After that heated exchange with Axel, Dan just wanted to tune out everything else. She had barely slept, her head a fog of fire and restraint. The silence in the room was her only comfort—until the company phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.
Without thinking, she answered.
"Dan."
There was a moment of pause—intentional, maybe measured. Then a low, weathered voice filled the line.
"Hola, Danielle."
She froze.
That wasn't Axel. That Spanish was older. Smoother. Laced with the kind of authority that doesn't beg for respect—it commands it by simply breathing.
"Alonzo Real de Lara."
Her back straightened involuntarily. Alonzo. Axel's father. The Real de Lara. The one behind the glass Axel never let her see through.
But she'd looked him up.
Not because she was curious—just cautious. The night before her final interview with Horizon, Leo had fallen asleep beside her, and she'd gone down the usual spiral. The company website, old BusinessWorld profiles, a few deep-dive Reddit threads and a paywalled article she half-read through cached snippets.
That's when she saw it.
The name Real de Lara wasn't just a name—it was the spine. Alonzo and his siblings weren't in every press release, but they were always present in the shadows: forming trusts, acquiring land, and restructuring boards. One article called them "the quiet architects of continuity." Another simply called him "the man who doesn't need a CEO title to be the one in charge."
She'd brushed it off then. Filed it under corporate lore. Just background.
But now, hearing that voice on her phone?
I should've paid more attention.
She didn't speak. Couldn't. Her mouth dried before her mind caught up.
"I heard you stopped the world," he said, tone unreadable.
"And that my son didn't like it."
Danielle's heart thundered. Am I being reprimanded by a king?
"But I did."
She blinked.
"Not because you asked. But because I remembered how long it's been since these people last rested. Since they last saw their children unwrap a gift. Since they last got to sleep without waking to problems they didn't cause."
Danielle couldn't breathe. She felt her eyes sting. No. Not now.
"You are chaos, niña. But I'll take your kind of chaos over stagnation."
She finally found her voice.
"Thank you, Señor."
"It's Don."
A pause.
"Feliz Navidad, bruha."
Happy Christmas, witch.
Click.
The line went dead, but Danielle stayed frozen, hand gripping the phone, stunned in the most surreal way.
Did the devil just wish me a Merry Christmas?
She burst into laughter. A quiet, cracked sound in the eerie night that melted into something she hadn't felt in years:
Relief.
Meanwhile at the great halls of Horizon Holding HQ
Daryl wasn't one to rush, but something about the tension in the air had him walking briskly toward Axel's office. Ever since the Zoom meeting, he and the other managers had been on edge, unsure whether to take the holiday break seriously.
He knocked on Axel's door, half-expecting to be told to turn around and forget everything he'd heard.
"Entra."
Come in.
Axel's voice was flat, not angry, not welcoming—just flat. Daryl stepped inside, trying to keep his posture confident, but his stomach was already knotting.
Axel didn't look up from the paperwork strewn across his desk.
"¿Qué quieres, Daryl?"
What do you want, Daryl?
"Sir," Daryl began, careful with his words, "there's been some... confusion after the meeting. About the break. The team... they just can't believe it's real."
Axel lifted his gaze slowly, eyes sharp, calculating, like he was sizing Daryl up.
"¿Por qué no sería real?"
Why wouldn't it be real?
Daryl hesitated, unsure if he should push further. "It's just... it's the first time we've had a real break since 1998. Not even you've—"
"Ya sé desde cuándo."
I know since when.
Axel interrupted, finally standing and walking toward the window. He stared out, his back to Daryl.
"Pero esto va a pasar. Díselo al equipo. Ninguna excepción."
But it's happening. Tell the team. No exceptions.
Daryl blinked, struggling to comprehend Axel's cold assurance.
"You're sure about this, sir?"
Axel turned sharply, his gaze locking with Daryl's.
"¿Tienes algún problema con eso?"
Do you have a problem with that?
Daryl quickly shook his head. "No, no problem. Just... surprised. Everyone's surprised. We don't know what to expect."
Axel exhaled sharply, an almost imperceptible flicker of frustration crossing his face.
"Si no confiara en Danielle para tomar esta decisión, ya me habría metido."
If I didn't trust Danielle to make this call, I would've stepped in already.
"La empresa necesita un reset. Después de todo lo que pasó... también necesitan el descanso."
The company needs a reset. After everything that happened… they need the break too.
Daryl nodded slowly. "I understand, sir. But... can I ask—"
"¿Preguntar qué?"
Ask what?
Axel's tone was still icy, but there was a strange undercurrent of something else. Maybe exhaustion, maybe resignation.
