Headquarters & The Trip Idea

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

Michael still wasn’t used to it—the soft chime, the mirrored walls, the way people in the lobby glanced up when he walked past with a badge on his belt instead of just a username on a screen.

Dark Evil used to be something he typed.

Now it had a logo on the directory.

He stepped out onto the twelfth floor and into the quiet hum of his company.

Glass walls.

Hushed conversations.

Keyboard clacks.

The faint whir of the coffee machine that never stopped.

“Morning, Dark,” someone called from the reception desk.

He nodded.

“Morning,” he said, tugging his backpack a little higher on his shoulder.

The sign on the wall read: Dark Evil Company – Headquarters in letters he still half‑expected to disappear if he blinked too long.

His office was at the end of the hall.

Not the corner with the biggest windows—that was a deliberate choice. He’d picked a room that could see the city but didn’t loom over it. A desk, two monitors, a bookshelf half‑full, a small couch by the wall.

On the credenza behind his chair sat three things in a neat row:

• A framed photo from Grayson’s graduation.

• A framed photo from New York—just him and Sean,

bundled in jackets, city lights behind them.

• A ring box, open, with his wedding band inside for the

times he couldn’t wear it, but still needed to see it. He kept his ring on most days now.

A quiet weight on his finger while he signed contracts and answered emails.

Not a promise to go back.

A memory he refused to bury.

He sat, woke up his screens, and the day swallowed him.

Emails.

Client calls.

A draft of a new partnership agreement.

Messages from moderators in the servers he oversaw.

He was halfway through replying to a particularly messy situation in one community when a notification popped up in the corner of his screen.

Grayson: On my way up. Don’t pretend you’re not at the desk, I

can feel it. He smirked.

Michael: Where else would I be? The plant room? Grayson: Tempting. But no. Stay. I’m bringing coffee and an

intervention. Michael raised an eyebrow.

Intervention.

That word never meant “casual chat” when his son used it.

A few minutes later, there was a knock.

“Yeah,” Michael called.

Grayson stepped in, holding two cups.

Dark slacks, button‑up shirt with the sleeves rolled, ID badge clipped to his belt. He wore responsibility like it fit.

“Vice Chairman,” Michael said. “Shouldn’t you be intimidating someone downstairs?”

“Already did,” Grayson replied, handing him a cup. “Now I’m here to intimidate you.”

Michael eyed the coffee.

“Is this bribery?” he asked.

“Consider it a soft opening,” Grayson said, dropping onto the couch. “How’s the chest?”

Michael pulled a face.

“Muted,” he said. “Couple of people in the open office are lying about how much they like each other. Nothing unusual.”

“See?” Grayson said. “Business as usual. That’s the problem.”

Michael leaned back in his chair.

“What’s wrong with business as usual?” he asked. “We finally have a usual. An office. People on payroll. A legal structure. That’s what we’ve been building for years.”

“I know,” Grayson said. “And you did it. We did it. But you know what I haven’t seen you do since the lease was signed?”

“Sleep?” Michael guessed.

“Leave,” Grayson said. “For anything that isn’t work or groceries.”

Michael opened his mouth to argue.

Closed it again.

He thought of the last few months.

Wake up.

Drive in.

Work.

Drive home to the new house where his sons lived, eat dinner with them, talk, crash, repeat.

He loved it.

He also clung to it like a life raft.

“If I step away too long, things slip,” he said. “You know how fast people push boundaries online. The company is the only thing standing between us and chaos half the time.”

“And I’m here,” Grayson said. “And the staff you hired are here. And your chest will let you know when something is really wrong even from a thousand miles away.”

Michael took a sip of coffee.

“So this is the intervention?” he asked. “You want me to take a day off?”

“A few days,” Grayson said. “In March.”

Michael frowned.

“What’s happening in February?” he said.

“Nothing catastrophic,” Grayson replied. “Which is exactly why you should leave.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen quickly before turning it around.

On it was a photo of Shenandoah National Park in winter—bare trees, blue‑gray ridges, a sky streaked with soft clouds over rolling mountains.stevetaboneblog+2

“Ever been?” Grayson asked.

“Not in winter,” Michael said. “Too cold. Too quiet. Too much room for my brain to invent things.”

“Perfect,” Grayson said. “You won’t have time to invent anything. You’ll be too busy learning how to use a camera properly.”

Michael squinted.

