Headquarters & The Trip Idea

Book Two – Chapter 1: Headquarters & The Trip Idea

January 2026 Dark Evil Company Headquarters The elevator ride to the top floor still felt a little unreal.

I wasn’t used to the soft chime.

The mirrored walls.

The way people in the lobby looked up when I walked past with a company badge clipped to my belt instead of a username floating above my head on a screen.

Dark Evil used to be something I typed.

Now it had a logo on the directory.

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped into the quiet hum of Dark Evil Company Headquarters.

Glass walls.

Low conversations.

Keyboards clicking.

The faint mechanical whir of a coffee machine that never seemed to stop working.

“Morning, Dark.”

I looked toward reception.

“Morning.”

My backpack shifted against one shoulder as I headed down the hall.

On the wall behind the desk:

DARK EVIL COMPANY – HEADQUARTERS

There were still mornings when I half expected the letters to disappear if I stared at them too long.

They never did.

Neither did the employees.

Or the lease.

Or the invoices.

Or the payroll.

Unfortunately.

The company was real.

Headquarters

My office sat toward the end of the hall.

Not the biggest office.

Not the dramatic corner room with windows on two sides.

That had been deliberate.

I wanted to see the city.

I didn’t need to loom over it.

Two monitors sat on my desk.

A bookshelf occupied one wall, still only half-full.

A small couch sat opposite the desk for conversations that didn’t need to happen across a piece of furniture.

Behind my chair were photographs.

Grayson’s graduation.

Another from New York.

That one was newer.

Sean and me bundled in jackets with the city glowing behind us.

His hand rested against my shoulder.

My gray beard looked almost silver beneath the lights.

We’d taken that trip after he came home.

One of the first times we’d gone somewhere together without a custody schedule attached to it.

I liked that photograph.

Maybe too much.

There was also a small ring box on the credenza.

Open.

Empty today.

The wedding band was on my finger.

I wore it most days now.

Not because I wanted Lauren back.

Not because divorce had somehow stopped being real.

It was simply part of my history.

The marriage had ended.

What came from it hadn’t.

Two sons existed because Lauren and I once loved each other enough to build a life.

I didn’t need to erase that to move forward.

I sat down.

Woke the monitors.

And immediately regretted having an email address.

Messages.

Client requests.

A partnership agreement waiting for review.

Moderator reports.

Three things marked URGENT, only one of which appeared remotely urgent.

Dark Evil Company had become exactly what Grayson promised.

A structure.

It had also become exactly what I should have expected.

Work.

Lots of it.

I was halfway through responding to a particularly ridiculous disagreement inside one of the communities we oversaw when a message appeared.

Grayson:

On my way up.

Don’t pretend you’re not sitting at your desk.

I smirked.

Me:

Where else would I be?

The plant room?

His response appeared almost immediately.

Grayson:

Tempting.

Stay there.

I’m bringing coffee and an intervention.

I stared at the word.

Intervention.

That was never casual when Grayson used it.

The intervention

A few minutes later, somebody knocked.

“Yeah.”

The door opened.

Grayson walked in carrying two coffees.

Dark slacks.

Button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled.

Company badge clipped at his belt.

Somewhere between college and now, my firstborn had learned how to wear responsibility like it belonged on him.

“Vice Chairman.”

He handed me a coffee.

“Chairman.”

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs intimidating somebody?”

“Already did.”

He dropped onto the couch.

“Now I’m here to intimidate you.”

I inspected the coffee.

“Bribery?”

“Soft opening.”

I took a sip.

He watched me.

Then:

“How’s the chest?”

I made a face.

“Quiet enough.”

“Enough?”

“Couple people outside are pretending they like each other more than they actually do.”

“Normal office.”

“Exactly.”

Grayson leaned back.

“That’s the problem.”

I lowered the cup.

“What?”

“Normal.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We finally have one.”

He gestured around the office.

“A headquarters. Employees. Payroll. Contracts. Actual departments.”

“You say that like it’s bad.”

“It isn’t.”

“Good. Because moving again sounds exhausting.”

He ignored me.

“You know what I haven’t seen you do since we got this place running?”

“Sleep?”

“Leave.”

I stared at him.

“For something that isn’t work,” he continued. “Or groceries. Or going home.”

“I go places.”

“Name one.”

“New York.”

“With Sean.”

“Yes.”

“That was months ago.”

“It still counts.”

Grayson gave me the look.

The one that told me I wasn’t winning.

I leaned back.

“If I’m gone too long, things pile up.”

“That’s why you hired people.”

“People do weird things when I’m not looking.”

“People do weird things when you are looking.”

Fair.

“And,” he continued, “I’m here.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Then use me.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Professionally.”

“Good clarification.”

He sighed.

“Dad.”

I smiled into the coffee.

“You made me Vice Chairman for a reason.”

“I thought you liked titles.”

“I do.”

