Chapter 6 - The Return of GraceThe color drained entirely from Victor Sterling’s face. He looked at Grace as though he were staring straight through the solid floor into the gates of hell.
"You... you were in the basement," Sterling stammered, his polished corporate composure shattering into a million jagged pieces. "My men locked the doors! How did you—?"
"Your men were exceptionally loyal, Victor," Grace said, her voice steady and clear as she walked toward the head of the table, stopping a few feet from where I stood. "Until Marcus offered them double what you were paying, backed by federal immunity."
Grace turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto mine. For five years, I had believed she was dead. For five years, I had carried the ashes of a grief that refused to cool.
She looked older, thinner, marked by the cruelty of the shadows she had lived in, but when she smiled at me, the years vanished.
"Hello, William," she whispered, a tear spilling over her lashes.
I didn't care about the board members watching. I didn't care about the federal agents or the cameras or the corporate empire hanging in the balance. I crossed the space between us in two strides and pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her silver-streaked hair, holding her so tightly I thought my ribs might crack.
"You're alive," I choked out, my voice breaking. "You're really alive."
"I'm sorry I had to run," she sobbed softly against my shoulder. "I had to protect you. I had to protect our family."
The federal agents moved in swiftly, slapping heavy steel handcuffs around Victor Sterling’s wrists as he screamed curses and threats about high-priced lawyers and federal judges.
As Marcus and the agents dragged Sterling out of the boardroom, the silence returned to the sixty-fifth floor.
The three board directors stood up hurriedly, gathering their portfolios and muttering hurried excuses about urgent appointments before scurrying out the door like rats leaving a sinking ship.
Arthur Vance, my lead attorney, lingered by the doorway, looking at Grace with wide eyes. "Mr. Hart... is this—?"
"This is Mrs. Hart," I said, putting my arm firmly around Grace’s waist. "And she owns more of this company than any of us. Arthur, draft a complete dissolution of all legacy syndicate-linked accounts, and coordinate directly with the Department of Justice to audit every subsidiary connected to Sterling Global."
"Right away, sir," Arthur said, hurrying out of the room to execute the orders.
Within minutes, the boardroom was entirely empty, save for the four of us: Grace, Ava, myself, and Marcus, who stood guard by the door with a quiet, satisfied grin.
Grace reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn photograph, placing it gently on the quartz conference table.
It was a picture of me, Grace, and a newborn Ava taken fifteen years ago in a hospital room in Chicago—the life we could have had, if the shadows hadn't reached out to pull us apart.
"Where is Lily?" Grace asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.
"Waiting in the private penthouse nursery," I answered, smiling through my tears. "She has her mother's eyes. And she just learned how to stop crying when someone hums an old melody."
Grace let out a watery laugh, burying her face in her hands before looking up at Ava, who stood beside her with a quiet, proud smile.
May you like
"You brought her home, didn't you?" Grace whispered, pulling Ava into a fierce, suffocating embrace.
"She wouldn't stop crying on the plane, Mom," Ava teased gently, wiping a tear from her own cheek. "I had to do something."