Daryl swallowed, trying to push past the tension. "Will there be... consequences for this? For the team? I mean, they're expecting this to be a joke. When they find out it's real, some of them might—"
Axel held up a hand, silencing him.
"Siempre hay consecuencias. Siempre."
There are always consequences. Always.
"¿Crees que no sé lo que pasa cuando apruebo algo así?"
You think I don't know what happens when I sign off on something like this?
He moved back to his desk, the weight of his words lingering in the air.
"Llevo años construyendo Horizon. Si un descanso los mantiene efectivos, que así sea."
I've spent years building Horizon. If a break keeps them effective, so be it.
"Pero no te equivoques. El regreso no será fácil."
But don't get it twisted. Coming back won't be easy.
Daryl nodded again, feeling a sense of finality in the air. "Understood, sir."
Axel looked back at Daryl with a sharper edge to his gaze.
"Hazles saber que esto es real. Nada de dudas. Nada de vacilaciones."
Make sure they know this is real. No doubts. No hesitations.
"Y no dejes que piensen ni por un segundo que esto fue fácil para nadie."
And don't let them think for a second that this was easy for anyone.
Daryl gave a quick, almost reflexive salute before turning to leave. He didn't speak a word more as he walked out, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud.
Axel was right. This wasn't easy. But it was happening. And now, all Daryl had to do was make sure everyone else knew it too.
From the Office of Axel Real de Lara
Signed by: Dan Reyes
Subject: Year-End Operations Break & Token of Gratitude
To the entire Horizon Holdings Team,
The past months have brought significant changes to our organization—structural realignments, recalibrated operations, and an unwavering commitment from each of you. Through these transitions, we have not only weathered storms but witnessed undeniable surges in both performance and morale.
In recognition of your resilience, dedication, and the exceptional results we've achieved as a unit, we are formally announcing the following:
With this, we are pleased to announce the following:
Official Operations Break:
From December 14, 2024 to January 7, 2025, all regular operations will be temporarily suspended.
Teams are expected to resume full operations on Monday, January 9, 2025.
This period is meant to give everyone time to rest, recover, and reconnect outside of work. We trust that you will return reinvigorated for the opportunities ahead.
Feliz Navidad, and thank you for being part of this familia.
—D. R.
Horizon Holdings – Office of the COO
Danielle stared at her triple monitor setup, each screen lit up like a mini war room. Slack buzzed endlessly on the left. Excel sheets scrolled endlessly on the right. And in the middle? Her command center—emails, reports, dashboards.
"Focus, Dan," she muttered under her breath, stretching her back on the ergonomic chair she didn't even remember ordering. There were stacks of documents by the printer, Post-it notes everywhere, and a cold cup of Tim's black coffee dangerously close to her mouse.
The announcement had gone live—corporate break from December 14 to January 7—with her name on the memo but issued from Axel's office. Bold move. Bold risk. And now? The dominoes were falling.
Slack pings flew faster than quarterly reports.
"Is this real? Like... approved by Axel?"
"A month-long break?"
"Wait. A token? Like a physical one?"
A junior logistics analyst, Carmen, pulled her earbuds out mid-task. "¿Qué demonios…?" she whispered, scanning the pinned message again.
Her seatmate, Tomas, blinked twice before spinning in his chair.
"Did the Americans acquire us and forget to mention it?" he muttered.
By 8:09 AM, the bulletin board in the operations bay was surrounded by mid-level managers.
Antonio, one of the longest-serving supervisors—salt-and-pepper hair, always the skeptic—read aloud:
"We expect you to be up and running when you come back Monday, January 9."
He folded his arms. "Even Axel doesn't take that long off. What game is this?"
"Dan??? Axel approved this?" someone asked from behind the printers.
Heads turned. The tension cracked like glass.
"La pequeña jefa," Carmen whispered, eyes wide. The little boss.
Whispers of respect and unease rippled through the floor.
Some squinted at the email signature, others forwarded the memo back to themselves—just to check it was real.
No one wanted to be caught celebrating a prank.
Still, the memo was from Axel's office. And Dan's name was there, bold and unapologetic.
Then someone muttered what they were all thinking:
"Axel must be furious."
But no follow-up memo came. No redaction. No clarification.
By 9:00 AM, the mood in HQ shifted—from shock to disbelief, then to cautious celebration.
Because if it was true…
This was the first proper holiday break in over two decades.
And somehow, she made it happen.
She didn't reply. Not yet. Let them simmer.
