Chapter 10 - Dawn on the Coast
Six months later, the morning sun rose over the Atlantic coastline like a sheet of molten gold, burning away the low-hanging sea mist that clung to the rocky cliffs of my new home.
My new apartment was small, airy, and smelled of salt water, cedar, and fresh coffee instead of old paper and institutional bleach. On the corner of my wooden desk sat a small, polished brass plaque engraved with my military service dates, alongside a single framed photograph of a pair of tiny baby socks resting inside a folded wool blanket.
I sat on the balcony with my laptop open, reviewing the final federal sentencing reports that had just dropped into my secure inbox.
Vivian Marlowe-Vance was behind bars in a maximum-security state facility where no amount of family money could buy a private ward or a sanitized incident report. Gerald Cole and Marcus Cole were awaiting federal trial behind closed doors. And Ethan was a ghost from a past life, living somewhere in the Midwest under his mother’s maiden name, trying to rebuild a reputation that had been thoroughly incinerated by the truth.
My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Tessa.
Just finished my morning shift. The new trainees are actually listening to me. Thinking about driving down to the coast this weekend. Bring wine.
I smiled, typing back a quick reply before setting the phone down and looking out over the endless, crashing blue of the ocean.
The wine is already breathing, Tess. See you Saturday.
May you like
I closed the laptop, took a deep breath of the salt-heavy morning air, and stepped back inside. The past could be buried, altered, or covered up by those who thought they owned the world—but truth had a way of surviving in the wire, waiting for someone brave enough to press play.
And for the first time in a very long time, my hands were entirely steady.
