Chapter 15 - The Morning After the Storm
Three days later, the penthouse suite of the Pfister Hotel in downtown Milwaukee was filled with the fragrance of fresh white lilies and warm cedarwood.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the blue expanse of Lake Michigan. On the glass coffee table behind me lay three major newspapers.
The *Wall Street Journal* headline read: *VANCE BROKERAGE COLLAPSES UNDER MULTI-MILLION-DOLLAR FRAUD INDICTMENT.*
The *Chicago Tribune* had gone with: *SOCIETY WEDDING COLLAPSE UNCOVERS DECADE-LONG IP THEFT AND EUROPEAN TRUST CONSPIRACY.*
And on the front page of the *Minneapolis Star Tribune*, right beneath a photograph of me standing before the Sterling Bioscience Board, the headline simply stated: *DR. WILLA VANCE NAMED HEAD OF 100-MILLION-DOLLAR PEDIATRIC ONCOLOGY INITIATIVE.*
There was no mention of my appearance. There was no discussion of who was pretty or who was plain. The world, it turned out, did not view me through the warped, poisoned lens of Eleanor Vance’s vanity.
A soft knock sounded at the suite door.
“Come in,” I called out.
Reid stepped into the room, holding two takeaway cups from the artisan roaster down the street. He had traded his boardroom suits for a charcoal sweater and dark tailored trousers, looking relaxed, confident, and undeniably handsome.
“Good morning, Dr. Vance,” he said, setting a cup on the desk beside me. “You’re on page one of four different international business sections today. Julian Thorne’s communications team in Zurich is working overtime managing the influx of interview requests.”
“I told Julian I’m not doing interviews,” I said, taking a sip of the dark roast. “I’m a researcher, Reid. Not a socialite.”
“I know,” Reid said softly, stepping closer to the window, his eyes following mine out across the water. “That’s what Julian respects most about you. He called Arthur this morning from his flight back to Switzerland. He said your grandmother would have been extraordinarily proud.”
I felt a quiet warmth spread through my chest.
“And the trial?” I asked. “The legal proceedings against Richard and Eleanor?”
Reid’s expression turned somber.
“Richard signed a plea agreement two hours ago,” Reid said. “In exchange for cooperating with the SEC on identifying the offshore shell accounts, the prosecution agreed to recommend seven years instead of fifteen. He’s forfeited the house in Madison, the country club membership, and his broker’s license.”
“And Blythe?”
“Blythe’s attorney filed for an emergency psychiatric evaluation,” Reid said. “She’s been admitted to a secure inpatient facility in northern Illinois. The criminal charges against her are being held in abeyance pending her mental competency hearing. But the IP fraud charges won't go away, Willa. When she comes out, she will have a felony record.”
I looked out at the waves breaking against the distant breakwater.
For thirteen years, I had dreamed of justice. In my darkest moments of loneliness in Minneapolis, I had imagined what it would feel like to see my family face the consequences of their cruelty. I had thought it would feel triumphant—like a victory parade.
Instead, it just felt clean. Like a fever that had finally broken, leaving the body exhausted but free of infection.
“What about you, Reid?” I asked, turning to look at him directly. “Your company took a major public relations hit when the wedding was called off. Are you going to be all right?”
Reid turned to face me, taking a slow step forward. The distance between us closed until I could see the tiny gold flecks in his gray eyes, the faint scar near his left eyebrow, and the absolute sincerity etched into his features.
“The company’s stock rose four percent this morning after the announcement of your appointment to the oncology initiative,” Reid said softly. “Arthur is happier than I’ve seen him in a decade. But as for me...”
He paused, his voice dropping into that deep, intimate cadence that made my pulse leap in my throat.
“...I haven't slept this well in fourteen months, Willa. Because for the first time in over a year, I don't feel like I’m living inside a lie.”
He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently touching the pearls hanging from my earlobe. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
“I spent seven years searching for the woman in the ICU waiting room,” Reid whispered. “The woman who saved my mother’s life. The woman who looked me in the eyes and gave me hope when everything was burning down.”
He looked into my amber eyes, his gaze steady and unwavering.
May you like
“I’m not letting her disappear again.”
***