“See?”

“I also have a job.”

His expression softened.

“You built a company that can survive you taking a few days away from the building.”

That landed differently.

I looked toward the windows.

The last few months had developed a rhythm.

Wake up.

Work.

Home.

Dinner.

Sean showing me photographs.

Grayson talking about contracts.

Someone arguing over something online.

Sleep.

Repeat.

It wasn’t a bad life.

Actually, it was better than anything I’d had in years.

Maybe that was why I held onto it so tightly.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

Grayson smiled.

That worried me.

He reached into his pocket.

Pulled out his phone.

Turned it toward me.

Mountains.

Bare winter trees.

Blue-gray ridges disappearing into the distance.

A wide sky over everything.

I studied the photograph.

“Shenandoah?”

“Yep.”

“In winter?”

“February.”

I stared at him.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Probably.”

“It’s cold.”

“Yes.”

“Mountains are famously outside.”

“I’ve heard.”

I handed the phone back.

“No.”

“You haven’t heard the pitch.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“Sean wants to go.”

I stopped.

Grayson smiled.

Cheap move.

Effective move.

“Of course this is about Sean.”

“Mostly.”

I looked back at the photograph.

“What does he want to do?”

“Photography.”

That wasn’t surprising.

“He’s been talking about winter light up there for weeks. Sunrise. Overlooks. Fog if you’re lucky.”

“He told you this?”

“He tells me lots of things.”

“I know.”

“He said he wishes you’d go with him sometime.”

My fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup.

“Why didn’t he ask me?”

Grayson shrugged.

“He knows you’re busy.”

That answer bothered me.

Not because Sean was wrong.

Because I didn’t want him to be right.

“He can ask.”

“I know.”

“Does he?”

“Not always.”

Grayson paused.

“You spent a lot of his childhood somewhere else in his mind.”

I looked at him.

“He’s here now. That’s changing.”

“I know.”

“But changing something doesn’t mean the old instinct disappears overnight.”

I looked again at the mountains on his phone.

Sean had been living with us long enough that his camera equipment had begun spreading through the house like an invasive species.

Tripods.

Bags.

Lenses.

Batteries.

Things I was apparently forbidden from touching without permission.

New York had been different.

Crowded.

Bright.

Fast.

We had photographs from it.

Good ones.

But Shenandoah sounded like something else.

No crowds swallowing us.

No schedule built around attractions.

Just mountains.

A camera.

My son.

“How many days?”

Grayson smiled.

“I knew I had you.”

“You have nothing.”

“Two or three.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Two and a half.”

“Deal.”

“I hate negotiating with you.”

“That’s why you made me Vice Chairman.”

I took another drink.

“February.”

“February.”

I exhaled.

“Fine.”

Grayson’s grin widened.

“Fine?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely making you repeat it.”

I pointed toward the door.

“Get out.”

Before he could respond, somebody knocked against the open frame.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Sean.

He leaned against the doorway.

Green flannel over a T-shirt.

ID badge hanging from a lanyard.

Camera strap over one shoulder.

The camera itself rested against his chest.

Grayson looked at him.

“We were talking about you.”

Sean’s expression immediately became suspicious.

“That’s never good.”

“Come in.”

Sean walked over and dropped into the chair across from my desk.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing.”

“Yet,” Grayson added.

Sean looked between us.

“Why do I feel like I’m being called into the principal’s office?”

I slid Grayson’s phone across the desk.

The photograph of Shenandoah remained on the screen.

Sean looked down.

His expression changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

“You showed him?”

“Yep.”

Sean looked at me.

I folded my arms.

“Apparently you’ve been conspiring with your brother.”

“I mentioned it.”

“You mentioned it to him.”

“You’re busy.”

There it was again.

I didn’t like hearing it from Sean any more than I’d liked hearing it from Grayson.

“I’m not too busy for you.”

Sean’s eyes dropped briefly toward the phone.

“I know.”

I wasn’t entirely sure he did.

So I said it differently.

“February.”

His eyes came back up.

“What?”

“Shenandoah.”

I gestured toward the photograph.

“You and me.”

He stared.

“Seriously?”

“Apparently I’m taking two and a half days off.”

“Three,” Grayson corrected.

“Apparently Grayson is getting fired.”

Sean laughed.

Then looked at me again.

The humor faded.

“You really want to go?”

That question mattered.

Not:

Can you?

Not:

Do you have time?

Do you want to?

“Yes.”

I let the answer sit there.

“I do.”

Sean smiled.

It wasn’t enormous.

That made it feel more real.

“Okay.”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

Then again:

“Okay.”

Grayson leaned back, satisfied.

“Excellent.”

Sean picked up the phone.

“Skyline Drive?”

“You’re planning it.”

His head snapped toward me.

“I am?”

“You’re the photographer.”

A smile started.

“So you’re actually going to listen to me?”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

“Dad.”

