Chapter 7 - The AftermathZ
The morning sun broke over the skyline of downtown Philadelphia, casting warm golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Andrew’s apartment. Below, the city was waking up—cars honking, street vendors setting up shop, people rushing off to work.
I sat on the kitchen counter, wearing one of Andrew's oversized flannel shirts, a steaming mug of black coffee held between my hands. On the counter beside me lay the front page of the Morning Chronicle.
The headline read in bold black ink: LOCAL REAL ESTATE MOGUL AND FORMER ATHLETE ARRESTED IN DECADE-OLD FRAUD CONSPIRACY.
Below the headline were three photos: Marcus Vance in handcuffs being led into a police cruiser, Chad Montgomery sitting sullenly in a holding cell, and a small, old picture of my father smiling outside his accounting firm.
Andrew walked into the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower, wrapping a towel around his shoulders. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of my head, before looking at the newspaper.
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.
"Light," I admitted, staring at my father's picture. "For ten years, I felt like I was dragging a hundred pounds of lead behind me—not just physical weight, but the weight of believing that my family’s ruin was somehow my fault. That if I had been prettier, or smarter, or less invisible, maybe my dad wouldn't have been so stressed. Maybe he would still be here."
"Leah," Andrew said, turning me on the counter so I was looking directly into his eyes. "You were seventeen years old. You were a victim of grown men playing terrible, greedy games."
"I know that now," I murmured, taking a sip of coffee. "It's just strange. I spent ten years preparing for that reunion. I spent hours in the gym, bought the expensive dress, practiced my posture in front of the mirror... all because I wanted to show them that I survived them."
"And you did," Andrew smiled softly. "Just not the way you expected."
The phone on the counter buzzed. I picked it up. It was an incoming call from my mother.
"Mom?" I answered.
"Leah..." My mother’s voice was breathy, almost weeping, but for the first time in years, it wasn't tears of grief. "The bank just called. And a lawyer from the state prosecutor's office. Leah, they... they cleared your father's name. It's on the news."
I bit my lip, feeling tears prickle behind my eyes. "I know, Mom. I saw."
"They said someone turned over internal records from Uncle Richard's old firm," my mother cried into the phone. "They said Arthur didn't steal a single penny. They said he was framed. Oh God, Leah... people are calling the house to apologize. People who refused to come to his funeral."
"Don't answer them, Mom," I said, my voice turning firm and protective. "They don't get to apologize now because it's comfortable. They didn't stand by Dad when it mattered."
"I know, sweetheart. I know," she breathed. "Where are you? Are you coming home?"
I looked at Andrew, then out at the sprawling city skyline bathed in sunlight.
"I'm coming home tonight, Mom," I said. "We have a lot of work to do. We're getting Dad's old office back."
After I hung up, Andrew wrapped his arm around my shoulder. "What's the plan?"
"Marcus's family firm is going under investigation," I said, set my mug down. "Their commercial assets are going to be liquidated to pay off their fraud liabilities. You mentioned last night that your firm holds 40% of their debt?"
Andrew’s eyes lit up with a wicked, brilliant glint. "We do. Why?"
May you like
I smiled—a real, sharp, confident smile that had nothing to do with high school and everything to do with the woman I had become.
"I want to buy the building where my dad's office used to be," I said. "And I'm going to put his name back on the door."
