2. Marcus
Marcus
I sit at my desk, taking a moment to absorb the quiet of the office. It’s spacious, larger than most, but it fits the scope of what I’ve built. From here, I can see the city spread out below me. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the skyline.
My desk, solid oak, is smooth beneath my fingers, a testament to craftsmanship. It was custom made, sourced from a place as far away as my business has reached. It’s more than just a desk. It’s a reminder of the progress, the long hours, and the risks taken.
The office hums softly, a blend of the subtle air conditioning and the faint echo of machinery from the factory below. There’s a model excavator on the shelf, plated in gold, a gift from a long-time partner. But those aren’t the markers of success I dwell on.
It’s the work itself, the steady flow of deals made, strategies formed, and challenges met. That’s what’s real to me. The leather chair beneath me and the crystal decanter on the table are just pieces of the environment I’ve grown into over the years. They are tools as much as the machines we produce.
This company, this life, it’s about more than just profit. It’s about building something lasting, something that moves the world forward. Construction machinery and heavy equipment may be what we manufacture, but the true heart of this work is about solving problems and creating solutions that impact industries.
That’s the part that drives me… keeps me going. From this office, it’s easy to reflect on the scale of it all, but it’s the day-to-day, the challenge of what’s next, that keeps me grounded. A polite but firm knock interrupts my thoughts, drawing me back to the present.
“Come in,” I say, already knowing who waits behind the door. Theodora. She steps in briskly, covering the distance between the entrance and my desk in a few quick, efficient strides.
Her heels click softly on the polished floor. One of the hardest workers I know, Theodora has been more than just an assistant over the years; she’s been a vital extension of myself in this business. I can delegate what I need to without a second thought. In a world where I’ve had to remain meticulous and oversee every detail, Theodora is one of the few I trust to handle what needs to be done.
As she reaches my desk, I glance up, a small ritual in our working relationship at this time of year.
"Everything in order?" I ask, my tone casual yet expectant. The air of Christmas lingers faintly, a reminder that the end of the year draws near. It’s the time when I push harder and ensure all the loose ends are tied, so I can step away for a well-earned break, and more importantly, allow my staff to do the same. There’s satisfaction in knowing that when the work is done right, everyone can rest without worry.
“Yes, Mr. Davenport, everything is perfect,” she says with a smile, adjusting her glasses as they slip slightly down her nose. She reads out the figures and reports, her voice steady as she recites the details. None of it surprises me. I’ve already reviewed most of this data myself, but I appreciate the process, the sense of thoroughness we’ve both cultivated. This is how things get done, methodically, without oversight or shortcuts.
“…And that’s a round-up of how all the figures are looking, Mr. Davenport.” She finishes with a relieved sigh, her task completed. Everything sounds right, solid enough to take the coming weeks off without a second thought. Yet something lingers in the air, something unsaid. She hasn’t mentioned the one update I’ve been waiting for. It’s a critical piece of information. The silence around it unsettles me.
“And…?” I prompt, my look steady, not letting the moment pass unnoticed.
She hesitates, a flicker of tension crossing her face as she fumbles with the papers in her hand. It’s a reaction I’ve seen only a few times but recognize well. I will not like what I am about to hear.
“Umm… there’s… there’s been a bit of a setback, sir.”
That word, sir. Whenever Theodora calls me that instead of Mr. Davenport, it is enough to make my gut tighten. It never accompanies good news.
“The deal with the senator fell through,” she says, each word landing with the weight of a stone sinking in water.
The air in the room shifts. My temper flickers, like a flame teased by a gust of wind. I draw in a slow breath, steadying myself, and holding back the sharpness that rises unbidden.
“How did that happen, Theodora?” I ask, my voice calm but with a subtle yet noticeable edge.
“I got in touch with the senator’s assistant as you requested, sir… but I was informed that they will not continue negotiations with us. They’ve received a better offer.”