In another tab, she was confirming the final list with the local suppliers. Donated gift boxes were being sorted, labeled, and packed:
✔ Cured meat samplers
✔ Cheese samplers
✔ Two bottles of Pinot Noir
✔ Chocolates from a Swiss supplier
✔ Company-logo shirts
All arranged, tracked, and tagged. Some HQ managers still thought it was a bluff.
Dan smirked. Let them wonder. Who's receiving and who's giving.
The next few days flashed before her like a blur. Dan sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop on the coffee table, surrounded by shipment updates, child's homework, and a tub of toys Leo didn't feel like picking up.
A call came in. Supplier rep.
"Ma'am Dan, all deliveries confirmed. The shirts came in from Pampanga this morning. Swiss chocolates cleared customs."
"Salamat. I owe you one."
She hung up and switched to Slack where Caden messaged:
"Dan, some HQ folks are asking if this break is legal. 😂"
Dan replied:
"It's not just legal. It's legendary."
December 8, 2025 – Spain HQ and Remote Workers
The memo had dropped into inboxes across the globe, each with the same striking subject line: Corporate Break Announcement.
At Spain HQ, the office went eerily quiet when the notifications pinged. The large open-plan space buzzed only with the hum of computers and the occasional keyboard click. When Alba, a senior manager, opened the email, she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a skeptical smile.
"A break... really? Axel is finally cutting us some slack?" She scrolled down the email, her disbelief growing as she read the details. A four-week break? With a company-wide holiday pause from December 14 to January 7? She thought for a second about the massive workload they were juggling, the deadlines creeping closer, but the idea of a forced break didn't sit right.
She glanced over to Carlos, her colleague who was busy typing away, and tossed the phone in his direction. "Hey, have you seen this? The memo says a break."
Carlos clicked open the email, his eyes scanning it quickly. A slight frown creased his brow.
"Break?? We have been here longer than Axel and Caden combined, haha " He shook his head in disbelief. "This isn't Axel's style at all."
They both sat back, exchanging looks filled with doubt. The corporate culture had always been about hard work, sacrifice, and getting things done. Axel had always prided himself on that. A break? That felt... foreign. Out of character.
Across the office, Javier, a manager, let out a snort as he too read the memo aloud to his nearby team. "Is this a joke?" he asked, clearly skeptical. "We don't take breaks like this."
The doubt began to spread. From across the room, Raul overheard the conversation. His tone was more cynical as he remarked to no one in particular, "I've seen a lot of things come from this corporation, but this? I'm not buying it."
The email quickly made its rounds on the Slack channels as well, and the messages started to pile up:
From London (Giulia): "A corporate break? I don't trust this one bit. Are we really supposed to just take four weeks off?"
From Berlin (Luca): "Are we sure this memo's legit? Something feels... off."
From Milan (Clara): "This is what you get when you let someone who's not Axel in charge. This smells fishy."
In response, Javier from HQ threw out a theory:
"It's either a marketing stunt or they're just trying to get us to relax for a bit. Who knows. Axel's been distracted lately. He wouldn't make this kind of call."
The tone was skeptical, the consensus still unclear. Across multiple time zones, the remote workers had their own suspicions, starting group chats to discuss the email, some sharing their doubts that Axel—who had always been a hard-driving, no-nonsense leader—would ever approve of this kind of break. A gift? A token of appreciation? It was so far from what they expected.
And so, the room held its breath. Everyone knew something had shifted recently with Danielle taking on more responsibility, but was this really her plan? Or was this another corporate game?
The doubt lingered for hours as the Slack channels buzzed with confusion, and the workers waited to see what, if anything, Axel would say about it.
"Ilang araw na lang mhie, mukha ka namang pera diba?"
After the argument, Danielle didn't clap back. She didn't defend. She didn't even reply to Axel's final Slack message.
She just disappeared—into her plans.
From the outside, it looked like she had gone quiet. But really, she buried herself into the blueprint that had been keeping her up since October. A strategic redirection of the Customer Success arm—one that would ease Horizon's overloaded support infrastructure and reroute it to an external agency she used to work for, discreetly vetted and quietly briefed over the past weeks.
She called it Project Mirror, ironically—because no one knew she had already seen the reflection of where the company was headed if they didn't act.
By December 10, the full proposal was signed. Budget locked. Launch date? January 15.
No one noticed. No one needed to—not yet.
She joined the remote managers' sync call, camera off, as usual. One by one, their faces popped up. Spain HQ, remote team leads, a few project managers from LATAM. Tension hung thick.
Dan unmuted.
"Good evening, everyone. Just a few key reminders before the holiday starts. We're pausing all ops from December 14 until January 7. That includes outbound, inbound, and client engagements. If you haven't wrapped it up, you won't get to drag it into the new year."
Click. Mic off.