Chapter 6 - The Return HomeBy late afternoon, Hannah was discharged from the hospital.
I drove her back home in my truck, keeping the cabin heated to a comfortable warmth and playing soft instrumental music to keep her calm. As the iron gates of the estate swung open, revealing the grand colonial-style house nestled among the snow-dusted pines, Hannah instinctively flinched, her fingers gripping the fabric of her coat.
"It’s okay," I whispered, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently. "They're gone, Hannah. They are never stepping foot on this property again."
She let out a long, shaky breath, looking up at the front porch where only hours earlier she had been left for dead. "It feels... different now. Like the shadow has finally lifted."
I carried her gently across the porch threshold, ignoring the lingering snow drift by the steps, and set her down softly on the plush velvet sofa in the living room. I wrapped her in a heavy cashmere throw blanket and placed a warm cup of cinnamon tea into her hands.
"Rest," I instructed softly, sitting on the coffee table in front of her. "I'm going to take care of everything else."
"Lucas," she said, her dark eyes looking up at me with deep, vulnerable concern. "What about the media? Your mother’s friends... society circles?"
A faint, humorless smile touched my lips. "Let them talk. By tomorrow morning, Mason is releasing a full press packet detailing the arrest, the financial fraud, and the forged loan documents. My family built their entire social standing on lies and intimidation. Now, they get to watch it burn in public."
Suddenly, the front doorbell chimed.
Hannah jumped slightly, her tea rattling against the saucer.
"Stay here," I said, standing up and smoothing out my uniform shirt.
I walked through the foyer and pulled open the heavy oak front door.
Standing on the porch was not a reporter, nor a police officer. It was Marcus Vance, a local real estate developer and an old acquaintance of my father’s, holding a thick manila envelope.
"Captain Sterling," Marcus said, tipping his hat. "I heard about the... unfortunate events at the estate. I came by to offer my condolences, and to discuss something rather urgent regarding the adjacent land parcels your father owned."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "What kind of discussion, Marcus?"
Marcus lowered his voice, glancing around the driveway before stepping closer. "Your mother spent the last year trying to sell off your father’s commercial holdings behind his back using falsified signatures. Several local investors were close to finalizing deals before we realized the titles were tied up in the family trust. I have buyers who want to purchase those parcels legally—through you."
I stared at the envelope in his hand, a slow, methodical strategy clicking into place in my mind. Eleanor and Paige wanted wealth, power, and status above all else. They had tried to destroy my wife to secure it.
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Now, every single asset they thought belonged to them would be liquidated, repurposed, or completely locked away under my direct authority.
"Come inside, Marcus," I said, stepping aside and holding the door open. "Let's talk business."