“Is this about Sean?” he asked.

“Of course it’s about Sean,” Grayson said. “He’s been dropping hints for weeks. I’m just better at making an agenda.”

Michael’s chest tightened in a different way.

“How is he?” he asked, softer.

“You live with him,” Grayson said. “You tell me.”

“You know what I mean,” Michael replied.

Grayson’s expression gentled.

“He’s good,” he said. “Better than he was. He sleeps. He eats. He laughs more. He’s still figuring out where to put his feet. But he looks at you like… like you’re real. Not a story someone told him.”

Michael stared at the photo of the mountains.

“Why Shenandoah?” he asked.

“Because it’s close enough to drive but far enough that you can’t pretend it’s a half‑day thing,” Grayson said. “Because the overlooks are stupidly pretty even in the cold. Because Sean won’t shut up about how good the light is up there for sunrise shots.”

He paused.

“And because you and he need something that belongs just to you,” he added. “New York was great. I’m glad you took that trip. But that was crowded and loud and fast. You were still in survival mode. This is different.”

Michael’s mind flickered back to the New York photo—the two of them, bundled in jackets, his gray beard visible, Sean’s hand on his shoulder, city blur in the background.

He kept that picture in his office and on his phone.

It was proof.

“Sean asked you to talk to me?” Michael said.

“Not directly,” Grayson replied. “He said, ‘I wish Dad would go up to Shenandoah with me someday so I could really teach him.’ Then he said he didn’t want to bother you because you were busy keeping the world from falling apart.”

Michael winced.

“That’s not what I—”

“I know,” Grayson said. “But that’s what he sees. He spent years thinking you didn’t have room for him. You and I both know that wasn’t the truth, but feelings don’t care about transcripts.”

Michael tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling.

The office lights were soft, not harsh, by design.

He’d picked warm bulbs so people wouldn’t feel like they were under interrogation.

“Who runs the company if I’m gone?” he asked.

“I do,” Grayson said instantly. “That’s literally my job. Vice Chairman. Chief Administrative Officer. Whatever title you slapped on the email signature, it comes down to the same thing: I hold the structure when you need to step outside of it.”

“And Sean?” Michael asked.

“He gets to see that his father chooses him even when work is important,” Grayson said. “That matters way more than you being in the building answering Slack messages.”

Michael’s chest twinged in the particular way it did when truth hit too close.

He tried to ignore it.

Failed.

“February,” he said slowly. “That’s… soon.”

“Good,” Grayson said. “Less time for you to talk yourself out of it.”

A knock sounded on the open door.

“Am I interrupting a secret meeting?” Sean asked, leaning in.

He wore a green flannel over a T‑shirt, ID badge on a lanyard, camera strap hanging loose around his shoulder—like he’d just come in from testing a lens on the balcony.

Michael’s mind flashed forward to that same flannel standing at a stone wall with mountains behind it, camera in hand.

He didn’t know why the image came so clear.

Not yet.

“We were just talking about you,” Grayson said.

Sean rolled his eyes.

“Great,” he said. “That’s not terrifying at all.”

“Sit,” Michael said, nodding to the second chair across from his desk.

Sean dropped into it, playing with the edge of his badge.

“What did you do?” he asked Grayson.

“Nothing,” Grayson said. “Yet. But I’m about to change your March.”

Sean’s eyebrows lifted.

“My February is currently empty except for work and pretending to be an adult,” he said. “What’s up?”

Michael slid the phone across the desk so the Shenandoah photo faced Sean.

Sean looked at it.

Something in his face softened immediately.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “You showed him.”

“I did,” Grayson said.

Michael watched Sean’s fingers tighten around the camera strap.

“You said you wanted to go,” Michael said. “That you wanted to teach me. I’ve been… thinking about it.”

Sean’s gaze flicked to him, cautious.

“And?” he asked.

“And your brother seems to think the company won’t crumble if I leave for a few days,” Michael said. “So. February. Shenandoah. Just you and me.”

Sean blinked.

For a half‑second, his whole expression went open—no defenses, no jokes—just raw surprise and hope.

Then he caught himself, forcing his mouth into a crooked half‑smile.

“Seriously?” he said.

“Seriously,” Michael replied. “If you still want to.”

Sean let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it since he first mentioned the park weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I want to.”

Grayson grinned.

