Chapter 18 - Shadows of the Past
Winter arrived early that year, dusting the cottage roof with a delicate layer of white frost and turning the bare branches of the oak trees into intricate silver lacework against the pale gray sky.
Inside, the house was warm, filled with the rich, comforting scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and baking apples. A crackling fire danced in the stone hearth, casting a golden glow over the braided rug where Gideon was busy constructing an elaborate fortress out of wooden blocks.
My phone—the private, secure line reserved exclusively for high-level corporate and legal matters—buzzed quietly on the wooden side table.
I picked it up, stepping into the quiet hallway to answer.
“Mr. Sterling,” Marcus’s voice came through the speaker, steady and professional. “I have an update regarding Bertha Vance.”
“Go ahead,” I said, leaning against the hallway wall.
“She was picked up by local authorities late last night sleeping in the vestibule of an abandoned commercial building three towns over. She’s in rough shape—severe exhaustion, malnutrition, and mild hypothermia. The local hospital admitted her under an indigent care code.”
I stared out the frosted window into the snowy yard. “Is she asking for assistance?”
“No, sir,” Marcus replied. “In fact, according to the social worker on site, she refuses to speak to anyone. She spends all her time staring at a folded newspaper clipping featuring your foundation’s gala photo. She realizes there’s no way back.”
“Let the hospital handle her medical needs, Marcus,” I instructed quietly. “Cover the bill anonymously through the foundation’s charity outreach fund, but ensure she is permanently barred from coming anywhere near Arianne or Gideon.”
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“Understood, Mr. Sterling. I’ll coordinate with the local authorities.”
I hung up the phone, slipping it back into my pocket. There was no triumph in hearing about Bertha’s downfall—only a profound, settling sense of closure. The storm had passed, and the wreckage had been cleared away by time and justice.
