Chapter 6 - The Secret of the HarborTwo hours later, the police sirens had faded, and the media trucks parked outside Vance Global were beginning to disperse.
Clara sat in the massive, leather-paneled executive office overlooking the frozen expanse of Lake Michigan. A steaming cup of imported black coffee sat untouched on her saucer. Across from her sat Vance Senior, now wearing a tailored wool vest, looking every bit the ruthless tycoon he truly was.
"You didn't have to hit that dog," the old man said, a faint glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. "He was my favorite German Shepherd. Cost thirty thousand dollars."
Clara crossed her arms, glaring at him without a hint of fear. "He was thirty pounds of ugly attitude trying to bite a confused old man in freezing snow. If he comes near my diner, I'll use a bigger tray next time."
The old man threw his head back and laughed—a rich, booming sound that shook the high-end crystal decanters on the side table.
"You remind me of my late wife," he murmured softly, his expression turning distant. "She started out washing dishes in a diner on the South Side before she helped me build the first shipping warehouse with our bare hands. People forget where they came from, Clara. But you... you didn't look at my torn coat. You looked at me."
He slid a slim manila folder across the mahogany desk.
"What’s this?" Clara asked, eyeing it suspiciously.
May you like
"The master deed to the Copper Kettle diner," Vance Senior said simply. "And the surrounding three blocks. Plus forty percent voting shares in Vance Global Shipping. You own the harbor now, my dear. Consider it hazard pay for dealing with my family."
Clara stared at the document, her breath catching in her throat. Her mind raced back to her nine dollars tucked under a coffee mug, the leaking roof of her apartment, and the endless double shifts.
