Kane Graas

[Guest]

What the Ghost of Christmas Future could reveal about Kane's descendent:

 

“And the restocking orders for New Years need to be signed.” Accepting the orders from his secretary Kane glanced over the numbers before bowing to rest the papers on the edge of his desk to sign them. “Anything else?” he asked, capping his pen and handing the signed papers back to his secretary. “No, go home to that little angel of yours. Merry Christmas to you both,” the middle-aged woman responded with a smile. “Almost forgot. She sent you a present,” Kane recalled and crossed the office to a black leather couch onto which he had tossed his coat earlier. Slipping his arms in the sleeves Kane shrugged the coat on before pulling a homemade card and a medium-sized package out of his pocket. “She worked on it for over a week,” Kane told his secretary as he handed her the package and bent to kiss her cheek, “Merry Christmas, Susanne.” The two exited Kane’s office into Susanne's, she heading to her desk while Kane crossed the room towards the door. Pausing at the door with his hand on the handle, Kane flashed a quick smile to Susanne over his shoulder: “Don’t stay in the office for too long yourself either.” A blast of music permeated the room for a moment as Kane stepped out, before Kane closed the door to the soundproof offices behind him. Heading down the hallway Kane hurried down the stairs.

 

His eyes ran swiftly over the crowd partying in one of the hottest – among with his others – nightclubs in Europe. Kane exchanged a quick nod with the barmen as he passed, but didn’t pause to chat. All three were kept busy serving the clubbers anyway. A drunken blonde stumbled into him from the dancefloor, Kane instinctively righting her. “You don’t look like the rest of the guys here. Come here often? We should come together,” the woman slurred, nearly popping out of her silvery top as she attempted a sexy wiggle. Kane smirked, well aware that his black silk slacks, Italian leather loafers and grey cashmere sweater set him apart from the crowd. Not to mention the fact he owned the place. “You could say that,” Kane responded vaguely, turning the woman around and giving her a little push towards three giggling girls who were staring at them and whispering behind their hands, no doubt about Kane’s looks so he gave them a quick wink, “Go dance with your friends.” Four years ago Kane might have taken her up on her offer, but one-night flings had largely become a thing of the past for him. He had never cared for blondes anyway. Weaving through the people Kane gradually made his way over to the door. “Evening, boss,” the large black bounced with a long feather-earring hanging from one hear greeted with a grin. “Evening Geoff. Everying going well?” Kane asked curiously studying the red santa’s hat Geoff had coquettishly set on top of his bald head. “You betcha. Folks are especially excitable as the hols are here, but I’ve got it covered,” Geoff answered, flexing his impressive arm-muscles before stepping aside to let Kane pass.

 

Crossing the street to the underground parking lot Kane headed straight to her silver Jaguar and slipped behind the wheel. The Rolex on his wrist glinted under the overhead light as Kane steered the car out to the street and headed home, his music a little bit too loud and his speed a little bit too fast. There wasn’t much traffic at this hour so it was only a quarter of an hour later that Kane turned into his driveway, the electronic gates sliding open before the hood of his car. With a purr of of a powerful motor Kane drove through and around the small roundabout coming to a stop before the front steps of the 17th century manor he called home just as the doors were burst open and a young girl in a red velvet red dress came flying down. Hopping out of the car Kane caugth the girl and raising her high in his arms twirled her around: “Now don’t you look pretty, angel. Did Mary braid the red ribbons in your hair?” The girl giggled and nodded proudly: “We made sugarcookies. I made this one all by myself!” the girl chattered in response, having a spot of trouble pronouncing the r in sugarcookies, “Taste it.” Kane oblingly opened his mouth and took a bite out of the misshapen cookine the girl was holding before his lips. “A tad too sweet, but otherwise not bad,” he judged thoughtfully. “Silly daddy, sugarcookies are supposed to be sweet!” the girl laughed resting her forehead against Kane’s. “Oh, are they?” Kane wondered idly as he tickled the girl, making her whoop with joy.

 

Who’d have thought that a one-night fling with a woman whose face he didn’t even remember would bring such joy to his life? It had been the shock of pitch-black hair – the exact same shade and texture as his own – and sharp steely grey eyes of the year old baby that had given him pause when the obviously heroine-eaten woman had come claiming the baby was his. A fact proven by a paternity test that had spurred Kane to immediate action. The court had been quick to assign full custody to Kane and the woman had overdosed on subpar stuff two months later.

 

Kissing his daughter’s forehead, Kane brushed a snowflake from her hair. “Let’s get inside before you catch a cold. It wouldn’t do to have a fever tomorrow when Santa comes,” Kane said, cradling the girl against himself and patiently listening to the chatter about what she had asked Santa for as he turned to walk up the steps to where the housekeeper Mary was holding the door open for them with a wide smile as she watched the father and daughter interact.