Chapter 10 - Sunshine Over Michigan Avenue
Two years later.
The summer sun reflected off the blue surface of Lake Michigan, painting the sky over Chicago in shades of sapphire and gold.
On the terrace of the newly opened Harrington Center for the Arts on Michigan Avenue, a crowd of hundreds of Chicago’s most prominent philanthropists, civic leaders, and artists had gathered for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Clara Harrington stood at the edge of the terrace, a flute of sparkling cider in her hand.
She wore a soft lavender silk dress that moved gently with the warm breeze. Around her wrist was a simple, unadorned platinum bangle—a gift from her father on the day she officially assumed her role as the Chief Executive Officer of the Harrington Charitable Foundation.
In the courtyard below, little Victoria, now a bright, laughing two-and-a-half-year-old with wide hazel eyes and dark curls, was chasing bubbles in the grass, held closely by Richard Harrington.
The fearsome corporate raider who had once terrified Wall Street was currently kneeling on the lawn in a three-piece suit, blowing plastic bubbles through a yellow wand, his deep laughter booming across the lawn every time his granddaughter popped one with her tiny hands.
"You look happy, Clara," a warm voice said beside her.
Clara turned to see Julian Sterling, the brilliant, unassuming director of restoration at the Art Institute of Chicago. Over the past eighteen months, Julian had worked closely with Clara to build the foundation’s art preservation program. He was kind, deeply cultured, entirely uninterested in corporate games, and looked at Clara not as an heiress, but as a master artist whose talent was finally being given room to breathe.
"I am happy, Julian," Clara said, smiling up at him. "Truly happy."
"The gallery layout is brilliant," Julian said, nodding toward the glass-enclosed exhibition halls behind them. "The way you’ve integrated the classical restoration studios into the public spaces... nobody else would have thought of that."
"Art isn't meant to be hidden in private vaults," Clara said softly, looking out over the city. "It’s meant to be shared. It’s meant to give people hope."
Far below the terrace, on the crowded sidewalk of Michigan Avenue, a man in a faded, sweat-stained maintenance uniform stood behind a municipal trash receptacle, clutching a broom and a plastic dustpan.
David Hughes paused his sweeping, his hands rough and calloused, his back aching from hours of manual labor on the asphalt.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his dirty sleeve, squinting up at the glittering glass terrace of the Harrington Center.
Through the crowd of elegant, laughing people, he caught a glimpse of her.
Clara.
She was radiant, surrounded by sunlight, laughing as a handsome, gentle-looking man handed her a portfolio of sketches. Below her, Richard Harrington was swinging a little girl into the air—a little girl who carried the Harrington name, who would inherit an empire, and who would never know that the man sweeping garbage on the street fifty feet below was the biological defect who had cast her mother into the snow.
A pedestrian bumped into David, knocking his dustpan onto the pavement, spilling cigarette butts across the concrete.
"Watch where you’re going, buddy," the stranger barked, hurrying past.
David didn't yell back. He didn't complain.
He sank to his knees on the hot sidewalk, picking up the trash with his bare, shaking hands, tears carving clean lines through the grime on his hollow cheeks.
Above him, high on the terrace, Clara turned away from the railing. She didn't look down. She didn't know he was there, and even if she had, it wouldn't have mattered.
She reached down to scoop little Victoria into her arms as the girl ran up the terrace stairs, pressing a sweet, sticky kiss against Clara’s cheek.
May you like
"Look, Mama!" Victoria giggled, pointing toward the lake. "Boats!"
"I see them, my darling," Clara whispered, holding her daughter close, the warm summer wind filling her heart with an unshakable, golden peace. "The whole world is out there. And it’s all yours."
