Chapter 13 - Stripping the Fortress Down to the Studs
Three days after the final courtroom victory, I stood in the grand foyer of the twenty-two-million-dollar Lake Michigan penthouse.
The apartment was hollow, echoing with every step.
A team of professional appraisers, auctioneers, and movers were packing up the remnants of Jason Mitchell’s stolen lifestyle. Every painting by modern masters, every custom-built Italian sofa, every piece of gold-plated silverware was being cataloged and loaded into industrial shipping crates.
I had ordered every single physical possession inside the property to be sold at a public charity auction, with one hundred percent of the proceeds directed toward the newly established Arthur Vance Memorial Foundation for Burn Survivors and Medical Innovators.
Daniel Brooks walked into the living room, holding a clipboard with the final liquidation totals.
"The auction estimates for the art collection and luxury vehicles came in at thirty-four million dollars," Daniel said, offering a warm smile. "The listing for the penthouse itself has already received two full-price cash offers from international buyers."
"Sell it to the highest bidder," I replied, looking out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows at the gray waves crashing against the Chicago shoreline. "I don't want a single brick, a single chair, or a single thread of fabric that Jason Mitchell ever touched."
"And the company?" Daniel asked.
I turned around and handed him a folder bearing the newly redesigned corporate seal.
"The re-incorporation paperwork was approved this morning," I said. "Mitchell Medical Technologies is officially dissolved. As of tomorrow, the company is renamed Vance Bio-Medical Systems."
"And your first official act as Chairman and Chief Executive Officer?"
I smiled—a real, luminous smile that reached all the way to my eyes.
"We are slashing the commercial price of the Stent-X9 neural catheter by eighty-five percent worldwide," I announced. "My father did not invent medical technology to make hedge fund managers rich. He invented it so that mothers, fathers, and children wouldn't die of preventable strokes in emergency rooms."
Daniel bowed his head slightly in profound respect. "Your father would be exceptionally proud, Dr. Vance."
Just then, Mateo walked into the room, holding an antique mahogany wooden box that had been found in the master bedroom safe.
"Miss Iris," Mateo said, handing the box to me. "The movers found this locked in the wall. They thought you should open it yourself."
I opened the brass latch and lifted the lid.
Inside was my mother’s original wedding band, her gold locket containing a tiny picture of my parents on their wedding day, and my first laboratory notebook from my freshman year at Johns Hopkins.
Jason had kept them hidden away like trophies of conquest—reminders of the life he had stolen from me.
May you like
I took the gold locket, slipped the delicate chain around my neck, and let the small pendant rest gently over my heart, right beside the scars that marked my chest.
"Let's go home, Mateo," I said softly. "We're done here."
