Chapter 3 - The Midnight Delivery
By 10:30 PM, the warm meal and the exhaustion of a long, cold day caught up with the twins.
Lily and Maya were fast asleep on the soft plush leather sofa in Reed’s living room, wrapped in a thick, ultra-soft cashmere throw blanket Arthur had brought out from the linen press. Their breathing was deep, rhythmic, and peaceful.
Clara stood by the massive glass window, looking down at the city street below. She had washed her hands and face in the guest bathroom, her long brown hair now flowing softly over her shoulders.
Reed walked over, holding two mugs of warm tea, and handed one to her.
"Thank you," Clara said, her fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. "For everything, Reed. I haven't seen them eat like that in... I can't even remember."
"They deserve far more than a meal, Clara," Reed said, standing beside her, looking out at the falling snow. "And so do you."
Clara took a slow sip of tea, her eyes fixed on the distant lights of Elm Street. "We have to leave soon. The last bus runs at eleven, and I want them to be in their own beds when they wake up on Christmas morning."
Reed turned to face her. "Clara, stay here tonight. There are three guest suites upstairs. It's twenty degrees outside, and the storm is getting worse."
"No," Clara said firmly, shaking her head. "You've done enough, Reed. Far too much. If I take more from you, I'll start feeling like a beggar. We have our pride, and we have our home, however small it is."
Reed looked at her proud, unyielding posture, realizing that forcing her to accept charity would only hurt her dignity. He respected her too much for that.
"Alright," Reed said smoothly. "Then let me at least drive you home."
While Clara gently woke the sleepy girls and bundled them into their thin coats, Reed stepped into his private study and dialed a number on his encrypted cell phone.
"Marcus," Reed said into the receiver the moment the call connected.
"Reed?" his operations director, Marcus Vance (no relation to Clara), sounded shocked to hear his boss's voice on Christmas Eve. "Is everything okay, sir? Is there a server breach?"
"No," Reed said calmly. "I need you to contact the general manager of the Flagship FAO Schwarz and the regional director of Saks Fifth Avenue immediately."
"Sir? It's eleven o'clock on Christmas Eve. They are closed."
"Tell them Reed Calder is opening a personal two-million-dollar credit line with their retail groups tonight," Reed commanded, his voice cold, sharp, and absolute. "I want two full wardrobes for five-year-old twin girls—winter coats, boots, dresses, socks, thermal wear. I want educational toys, art supplies, dollhouses, and two high-end winter coats for an adult woman. Have it packed, wrapped, and delivered to 142 Elm Street, Apartment 4B, by 6:00 AM tomorrow."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Sir... are you serious?"
"If it is not done by 6:00 AM, Marcus, I will acquire their parent holding companies by Monday morning and replace their entire executive board. Am I clear?"
"Crystal clear, Mr. Calder. It will be done."
Reed hung up the phone, adjusted his coat, and walked back into the foyer where Clara and the twins were waiting.
Fifteen minutes later, Reed’s long black armored SUV pulled up to the curb outside 142 Elm Street.
The building was a run-down, four-story brick structure with rusted fire escapes, peeling paint, and dim, flickering yellow lights in the narrow entrance hallway.
Reed carried a fast-asleep Maya up the narrow stairs, while Clara carried Lily. The air in the stairwell smelled of old radiator steam, damp plaster, and poverty.
Clara unlocked the door to Apartment 4B and pushed it open.
The apartment consisted of a tiny kitchenette and a single main room with two small cots pushing against the wall. A small artificial Christmas tree—no taller than eighteen inches, with no lights and three plastic red ornaments—sat on a rickety wooden table near the drafty window.
Reed carefully laid Maya down on her small cot, pulling the faded blanket over her shoulders. He stepped back, looking around the cold, impoverished space.
"It's not much," Clara whispered, stepping beside him as she tucked Lily into the adjacent cot. "But it's clean. And it's ours."
"It's cold, Clara," Reed said softly, noticing the slight draft blowing through the window frame.
"The landlord turns the boiler down at night to save fuel," Clara said, her tone flat with grim acceptance. "I put extra blankets on them."
Reed didn't argue. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the crumpled note the girls had given him under the Christmas tree, and placed it gently on the small table beside their tiny artificial tree.
Beside the note, he placed his Montblanc pen.
"What's that for?" Clara asked, watching him.
"So Santa knows he got the right address," Reed smiled gently. He walked toward the door, stopping at the threshold to look back at Clara. "Merry Christmas, Clara."
May you like
Clara looked at him, her hazel eyes glistening with an emotion she couldn't quite articulate. "Merry Christmas, Reed. Thank you... for giving my daughters a night they'll remember forever."
"The night isn't over yet," Reed said with a mysterious, quiet smile, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door softly behind him.