“A better offer?” the words leave my mouth before I can contain them, my voice rising just enough to cut through the room’s stillness. “Who could offer them better services and products than we can?”
Theodora swallows hard. Her composure slipping as she stands there, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m told it’s not necessarily a better option, sir, but a less expensive one.”
“Who?” I ask, the edge in my voice now unmistakable, pressing, and demanding.
She hesitates. Sweat is forming on her brow. Her fingers clutch the papers tighter, almost as if the name itself is something she wishes she didn’t have to utter.
“It’s… Carter Enterprises, sir,” she finally manages, the words almost timid, as though afraid to provoke me.
Ethan. Fucking. Carter.
The name lingers in the room, sour and sharp. Of course it’s him. It’s always him, circling like a vulture at the first sign of hesitation, swooping in to undercut, to undermine. A rival in every sense, and now this. A crucial deal is slipping through our fingers into his grasp.
There was a time when business had unspoken rules, when rivals operated with a mutual respect. If you got your foot in the door first, that was that. Everyone knew to step back and prepare for the next opportunity. We fought hard, but there were lines we didn’t cross.
Not Ethan Carter. The man has no boundaries and no regard for the game, as it used to be played. He slithers his way into deals that aren’t his to take, ignoring the unspoken agreements that once defined this industry.
He’s been a thorn in my side for years now. Always circling and always trying to worm his way into contracts I’ve spent years building. The exclusive deals with countries and corporations I’ve had long-standing relationships with. He’s tried to undercut me on all fronts. Not every door has yielded to his cheap tactics, but enough to have. And it pisses me off.
This latest move is just another in a long string of offenses. Somehow, he’s got the senator to throw me out after months of negotiation. Months of work undone in a heartbeat. It doesn’t feel like he’s just swooping in on an opportunity anymore. It almost feels personal. It feels like he’s trying to get under my skin, to irritate me as much as he can, as if his success depends not on winning, but on making me lose.
“You can leave, Theodora,” I say, keeping my voice measured, not wanting her to witness the anger simmering just beneath the surface. She nods quickly, not needing any further encouragement. She walks out with a quiet efficiency. Her footsteps faintly echo as she fades away down the hallway. The tension in the room seems to thicken once she’s gone. The space somehow is smaller with my rising frustration.
I stand and move toward the whiskey waiting on the sideboard, the amber liquid catching the light as I pour a glass. I down it in one quick motion, letting the burn of the alcohol anchor me, and dulling the edge of my temper, if only for a moment.
It’s almost like I can see Ethan’s smug face, grinning and savoring this victory. The thought of it alone fuels the anger, stoking the fire that threatens to rise again.
I move back to my seat and sink into it. The liquor is still burning gently in my chest. The last few weeks of relentless work have left me worn, and though this setback with the senator has soured my mood, it doesn’t take away from the fact that we’re in good shape. We’ve done excellent work, and for once, the horizon looks clear enough to grant us a break. The holidays are long overdue, and I already lean into the thought of a few quiet weeks away from the rush.
Just then, my phone beeps, pulling me from my thoughts. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I glance at the screen. It’s Coco, my daughter. The sound of her name alone is enough to ease the tension still lingering in my mind.
“Hey, Dad,” her voice comes through the speaker, light and fresh, like a breath of air in a stifling room. In an instant, the frustration that had threatened to consume me only moments ago seems to melt away.
“Hey, Kiddo,” I reply, my tone softening. “Getting ready for the holidays?”
“Yes, Dad. Ready as can be.”
“Good,” I say, leaning back into my chair, my mood brightening by the second. “I can’t wait to see you at the vacation house.”
“Can’t wait to see you too, Dad... I have a little favor to ask, though,” Coco says, her voice taking on a note of hesitation.
“What might that be?” I ask, curiosity sparking.
“Can I bring a friend with me to the vacation house? I’d like her to spend Christmas with us.”
Her question catches me off guard. Christmas has always been family time, something we’ve kept close, and Coco has never asked to bring anyone along before. I feel my brow arch as I process the request.
