, and finally at Damon.
“Damon,” Cassandra said clearly, her voice echoing in the silent penthouse. “Who are these people?”
Vance’s eyes flicked from Cassandra to the little boy clinging to her hand. He noticed the striking green eyes, the stubborn sandy-brown curls, and the unmistakable Prescott chin.
A slow, vicious smile spread across Vance’s aging face.
“Well, well, well,” Vance purred, walking toward Cassandra with predatory fascination. “What do we have here? A secret family? No wonder our brilliant billionaire lost his mind last night.”
Damon’s body went rigid. A dark, primal fury ignited in his chest.
“Vance,” Damon warned, his voice a lethal whisper. “Take two steps back.”
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“Oh, relax, Prescott,” Vance sneered, turning back to Damon with a triumphant grin. “Just calculating your liabilities. Because if the press gets wind that the golden boy of tech has an unacknowledged family he’s been hiding while begging for public sympathy... your stock won't just drop. It will incinerate.”
Vance pulled out his phone. “Let’s make a call to the Wall Street Journal, shall we? Let’s see how much your empire is worth when the world finds out about your little Christmas secret.”
