Epilogue
Julian
Five Years Later
The sound of tiny footsteps echoed through the halls of Esmé Cosmetics.
“Lionel David Hale, you bring Daddy’s tablet back right now!”
A gleeful shriek was my only answer. My son, a four-year-old tornado with his mother’s mischievous brown eyes, clutched the stolen tablet to his chest like a trophy and careened around a corner.
He was fast. Frighteningly fast. And he already knew the layout of the empire he would one day inherit better than most of the VPs.
I skidded after him, trying to manage his stroller, his diaper bag, and my laptop all at once. I was in joggers and an old Esmé hoodie—my suits were hanging in the closet untouched. No one in the building batted an eye anymore at the change.
My son made a break for the executive conference wing, and my heart did a funny little drop-and-lurch.
“Leo, no! That’s Grandma and Mama’s meeting!”
Another shriek of laughter followed. The heavy double doors to the Orion Boardroom were pulled open for him by an employee who turned and hurried off in the opposite direction; the kid already had people conspiring with him.
He barreled through, and I went in after him with a silent prayer on my lips.
The scene froze.
Twenty executives were sitting around the conference table. Financial holograms floated in the air, and the room smelled of expensive coffee and ruthless ambition. In the dead center of the pristine carpet stood my son, holding the tablet and beaming a gap-toothed smile at the head of the table.
Where his mother sat.
Elara Vance-Hale, Head of Global Strategy and Philanthropy, was in her war attire.
A navy blazer, wrap dress, her hair in natural waves and an expensive pair of heels.
She’d been mid-sentence and stopped the moment she saw him.
She didn’t look annoyed. Instead, a smile spread across her face, transforming her from CEO to Mom in a nanosecond.
To her right, my mother arched a single, perfectly groomed brow. But I saw the faint, approving crinkle at the corner of her eye. The entire board was staring, and the silence was absolute until Leo broke it.
“Mama! I got Daddy’s game! He’s slow” he announced to the room.
A soft ripple of laughter traveled around the table. I scooped him up, tablet and all, hoisting him onto my hip. He immediately nestled into my shoulder, the thrill of the chase over.
“I am so sorry,” I said, breathless. “The escape artist struck again. He took off the second I got him out of the car.”
Elara stood, smoothing her blazer. Her eyes met mine—warm, and utterly in love. “This can wait,” she said, her tone affectionate.
She started toward us, my mother spoke up. “I’ll handle the rest of the agenda, Elara. Go. Leave everything, I’ll have someone bring it up, Julian.”
I gave an apologetic nod to the room. Leo leaned over my shoulder. “Bye-bye, Gamma! Bye-bye, peoples!” he yelled, waving a chubby hand.
Another wave of genuine laughter followed us out the doors.
Back in the hallway, I adjusted Leo on my hip. He was already dozing, the adrenaline crash hitting him hard. I looked down at his peaceful face, then at his mother.
This. This was what I wanted for the rest of my life.
Chasing this tiny tyrant through the halls of a billion-dollar empire until he ran it.
Being the parent who knew the precise ratio of apple juice to water.
The one who could comb our newborn daughter’s hair without making her cry.
The one who had a standing weekly call with Elara’s girls’ home in D.C.
to ensure they never wanted for anything.
I’d tried going back to Esmé full-time after Elara’s maternity leave. I’d lasted six months. I would sit in my office, look at the nanny-cam feed of Leo on my phone, and realize I didn't want to be the one behind the desk anymore. I wanted to be the one on the floor playing with blocks.
So Elara took my place. She thrived in the spotlight. And I thrived in the warm glow of the home we’d built.
I carried my sleeping son toward the private elevator that would take us to the rooftop garden, where the nanny was waiting with our daughter. I would have lunch with my wife, overlooking the city.
I had spent my life thinking power was about what you could take. I was wrong. Power was about what you were willing to give up to keep what mattered.
I looked at Elara, and she reached out, hooking her finger into the pocket of my hoodie to pull me close for a quick kiss. This was proof that I had won everything.
The end