Chapter 3 - Shivering in the Snow
The scene that unfolded outside the chalet was nothing short of a spectacle.
Patricia stood on the stone driveway in her fur-trimmed coat, clutching her designer handbag like a shield while shrieking at the resort staff. Daniel’s father, Robert, was frantically dialing his bank on speakerphone, only to hear automated messages informing him that his primary line of credit had been suspended due to sudden corporate restructuring inquiries.
Daniel’s younger brother, who had spent the last two years living off a phantom ""marketing coordinator"" stipend provided by Northstar, sat on top of his hard-shell luggage, staring blankly at the snow.
And then there was Vanessa.
Dressed in head-to-toe designer winter gear—purchased, no doubt, on the company card Daniel had handed her three weeks ago—she looked frantic. ""Daniel, do something! This is ridiculous! Call your bank! We can just book the St. Regis or the Little Nell! I am not standing out here in twenty-degree weather with all these bags!""
""Shut up, Vanessa!"" Daniel snapped, his calm facade shattering completely. He furiously punched my number into his phone over and over, only to hear the automated operator: The party you are trying to reach has restricted incoming calls.
He switched to his company phone, only to find the screen locked with a black-and-white security prompt: DEVICE REMOTELY WIPED BY NORTHSTAR IT ADMINISTRATOR. PLEASE RETURN TO HEADQUARTERS.
For the first time in his pampered adult life, Daniel Whitmore was experiencing the terrifying silence of absolute irrelevance.
He didn't own the cars. He didn't own the penthouse apartment we lived in—that had been bought outright by my mother’s estate before I had even met him. He didn't even own the bespoke luggage he had packed his clothes in. Every shred of luxury he used to define his masculine pride was tethered to a company founded by the quiet, unassuming woman he had left behind in an empty kitchen on Christmas Eve.
With no luxury SUVs to pick them up, the Whitmores were forced to drag five sets of heavy luggage down the winding, ice-slicked private driveway toward the main road. The snow was falling heavily now, coating Patricia’s expensive blowout in slush.
They finally managed to hail two local ride-share vehicles to take them to the local municipal center, paying with the last scraps of cash Robert had tucked in his wallet.
When they arrived at the Aspen airport hoping to catch an early flight back to Chicago, the ticket counter agent delivered the final blow.
""I'm sorry, Mr. Whitmore,"" the agent said, typing into the terminal. ""Your return first-class tickets were booked under Northstar Hospitality’s corporate travel portal. The travel manager canceled the entire booking at 8:00 AM this morning and requested full airline credit back to the corporate ledger.""
""You can't do that!"" Daniel slammed his hand on the counter, causing nearby travelers to turn and whisper. ""We have boarding passes!""
""Those passes are void, sir,"" the agent responded, stepping back toward an armed security officer. ""If you wish to purchase one-way economy tickets for five passengers on today’s holiday flights, the remaining fare is eleven hundred dollars per seat. Will that be cash or card?""
May you like
Daniel looked at his mother. Patricia looked at her husband. Robert turned his empty pockets inside out.
Vanessa stepped backward, slowly pulling her phone out and booking a solitary, coach-class seat on another airline using her dwindling personal savings, completely abandoning the family that had traded their dignity for her company.
