Chapter 9
Z
Six months later, spring had returned to Wisconsin. The heavy, grey winter ice had finally melted away from the banks of Lake Michigan, replaced by bright green shoots rising through the thawed earth and warm sunlight spilling across the sidewalks of 4th Street.
I stood in the kitchen of our duplex, pouring fresh orange juice into three plastic cups. Outside the window, the old maple tree was covered in vibrant young leaves.
The final court decrees had been signed three weeks ago. Fletcher Logistics had been liquidated under federal supervision to satisfy massive back-tax penalties, corporate debts, and criminal fines. However, because Rebecca Sloan had relentlessly tracked down the hidden Cayman accounts through the forensic audit, the court had secured a three-point-two million dollar settlement placed into an irrevocable, court-monitored trust for Sadie, Maisie, and Caleb, with myself as the sole legal trustee.
Grant had entered a guilty plea to two counts of federal tax fraud and conspiracy. He was currently serving a six-year sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution in Oxford, Wisconsin. Richard Vance had surrendered his legal license permanently and was serving four years at a federal facility in Illinois.
My brother Trevor had been forced to sell his luxury car to repay the illegal corporate loan to the federal receiver, and my parents had ultimately been forced to sell their large suburban home to satisfy the debt on Dad’s hardware store. They were now living in a small, modest rental apartment across town. I hadn't spoken to them directly since the court hearing, though Rebecca’s office received monthly progress updates from their therapist. They were slowly, painfully beginning to understand the reality of what they had lost.
A sharp knock sounded at the front door. It wasn't the frantic, terrifying knock of six months ago. It was light, brisk, and familiar.
I opened the door to find Evelyn Price standing on the porch, holding a large bakery box tied with a bright red ribbon. She wore a sunny yellow cardigan and her signature silver-streaked braids were styled neatly over her shoulders.
"Morning, Lauren," Evelyn said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation and setting the box on the wooden kitchen table. "I brought fresh blueberry scones from the bakery near the hospital."
"Evelyn, you didn't have to do that," I smiled, grabbing two mugs for coffee.
"I did," Evelyn said, sitting down at the table and smoothing her skirt. "Because today is your last day as my full-time medical records clerk."
I stopped pouring the coffee, turning to look at her. "I gave you my two weeks' notice, but I still feel guilty leaving you short-staffed in archives."
Evelyn snorted softly, waving her hand dismissively. "You spent six months organizing twenty years of chaos in my basement archive. You trained two new assistants who can actually index charts without making me lose my mind. You're starting law school at Marquette University in September, Lauren. You belong in a courtroom, not sitting in a basement stamping old paper files."
Sadie, Maisie, and Caleb ran into the kitchen, their laughter filling the high-ceilinged room. Maisie carried her old stuffed fox—now washed and clean—while Caleb immediately eyed the bakery box on the table.
"Grandma Evelyn!" Caleb yelled, running over to wrap his four-year-old arms around her knees.
May you like
Evelyn’s sharp face softened into a warm, genuine smile as she patted his head. "Morning, trouble. Go get your sisters to sit down before I open these scones."
As the kids crowded around the wooden table, laughing and arguing over who got the largest scone, I walked over to the front window and pulled back the lace curtain.