“Good,” he said. “Because I already talked to HR. We can mark it as your official PTO, Dark. Look at that, a real company using real terms.”

Michael groaned.

“Don’t call it PTO,” he said. “That makes it sound like I’m going to a mandatory trust fall.”

Sean laughed.

“It’s not trust falls,” he said. “It’s just… trust. And some falls, if you trip over the rocks.”

Michael shook his head, but he couldn’t fight the small smile pulling at his mouth.

“Okay,” he said. “You plan it, then. The route. The overlooks. The sunrise. I’m just the old guy with the backpack.”

“You’re the student,” Sean corrected. “I’m the teacher this time.”

Michael let that sink in.

For so long, he’d been the one carrying the knowledge, the weight, the secrets.

The idea of letting his son guide him felt both terrifying and oddly right.

“Deal,” he said.

Sean’s eyes shone for a moment, brighter than the office lights.

“Cool,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing. “I’ll, uh, email you an itinerary. Look at me, using office words.”

Grayson stood, smoothing his shirt.

“I’m going to leave you two to figure out whether you want a cabin or a hotel,” he said. “Just remember, Dad—this is not a work retreat. No laptops. No client calls. If I see one email go out from Shenandoah, I’m changing all your passwords.”

“You can’t do that,” Michael said.

“Watch me,” Grayson replied.

He clapped a hand on Sean’s shoulder as he passed.

“This is your shot,” he murmured to him, low enough that Michael almost didn’t hear. “Take it.”

Sean’s throat bobbed.

“I will,” he said.

When the door closed behind Grayson, the room felt different.

Not heavier.

Not lighter.

Just… focused.

Sean turned the chair slightly so he was fully facing his father.

“So,” he said. “February.”

“February,” Michael echoed. “Hope you know what you’re getting into. I complain a lot when I’m cold.”

“I’ve seen you in winter,” Sean said. “I’ll pack extra layers.”

He hesitated, thumb running along the edge of his camera strap.

“There’s… another reason I wanted you to come up there,” he added.

Michael’s chest pricked.

“Oh?” he asked. “Besides making me climb hills at sunrise?”

Sean glanced at the door, then back at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I think… I think it’s a better conversation for when it’s just us. No walls listening. No emails popping up.”

The way he said it made something old stir in Michael’s spine.

A memory of laundry rooms and mornings when the world shifted without warning.

He studied his son.

Sean’s jaw was tight. His eyes were steady, but there was a flicker behind them—familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

“You can tell me,” Michael said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I know,” Sean replied. “I just… want trees around when I do. And sky.”

He forced a small smile.

“Besides, you’ll need something to take your mind off how much your legs hurt,” he added.

Michael huffed a laugh.

“Already regretting this,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Sean said.

The certainty in his voice made Michael’s heart jump.

Not in the old warning way.

In a different way.

A recognition he couldn’t name yet.

“Maybe not,” Michael admitted.

Sean stood, letting the camera rest against his chest.

“I’m gonna go test some lenses on the balcony,” he said. “We need to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too hard in front of the mountains.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Michael said.

Sean paused at the door.

“Hey, Dad?” he said.

“Yeah?” Michael replied.

“Thanks for saying yes,” Sean said. “Even with the company and everything. It… means more than you think.”

Michael swallowed.

“I have a pretty good idea,” he said. “But you can tell me if I’m wrong when we’re up there.”

Sean nodded.

“Deal,” he said.

Then he was gone, footsteps fading down the hallway.

Michael sat alone in his office, the hum of the building around him.

On his screen, emails waited.

On his desk, the photo of the mountains glowed faintly in the afternoon light.

March, he thought.

Shenandoah.

Cold air.

Stone walls.

His son at his side, camera in hand, something important pressed behind his teeth.

For the first time since the HQ opened, the idea of being away from this floor didn’t feel like abandonment.

It felt like the next chapter.

He reached for his phone and opened his calendar.

“Block out the second week of March,” he typed into a note for Grayson. “Heading to the mountains. Teacher’s orders.”

He hit send.

Then he picked up the New York photo, thumb brushing over the image of Sean leaning into him, city lights blurred behind them.

“Round two,” he murmured.

This time, the backdrop wouldn’t be neon.

It would be sky and stone and the quiet place where secrets finally stopped hiding. Chapter 2 to start right when they arrive at Shenandoah, or do you want a tiny “leaving home / car ride” scene first before the park?