Chapter 13 - Stripped of Every Penny and Pride
Two years later.
The summer sun reflected brilliantly off the waters of Long Island Sound. The lawn of the Sterling coastal estate in Newport, Rhode Island, was alive with the sound of laughter, soft jazz, and children playing.
I stood on the marble terrace, wearing a breezy summer dress, holding a glass of iced lemonade. Beside me, Leo—now a energetic, beautiful two-year-old with bright curious eyes and thick brown curls—was chasing a golden retriever puppy across the manicured green lawn.
“Careful, Leo!” my father called out from his patio lounger, laughing as the puppy gently tumbled over the toddler, who erupted into a fit of pure, innocent giggles.
Gideon looked healthier and happier than I had ever seen him. Since retiring from daily operations and handing the Chief Executive role of Sterling Capital over to me, he had dedicated his entire life to being a full-time grandfather. He took Leo to the marina, taught him how to hold a miniature sailboat, and read him bedtime stories every single night.
“You received a letter from the New York Bar Association this morning,” my father mentioned, taking a sip of his iced tea.
“Arthur Pendelton?” I asked, smiling slightly.
“Disbarred for life,” Gideon confirmed. “The ethics committee found seven other cases where he conspired with fraudulent claimants to extort settlements from high-net-worth families. He’s currently under investigation himself.”
“Good riddance,” I said, watching Leo proudly pick up a tennis ball and hand it to his puppy.
“And what about the other two?” Gideon asked gently.
I looked out at the ocean horizon. Over the past two years, I had completely reclaimed my life. My credit was pristine, Sterling Capital had achieved record-breaking profits under my audited restructuring, and my late mother’s foundation had funded three new pediatric wings at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital—ensuring that no mother would ever have to go through labor alone or unsupported.
As for Rowan and Selina, the universe had delivered its balance sheet with absolute precision.
Selina Miller had been convicted on eleven counts of wire fraud and grand larceny. Stripped of every piece of jewelry, every designer dress, her country club memberships, and her widow’s pension, she was currently serving her eight-year sentence at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility. The women she once sneered at as “low-class” were now her cellmates, and her days were spent working in the prison laundry room for sixty-five cents an hour.
Rowan had been released three months ago after serving his reduced sentence at a minimum-security camp in Pennsylvania.
With his financial licenses permanently revoked and his name blacklisted across every reputable firm in North America, he was now living in a tiny studio apartment in industrial New Jersey. He worked thirty-five hours a week as a nighttime inventory clerk at a suburban discount warehouse—the very discount stores he had once mocked me for shopping at.
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He earned sixteen dollars and fifty cents an hour, half of which was automatically garnished by the state to repay the restitution fund owed to Crestview Asset Management.
He had no family, no friends, no status, and no son.
