Chapter 8 - Scars and New Roots
The Vance residence in the gated community of Oakmont Hills was an eight-thousand-square-foot architectural marvel of limestone, glass, and manicured lawns. But to Thomas, it had spent the last two years feeling like a high-security prison.
When Valerie pulled her SUV through the security gates that evening, Nick sat in the back seat, staring out the tinted windows in stunned silence.
"Is this a hotel?" Nick whispered.
Thomas laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made Valerie’s heart soar. "No, idiot. It’s just our house. Come on, I’ll show you my Xbox."
Inside, the house felt strangely quiet. The oppressive, toxic presence of Daniel was gone, leaving behind an open space that felt light, airy, and clean. Valerie immediately called in a team of locksmiths to change every code and deadbolt on the property. Then, she had her personal assistant pack every single piece of Daniel's clothing, watches, and golf clubs into black contractor bags and store them in the garage to await collection by his defense attorneys.
While Thomas showed Nick the guest suite on the second floor—complete with a private bathroom, a king-sized bed, and fresh towels—Valerie went into her home office.
She sat at her desk, powered up her laptop, and dialed a number she had saved for emergencies.
"Arthur," Valerie said when the call connected. "I need your firm's private investigation team. Full resources, no budget limit."
Arthur Sterling, a retired federal prosecutor turned private investigator, answered smoothly: "What's the target, Valerie? We heard about Daniel's arrest. Do you need us to trace the remaining offshore accounts?"
"The FBI has the accounts," Valerie said. "I need you to find a person. Elena Miller. Maternal aunt of Nicholas Miller, age thirteen. She moved from Mercer County to Seattle three years ago. I want her current address, her employment status, her phone number, and a complete background check. And Arthur? I want it by tomorrow morning."
"Consider it done," Sterling replied.
Upstairs, the sound of water running in the guest bathroom was followed by quiet laughter. Valerie walked up the carpeted stairs and stood by the door of the guest room.
Nick was standing in front of the full-length mirror wearing a pair of Thomas’s sweatpants and an oversized hoodie from Thomas’s favorite soccer club. His face was scrubbed clean, his hair damp, and the dark purple bruise around his eye stood out sharply against his pale skin. He was staring at the plush bed with hesitation.
"You don't have to sleep on the floor, Nick," Thomas said from the doorway, holding two game controllers. "The bed doesn't bite."
Nick walked over and touched the Egyptian cotton sheets with the tips of his fingers. "It’s too clean. I’m gonna mess it up."
"You won't mess it up," Valerie said, stepping into the room. She carried a tray with two large bowls of homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches she had prepared herself. "Sit down, both of you. Eat."
Nick sat on the edge of the mattress. When he took his first bite of the grilled cheese, a long, trembling sigh escaped his chest. He ate slowly, savoring every mouthful as though he were terrified that someone would sweep in and rip the plate from his hands.
"Nobody is going to take it from you, Nick," Valerie said gently, pulling a chair beside him. "You can have as much as you want. There will always be food here."
Nick swallowed hard, wiping his eyes with the back of his clean sleeve. "Why are you being so nice to me? I didn't save Thomas because I wanted a reward. I didn't even know who his parents were."
"We know," Thomas said, sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite him. "That’s why you’re here. Because you’re a real hero."
"I'm not a hero," Nick muttered, looking down. "I was just tired of watching big guys hurt little guys. My dad used to beat my mom before he walked out. I was too small to stop him back then. When I saw Daniel holding Thomas against that wall... I just couldn't watch it happen again."
Valerie reached out and gently squeezed Nick's shoulder. "You stopped it, Nick. You saved my son's life. And by saving him, you gave me a second chance to be the mother he deserves. We owe you a debt we can never fully repay."
"You don't owe me anything," Nick insisted.
May you like
"Maybe not," Valerie replied softly. "But family doesn't keep score."
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