“Who is this friend, Kiddo?” I ask, my tone betraying a hint of curiosity.
“Her name is Nyree. We’ve been friends for a long time. She’s a writer... and well, she’s had a rough time lately. She doesn’t really have anyone to spend the holidays with, and she’s been dealing with depression. I’m worried about her, Dad. I don’t want her to be alone for Christmas.”
As I listen to Coco, a quiet sympathy stirs within me. The image of her friend struggling through the season alone, touches something deep. And there’s pride too, a hint of admiration for my daughter’s kindness. For the way she’s grown into someone so thoughtful, so considerate of others.
“That’s fine, Kiddo,” I say after a pause. “She can spend Christmas with us.”
“Thanks, Dad! I love you!” she exclaims, the relief and joy in her voice lifting my heart.
“I love you too, Kiddo,” I reply, a warmth spreading through me as I end the call. The earlier frustrations have all but dissolved, replaced by the comforting thought of Christmas with my daughter, and now, a new guest who needs a bit of the warmth we can offer.
My thoughts linger on Coco. She lives in a different city now, but I still keep a watchful eye on her, always close, even from a distance. She’s the jewel of my life; she has been since the very moment she was born. I close my eyes, and that memory, the day she came into this world, returns to me like it always does, bittersweet and indelible.
The day she was born was also the day Ellie died. The woman I loved with every fiber of my being, the woman I built my life around, gone in an instant, taken by a turbulent delivery. It’s a feeling that defies words. The agony of losing Ellie, mingled with the overwhelming joy of meeting Coco for the first time. I held her tiny body close to my chest, my heart shattering and swelling all at once. In that moment, cradling her in my arms, I made a silent vow: I would protect her, always. I would, by myself, give her the love and protection Ellie and I would have given her together.
The years after Ellie’s death were long and hollow. Her memory lingered, never far from me, like a constant companion. Seven years passed before I even considered being with someone else. Seven long years before I let myself entertain the idea of love again. Ellie had been my high school sweetheart, the love I knew before success or wealth ever mattered. With her, life had been simple. Pure. But once I started dating again, I quickly learned that those days were gone.
The women I met saw my wealth before they saw me. I could see it in their eyes, the calculation and the hunger. And the ones who weren’t overtly drawn to my money seemed to harbor resentment toward Coco. They resented the space she occupied in my life, as if she were a rival or an obstacle to their ambitions. I could sense their bitterness. They would have an unspoken competition for my attention.
But I tried, for a time. There was one woman, Thalia. I thought maybe she could be different. Coco was fourteen then, still vulnerable in ways only a father knows. I’ll never forget the day I walked in on Thalia yelling at her. It was over something trivial, some inconsequential thing I can’t even remember. But the moment Thalia raised her hand, ready to strike my daughter, was burned into my mind. I had caught her wrist just before it came down.
That was the last straw. Coco would always come first, and I would not endanger her happiness or safety for anyone. That day was the last time I saw Thalia, or any other woman for that matter. Since then, I’ve thrown myself into building my empire and protecting the one person who matters more to me than anything in this world, Coco.
I pour myself another glass of whiskey, this time sipping slowly, letting the warmth spread through me. It stirs memories of Ellie again. Christmas was always her favorite time of year. Before her, I’d been indifferent to the season, just another holiday. But she had this way of bringing Christmas to life, of infecting everyone around her with her joy. The way her eyes would light up over something as small as mistletoe or a perfectly wrapped present, or decorating a Christmas tree... It made me fall in love with Christmas, too.
Coco is just like her mother in that way. Ever since she was a little girl, she’s adored the holidays. Her excitement is a living reminder of the woman I lost but will never forget. And now, as the holiday season approaches, I feel that familiar warmth returning. The thought of spending Christmas with Coco fills me with a gentle joy.
Ellie may be gone, but in Coco, her spirit lives on. And that, more than anything, brings me peace.
***