Chapter 13 - THE SUNDAY DINNER
Back at the Vance estate, Sunday dinners had transformed from stiff, obligatory family gatherings into a sanctuary of warmth and genuine laughter. Arthur’s health had leveled off, his vitality partially restored by the sheer satisfaction of watching his granddaughter Kelly passionately debate supply-chain economics across the dining table.
“You know, Jessi,” Arthur said one Sunday evening as we sat on the back patio watching Leo kick a soccer ball across the sprawling lawn, “I spent forty years building this company, believing that legacy was measured in steel, contracts, and bank accounts. I was wrong.”
I smiled, handing him a cup of decaf tea. “Legacy is what survives when the steel rusts, Arthur.”
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“Precisely,” he nodded, his eyes warm with affection. “And looking at you and the kids, I know this house is finally in hands that understand the true value of loyalty. You didn't just save my company, Jessi. You saved our family’s soul.”
As if summoned by the conversation, my phone buzzed on the patio table. It was an unknown number from a local burner phone. I ignored it, letting it ring out to voicemail. Whatever Luca wanted, it was no longer my currency to spend.
