Chapter 8 - CLEANING HOUSE
Three weeks later.
The morning sun filtered brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the corner CEO office on the 50th floor of Vance Enterprise headquarters.
The old, dark mahogany furniture that my father—and later Caleb—had used was gone. In its place stood a sleek, modern white desk, bright art on the walls, and a comfortable velvet sofa in the corner. Beside the desk sat a high-end baby bassinet.
I stood behind the desk, wearing an elegant ivory pantsuit. I looked healthier, stronger, and more centered than I had in years.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Come in, Harlan,” I said.
Mr. Harlan walked in, carrying a thin paper folder. “Good morning, Eleanor. Or should I say, Madam CEO.”
I smiled faintly. “Just Eleanor is fine, Harlan. How are the restructuring efforts going?”
“Better than expected,” Harlan replied, setting the folder on my desk. “We appointed four new independent board members yesterday—all respected ethics experts and industry veterans. The stock price has rallied thirty percent since Sterling’s arrest. The market loves stability, and more importantly, they love the news of our new green energy initiative.”
“Good,” I said, signing the documents in front of me. “What about the legal proceedings?”
Harlan’s expression turned serious. “Vanessa reached a plea bargain with the District Attorney this morning. In exchange for avoiding prison time, she agreed to forfeit all assets purchased with embezzled money—including her penthouse, her luxury cars, and three million dollars in offshore funds. She’s completely broke and moving back to her hometown in Ohio tomorrow.”
“And Caleb?” I asked, my voice flat.
Harlan took a deep breath. “Caleb rejected a plea deal. He went before a judge yesterday for his bail review hearing. The judge denied bail due to the violent nature of the break-in at the estate. His trial is set for six months from now. Given the evidence on the encrypted drive and his signed confession, his lawyers are estimating a sentence of fifteen to twenty years in federal prison.”
I looked out the window at the Manhattan skyline. Six months ago, I was terrified of Caleb. I thought I needed him to survive in this world. I thought I was weak because I had chosen to be a wife and mother rather than a corporate warrior.
I realized now that my capacity to love wasn't a weakness—it was my greatest strength. It was what gave me the courage to fight back when everything was on the line.
Behind me, a tiny, soft squeak came from the bassinet.
I walked over and gently lifted Victoria into my arms. She looked up at me with wide, dark eyes, yawning softly as she stretched her tiny arms.
Marcus stepped into the office, carrying a large box wrapped in silver paper. He looked vastly different without his tactical gear—wearing a sharp gray suit, though he still had the alert, watchful gaze of a man who managed global security.
“Uncle Marcus,” I smiled. “What’s this?”
“A late welcome-to-the-world present for my grand-niece,” Marcus said, setting the heavy box down on the coffee table.
I carried Victoria over and opened the box. Inside was a beautifully carved wooden model of a transatlantic cargo ship—the flagship vessel of Vance Logistics. Mounted on the brass base was a small plaque engraved with the words: THE PRINCESS VICTORIA.
“I registered the new shipping line under her name this morning,” Marcus said, a genuine, warm smile spreading across his face. “She’s officially the youngest ship owner in North America.”
I laughed, feeling a warmth fill my heart that I hadn't felt since before my father passed away.
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“She’s going to run this whole city one day, Marcus,” I said, cradling Victoria against my shoulder.
“I have no doubt,” Marcus agreed. “She’s a Vance.”
