Chapter 13 - THE NEW DAWNThe transition of power at Harden Systems was swift, silent, and surgical.
There was no hostile takeover, no messy boardroom brawls, and no sensationalized headlines. With Eleanor behind bars awaiting trial and the thirty percent voting block firmly under my control, Daniel and I restructured the board within forty-eight hours, appointing independent tech ethicists, environmental compliance officers, and veteran engineers to oversee the company’s future.
By November, the Colorado Rockies were covered in a blanket of pristine white snow.
Our ranch had become a sanctuary. Betty and Mia were thriving at their new private academy in Boulder, where they spent their afternoons building snowmen and learning how to ride their ponies through the frosted alpine trails.
On a crisp Friday afternoon, I stood on the back porch of the ranch house, watching Daniel shovel the heavy snow off the wooden deck. He wore a heavy wool coat, his breath pluming in the freezing air as he laughed at something Mia was shouting from the second-story window.
The front gate security intercom buzzed.
I walked inside, picked up the handset, and pressed the receiver.
"Mrs. Harden?" a crisp, professional voice inquired.
"Yes?"
"This is Warden Miller from the federal detention facility in Chicago. We have a visitor request on behalf of inmate Eleanor Harden. She has requested a five-minute supervised phone call with you before her arraignment next week."
I paused, looking out through the frost-patterned glass at Daniel, who had stopped shoveling and was watching me from the yard with a questioning look in his slate-gray eyes.
I pressed the talk button.
"Tell her," I said smoothly, "that my father’s name was David Miller. And she has the wrong person."
I hung up the phone before she could reply.
I walked out onto the snowy porch, the cold air stinging my cheeks, and stepped right into the warmth of Daniel’s arms.
He dropped the shovel, wrapped his heavy coat around my shoulders, and pulled me tight against his chest.
"Who was on the phone?" he asked, resting his chin on the top of my head.
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"Wrong number," I smiled, looking up into his eyes—the exact same gray eyes as my daughters, the exact same crooked smile, and the exact same tiny dimple.
"Good," Daniel murmured, pressing his lips to mine in a long, slow kiss that tasted of winter air and forever. "Because we have a wedding to plan."
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