Chapter 10 - THE FAMILY HEIRLOOM
Two weeks had passed since the crypt.
The crisp autumn air blew through the open windows of the newly purchased Dubois townhouse on the Upper East Side. The government restitution had been more than enough to buy back their comfort, but for Sophie, the real luxury was waking up without fear.
She stood in the grand foyer, adjusting the collar of her elegant white coat.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Alessandro asked, leaning against the doorway. His arm was finally out of the sling, though he still moved with a slight stiffness.
“I need to do this alone,” Sophie smiled softly, kissing his cheek.
She ordered a car and drove downtown to L’Étoile Noir.
The restaurant was bustling with the lunchtime rush. When Sophie walked through the glass doors, the hostess blinked in confusion, recognizing the face but not the stunning, wealthy woman wearing the clothes.
Monsieur Laurent, the manager, spotted her from across the room. He froze, the menus in his hand slipping to the floor. The news of the Dubois family’s exoneration and massive wealth had dominated the New York papers all week.
He rushed over, bowing so deeply he nearly hit his head on the hostess stand.
“M-Mademoiselle Dubois,” Laurent stuttered, his face red with shame. “I... words cannot express my profound apologies for how you were treated here. If I had known—”
“If you had known I was rich, you would have treated me like a human being?” Sophie interrupted smoothly.
Laurent gulped, sweating profusely.
“I’m not here to yell at you, Laurent,” Sophie said, pulling a folded legal document from her designer bag. She handed it to him.
Laurent opened it, his eyes widening. “This... this is the deed to the restaurant.”
“Alessandro bought it yesterday,” Sophie explained, her voice calm and authoritative. “And he transferred ownership to me. I am your new boss, Laurent. You will triple the wages of the kitchen staff. You will give Jean-Luc, the sous-chef who fed me when I was starving, the head chef position. And if I ever hear of you mistreating a waitress again, you’ll be cleaning the grease traps until you retire. Understood?”
“Yes, Madame! Absolutely, Madame!” Laurent practically squeaked.
Sophie turned on her heel and walked out, feeling a profound sense of closure. She had reclaimed her power in the exact room where Camilla had tried to strip it away.
When she returned to the townhouse, her father was sitting in the drawing room, looking at a small wooden box on his lap.
“Papa?” Sophie asked, taking off her coat. “What is that?”
Her father looked up, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“It arrived by private courier an hour ago,” he whispered. “From an estate lawyer in Paris. It was held in trust, instructed to be delivered to you the moment our family name was legally cleared.”
Sophie walked over and sat beside him.
The box was made of dark mahogany, sealed with red wax bearing a crest she didn't recognize—a rampant lion holding a sword.
The wax seal was already broken.
“Open it, Sophie,” her father said gently.
Sophie lifted the heavy wooden lid. Inside, resting on a bed of faded blue velvet, was an enormous, incredibly intricate gold pocket watch. But it wasn’t just a watch. It was covered in diamonds and sapphires, bearing the same lion crest.
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“I don’t understand,” Sophie said, touching the cold gold. “Whose is this?”
“It belonged to your mother,” her father said, his voice trembling. “Sophie, there is a reason the Russos wanted to destroy us. It wasn't just about the ledger.”