“You plan the route.”

I counted on my fingers.

“Overlooks. Sunrise. Whatever photography things you think I need to understand.”

Sean’s smile grew.

“And you’re going to let me teach you?”

“Within reason.”

“No.”

“No?”

“If I’m teaching, you don’t get to do the Dad thing where you pretend you already knew something.”

“I never do that.”

Both sons stared at me.

I looked between them.

“Fine.”

Sean laughed.

“You’re the student.”

I considered that.

For most of my life, being the father meant feeling like I was supposed to know what came next.

Even when I didn’t.

Especially when I didn’t.

Maybe being the student for a few days wouldn’t kill me.

“Deal.”

Sean adjusted the camera against his chest.

“Deal.”

Teacher’s orders

Grayson stood.

“Good.”

He straightened his shirt.

“My work here is done.”

“You brought coffee and emotionally blackmailed me.”

“Leadership.”

He walked toward the door.

Then stopped.

“And for the record, I’m handling things here while you’re gone.”

I pointed at him.

“No catastrophes.”

“I’ll schedule all catastrophes for when you return.”

“Thank you.”

“No laptops.”

“Excuse me?”

“No work laptop.”

“I need—”

“No.”

“Grayson.”

“Company policy.”

“There is no company policy.”

“There will be by February.”

Sean laughed.

“I like this company.”

“You’re both fired.”

“Can’t fire your entire family,” Sean said.

“Watch me.”

Grayson shook his head and left.

Sean remained in the chair.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he looked toward the mountain photograph.

“Cabin or hotel?”

“Hotel.”

“That fast?”

“I have standards.”

“Cabins have standards.”

“Cabins have things that crawl.”

“So do hotels.”

“Why are you ruining this?”

Sean laughed.

“Fine. We’ll look.”

He took out his phone.

I watched him start making notes.

Dates.

Possible overlooks.

Drive times.

Sunrise.

Camera gear.

He looked completely at home doing it.

That made me smile.

“What?”

He caught me staring.

“Nothing.”

“No. What?”

“You’re excited.”

“So?”

“So am I.”

He looked down.

A small smile remained.

“Good.”

I leaned back.

“What exactly are you planning to teach me?”

“How to stop taking terrible pictures.”

“My pictures are fine.”

“You center everything.”

“That’s where the subject is.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“We have so much work to do.”

I laughed.

Sean did too.

For several minutes, we talked about cameras.

Lenses.

Light.

Things I understood.

Things I absolutely pretended to understand until he caught me.

Eventually, he stood.

“I’ll make an actual itinerary tonight.”

“Don’t make it insane.”

“You agreed to sunrise.”

“I agreed under emotional duress.”

“Still counts.”

He started toward the door.

Then stopped.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

His fingers rested against the camera strap.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For saying yes.”

I looked at him.

“Of course.”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“I mean…”

He searched for the words.

“I know the company matters to you.”

“It does.”

“And I know how hard you worked to get this place.”

I nodded.

“So you leaving it for a few days…”

His eyes moved toward mine.

“It means something.”

My chest tightened.

Not supernatural.

Just fatherhood.

“Sean.”

“Yeah?”

“The company matters.”

I glanced around the office.

The logo.

The monitors.

The walls we’d spent years imagining.

Then back at him.

“But you’re my son.”

He gave me a small smile.

“I know.”

This time, I believed that he did.

“I’ll send you the itinerary.”

“Teacher’s orders?”

“Teacher’s orders.”

He left.

February

The office became quiet again.

Or as quiet as headquarters ever became.

Emails waited.

Messages accumulated.

Somebody somewhere was almost certainly creating a problem I would hear about within the hour.

But for once, I didn’t immediately reach for the keyboard.

I looked at the photograph from New York instead.

Sean and me.

City lights.

Winter coats.

His hand on my shoulder.

That trip had been proof that we could create memories that didn’t belong to the old family.

Shenandoah would be another.

Not a replacement.

Not a repair.

Something new.

I opened my calendar.

Found the second week of February.

Blocked three days.

Then sent Grayson a message.

Me:

Second week of February.

Mountains.

Teacher’s orders.

His response appeared immediately.

Grayson:

THREE days?

Me:

Don’t push it.

A laughing reaction appeared.

I closed the message.

Outside my office, Dark Evil Company kept moving without me.

For the first time since headquarters opened, that didn’t frighten me.

Maybe that was part of building something real.

If everything collapsed the second I walked away, I hadn’t built a company.

I’d built another cage.

I wasn’t interested in cages anymore.

I picked up the New York photograph.

“Round two.”

Then set it back.

In February, I would leave headquarters behind for three days.

My son would bring the cameras.

I would bring the complaints about the cold.

And somewhere between the road, the mountains, and whatever photographs we brought home, Sean and I would get another chance to learn each other.

For now, that was enough reason to go.