Part 10: The Queen’s Peace
One year later.
I stood on the expansive balcony of my penthouse, a crystal flute of vintage champagne resting lightly in my hand. The air was warm, carrying the distinct, electric hum of a Chicago summer evening. The sprawling grid of the city stretched out before me, a sea of glittering lights and towering steel.
My phone sat on the patio table, entirely silent. There were no frantic calls from panicked board members. There were no compliance alerts from the master trust. There were no manipulative texts from a husband living a double life.
There was only peace. A profound, absolute, and hard-won peace.
The trial for Elias Thorne had concluded earlier that week. He was sentenced to fifteen years in federal prison, his name scrubbed from the industry entirely. Ryan was still rotting in his cell, a forgotten footnote in the history of my company. Lorraine’s high-society friends had entirely abandoned her, leaving her to serve her sentence in total isolation.
They had tried to bury me. They didn't realize I was a seed.
I took a slow sip of the champagne, the cold bubbles crisp against my tongue. I thought about the terrified woman I had been a year ago, crying on the floor of this very penthouse, believing my life was over. I wished I could reach back through time and tell her to stand up, to dry her tears, and to sharpen her knives.
May you like
I looked out at the city skyline, the towering skyscrapers reflecting the fading amber light of the setting sun. The empire was safe. The ledger was balanced. The board was cleared.
I smiled, raising my glass to the empty sky, and drank to the Queen’s peace.
