The front door clicked shut behind James, sealing him inside the warm embrace of his parents' home. The scent of polished mahogany, freshly brewed coffee, and the faint hint of lavender air freshener wrapped around him like a familiar blanket. It was a stark contrast to the lingering cigarette smoke and expensive perfume still clinging to his clothes from the party.
From the living room, the rustle of newspaper pages turned. His father's voice, laced with amusement, cut through the quiet.
"Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."
James tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, the metallic clatter echoing in the foyer. "Hey, Dad," he said, already moving toward the stairs. "Where's Mom?"
"Upstairs," Thomas replied, folding his newspaper with deliberate slowness. "Probably in bed, but not asleep. You know how she waits up when the chicks are out of the nest."
James opened his mouth to respond when a voice sliced through the hallway like a knife.
"James. Study. Now."
He turned to find Lillian standing in the hallway, arms crossed, designer suitcase at her feet. The look on her face could have frozen hell over.
Thomas chuckled, standing with a groan. "Use my study," he said, clapping James on the shoulder as he passed. "Sounds like you're in trouble."
James shot his father a grin before following his sister into the study. The familiar scent of leather-bound books and old paper wrapped around him as he stepped inside. His eyes traced the walls lined with diplomas and awards—his father's lifetime of achievements staring down at him.
"You know," James mused, running a finger along the edge of the mahogany desk, "I think it's time I bought a house with a study. One with soundproof walls."
Lillian didn't even look up as she set her suitcase on the desk with a thud. "Mister Millionaire thinks it's time," she said dryly. "Honestly, you're probably the only millionaire in San Francisco still living in his parents' house."
James dropped into one of the plush leather chairs, stretching his legs out. "I'm investing in memories."
"You're investing in Mom's cooking," Lillian shot back, flipping open the suitcase.
James laughed. "You're not wrong."
With practiced efficiency, Lillian pulled out a stack of documents bound with black clips. The papers were pristine, organized with the precision of someone who had spent too many late nights in corporate offices.
"Here's everything from the investment firm," she said, sliding the stack toward him. "Legal filings, fund disbursements, shareholder agreements. You need to sign these."
James picked up the first document, scanning the dense legalese. His mind wandered as he flipped through the pages—each signature, each initial, another step in the empire he was building.
"How's ChronoEdge doing?" he asked absently.
Lillian froze. The silence stretched just a beat too long.
James looked up to find her staring at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation.
"Wait," she said slowly, "you didn't call Emma for a briefing?"
James winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not yet. DoubleClick's been a full-time job this past week. I barely had time to sleep."
Lillian's eyes narrowed. "You built an investment firm from nothing. Staffed it. Launched it. And then just... ghosted it?"
James gave her his most charming smile. "That's why I have a brilliant older sister. COO of DoubleClick, remember?"
Lillian exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound of someone who had long since run out of patience. "Before you buy a house," she said, voice tight, "maybe hire an assistant. Or at least a secretary who can remind you of your own companies."
James leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. The leather chair creaked under his weight. "Speaking of companies," he said, watching the way Lillian's shoulders tensed, "I need you to set up another one."
Lillian's water bottle hit the desk with a thud. "Another one?" Her voice climbed an octave. "You haven't even visited the last one since it opened! And now you want another?"
James' grin widened. "What can I say? I've got ideas."
Lillian pinched the bridge of her nose. "What now?"
"Email," James said, leaning forward. "Online. A platform where users can access their email from any device with an internet connection. No desktop app. No corporate license. Just the web."
Lillian blinked. Once. Twice.
"That's..." She paused, turning the idea over in her mind. "Actually a great idea." A slow smile spread across her face. "I was just thinking about that earlier. I needed to check my work email but couldn't because I wasn't on the office network."
James tapped the signed documents with a flourish. "Then it's up to you how soon that company gets formed."
Lillian's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you've already built it."
James tilted his head, the picture of innocence. "Maybe."
Lillian groaned, shoving the remaining documents back into her suitcase with more force than necessary. "You're a monster."
James spread his hands. "A genius monster."
As Lillian stood, her hand brushed against a manila envelope tucked into the side of her suitcase. She hesitated, then pulled it out, tossing it onto the desk.
