2024-08-10 03:37:19
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371. Face To Face
The meeting was set for noon, on neutral ground.Van chose the rooftop garden of the Harlan Hotel —a private venue with limited access, unobstructed views of the city skyline, and just enough elegance to keep things civil. No guards, no weapons, no assistants. That was the condition Durand had sent back through his anonymous channel.Van agreed —but he wasn’t going in blind.His assistant had eyes on every corner. Surveillance was tight, backups positioned nearby. But the real defense Van carried with him wasn’t a team. It was resolve.This confrontation had been building for months. Maybe even years. A slow boil that had turned into something dangerous and necessary.And Van was ready.When the elevator doors opened at the top of the hotel, he stepped out alone.The rooftop was almost empty. Just a few polished stone benches, some planters of lavender and olive trees swaying in the breeze, and one man seated near the edge, facing away from him.Van walked forward, measured and calm,
370. A Letter From The Past
The air inside Andrew’s private suite at the Everest family mansion felt heavier than usual.It wasn’t the decor— sleek and masculine with polished wood, leather chairs, and floor to ceiling windows. Nor was it the absence of staff. It was the silence. The kind that stretched taut between two people who had known each other too long to pretend.Van had told no one he was coming.He arrived just before dinner, unannounced, a simple knock against the thick mahogany door.Andrew opened it wearing a blazer and no tie, his usual half smirk firmly in place.“Well,” he said. “Look who finally made time for his big brother.”Van stepped in without responding.Andrew let the door swing closed behind them, then poured two glasses of brandy, offering one without a word.Van didn’t touch it.“Long day?” Andrew asked casually.Van took a breath. “Why were you meeting with Felix Durand?”The question cut through the room like glass.Andrew paused mid sip.Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked
369. The Final Name
Van had faced a lot of things in his life, and it didn't get any better after he took over as CEO —corporate takeovers, legal battles, betrayals that carved scars deep under the surface —but nothing unnerved him quite like silence before a storm.That was what this felt like.He stood alone in his top floor office, the lights of the city blinking like distant stars beyond the glass. Below him, the headquarters of Everest Enterprises buzzed with quiet activity, but up here it was still. Intentionally so.The photo from the anonymous email lay on his desk, printed out and annotated with time stamps. Felix Durand. Confirmed in the city. Walking freely. Unbothered. A ghost among the living.Van leaned over the desk, arms braced, jaw tight.He’d brought his assistant in that morning and told her the truth. Not all of it— but enough.Enough for her to know what was at stake.Enough for her to run background on Durand’s movements, financials, and any surveillance that could help build a pict
368. Isadora
It had been four months since Brandt and Isadora returned from their honeymoon like stay in Cuba —four months of playful days, long nights, and the constant, chaotic wonder of raising a newborn.Their daughter, Celeste, had transformed everything.And yet… nothing between them felt forced.Some days were a blur of diapers, spit up, and 03:00AM lullabies. Others felt like walking through a poem— Brandt cooking breakfast with Celeste tucked into the sling across his chest, Isadora sketching the world from their sunlit balcony as Brandt read novels aloud beside her.Today was somewhere in between.They lived in a cozy modern apartment not far from Van and Ivy’s mansion, close enough for impromptu visits and family dinners, but far enough to feel like their own space. Isadora’s art studio took up the sunroom, while Brandt converted the small office into a minimalist library with floor pillows and baby-proofed bookshelves.The rhythm they built was not perfect, but it was theirs.And they
367. After
The morning sun poured into the Everest mansion like honey through glass. Soft, golden, and impossibly warm.For once, no alarms buzzed. No meetings were scheduled. No toddlers burst through the door in a tornado of socks and demands. It was one of those rare mornings when time seemed to pause and take a breath.Van opened his eyes slowly.Ivy was already awake, curled beside him beneath the white duvet, hair spilling over the pillow like ink. She had one hand resting against her cheek, the other on his chest.“You’re staring,” she murmured without opening her eyes.“I’m allowed to,” he whispered back.She smiled and nestled closer.“I still can’t believe you all pulled that off.”Ivy laughed softly. “You’ve been so wrapped up in the company and your father’s mess, we knew you needed a reminder of what’s here. What’s real.”He ran his fingers through her hair.“You and the kids… You’re what’s real.”They lay in silence for a few more moments until a tiny knock came at the door.It was
366. Happy Birthday Van!!
The day had started like any other.Van was already dressed and in his home office by seven thirty, reviewing quarterly forecasts and fielding early calls from his European investors. Ivy peeked in around eight with Leona on her hip, hoping to convince him to come down for breakfast.“Five more minutes,” he said, distracted.She rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said thirty minutes ago.”He smiled at her —just a flicker— and then turned back to his screen. Ivy sighed and carried Leona back to the kitchen, where the real operation was already in motion.In the background, music hummed from the speakers: soft jazz, mixed with occasional bursts of child giggles.The dining table had been cleared to make space for decorations. A roll of gold and navy ribbons sat next to a large banner that read: “Happy Birthday, Van!”— hand painted in swirling script by Isadora, whose hands were now smudged with ink and glitter.“Does he suspect anything?” Isadora asked.“Not a clue,” Ivy said, then grinn
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