Chapter 6 - The True Wealth
Five years later.
The autumn air in northern Wisconsin was crisp, smelling of burning oak leaves, pine needles, and damp earth.
The private dock stretching out into the calm, glassy waters of Lake Geneva was weathered gray and sturdy. Tied to the wooden cleats bobbed a small green motorboat named The Gray Rabbit, its hull painted by hand with unsteady, joyful brushstrokes that clearly belonged to an eight-year-old artist.
Garrett Brennan sat on the edge of the dock, his legs dangling over the water, skipping flat stones across the surface. One, two, three, four skips before the granite pebble finally broke the reflection of the crimson-and-gold canopy of maples lining the shore.
Footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path behind him.
“You’re going to give yourself tennis elbow if you keep throwing rocks like a teenager,” Paige said, walking out onto the dock wearing a thick wool fisherman’s sweater and faded jeans, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee.
She handed one to Garrett, sitting down beside him and pulling her knees up to her chest.
“A teenager would have gotten at least five skips out of that slate,” Garrett joked, taking a sip of the dark roast. “My form is slipping.”
“Your form is fine,” Paige laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Though Oliver is currently inside packing his entire collection of smooth river rocks into his school backpack, so you might have competition soon.”
“He’s eight. He’s allowed to hoard rocks,” Garrett said, a warm smile spreading across his face.
Down the wooden steps from the main house, a tall, lanky eight-year-old boy came running toward the dock, his sandy blond hair flying in the breeze, clutching a battered, gray stuffed rabbit with a remarkably well-stitched ear.
“Dad! Mom! Look what I found by the boathouse!” Oliver shouted, holding up a remarkably spherical stone that looked like a cannonball. “It’s a dragon’s egg!”
Garrett stood up, walking down the dock to meet his son. He crouched down to eye level—the same eye level he had crouched at in row 29 of a crowded Boeing 777 years ago. But the terror and the desperate unknowns were gone, replaced by the quiet, unshakeable bedrock of a family.
“That’s not a dragon’s egg, buddy,” Garrett said solemnly, inspecting the rock with great professional seriousness. “That’s definitely a meteorite. We’re going to need to secure it in the laboratory immediately.”
Oliver’s eyes went wide with pure wonder. “Really? Can we build a laser defense system around it?”
“Naturally,” Garrett grinned, lifting his son effortlessly onto his shoulders.
Oliver let out a triumphant cheer, clutching his rabbit in one hand and his meteorite in the other, his golden-hazel eyes catching the bright autumn sunlight.
Paige watched them from the end of the dock, her heart full to bursting, the ghosts of the past finally laid to rest beneath the quiet, healing rhythm of the lake.
May you like
Garrett walked back toward her, carrying his son on his shoulders, his hand reaching out to entwine with hers as they walked back up toward the house together.
For the first time in his life, Garrett Brennan didn't own a single thing he couldn't carry in his arms. And he had never been richer.