"Almost forgot," she said, her voice laced with something unreadable. "This came for you."
James picked up the envelope, breaking the seal with a flick of his thumb. Inside was a crisp white card, the Microsoft logo embossed in silver. His eyes scanned the text:
Microsoft Windows 95 Launch Event. August 24th.
A slow whistle escaped his lips. "Microsoft. Well, well."
Lillian was already at the door, suitcase in hand. "Don't say anything stupid to Bill Gates."
James tucked the invitation into his pocket with a smirk. "No promises."
Lillian rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Come on, genius. Walk me to my car before you invent something else on the way."
James followed her out, his mind already racing with possibilities. The game was changing. And he intended to be at the center of it.
----------
The night air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of the city as James and Lillian stepped onto the driveway. The soft glow of streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, painting the world in muted gold.
Lillian tossed her bag into the backseat of her sleek black sedan with a sigh. "If you send me another business idea this week," she warned, shooting James a look, "I'm charging you by the hour."
James smirked, leaning against the car. "Noted."
She was halfway into the driver's seat when a voice called out from the sidewalk.
"Lillian! James!"
They turned to see Charles and Eleanor approaching, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. Charles had his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his tie loosened. Eleanor's heels clicked against the pavement, the sound sharp in the quiet of the evening.
Charles smiled as he reached them. "Perfect timing. Don't leave yet—I need you both inside for something."
Lillian's brow furrowed. "What's going on?"
"Good news," Charles said, pushing open the front gate. "Something you'll want to hear."
James exchanged a glance with his sister. "That's vague enough to be concerning."
Charles chuckled. "Trust me, you'll want to be there."
The four of them made their way back into the house, the air inside warm and still. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily, the sound a quiet metronome in the silence. James paused at the foot of the stairs, calling up, "Mom? Dad? Can you come down for a second?"
A muffled voice answered, and a moment later, Charlotte appeared at the top of the staircase, her robe wrapped tightly around her. "James, it's late. What's so important it can't wait until morning?"
James gestured to Charles. "Ask him. I'm just the messenger."
Thomas appeared a second later, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "If this is about another one of your startups—"
James held up his hands. "For once, I'm not the one causing the chaos."
They gathered in the living room—Thomas sinking into his favorite armchair, Charlotte perching on the edge of the couch, Eleanor sitting beside Charles, who stood in front of the fireplace, his expression serious.
Charles took a deep breath, looking at each of them in turn. "I wanted to tell you all first," he said, his voice steady. "Before the campaign starts."
A beat.
"I'm running for mayor of San Francisco."
Silence.
Then—
Thomas burst out laughing, his eyes bright. "Finally!"
Lillian let out a low whistle. "Damn. That's big."
Charlotte's lips curved into a slow, proud smile. "You've been circling this for a while. We're behind you."
James blinked, the weight of the words settling over him. Then, a grin. "Ohhh," he said, nodding. "Public scrutiny. Political press. Reporters in our bushes. Yeah, that sounds familiar."
Charles chuckled. "Exactly. I wanted you all to be ready. We remember how Dad's campaign was. I won't do this unless the family's with me."
Charlotte's voice was firm. "We're with you. Just don't burn yourself out."
Thomas clapped his hands together. "Now that's a campaign. Charles Calloway for Mayor. Has a nice ring to it."
Eleanor smiled, resting a hand on Charles's arm. "He's got my vote. And my sanity, if he's lucky."
Lillian turned to James. "Guess you're not the only one making waves this year."
James exhaled, thoughtful. "First DoubleClick, now City Hall. 1995's getting crowded."
Thomas laughed. "Just don't try to outdo each other too much. The neighbors can only handle so much success before they start talking."
James smirked. "Then we'll give them something worth talking about."
The room filled with laughter, warm and easy. As the conversation flowed—Charles outlining his plans, Eleanor offering campaign ideas, Thomas reminiscing about his own political days—James leaned back, watching them.
He didn't say it aloud. But in that moment, he knew:
The empire he was building wasn't just made of servers, stocks, or software.
It was made of people.
Of family.
And this—this would be part of his legacy, too.