Chapter 8 - Echoes in the LobbyThree months later, the lobby of the newly rebranded Vance Grand Hotel in Manhattan was bustling with life.
The brass fixtures had been polished to a warm, inviting glow; the aggressive, ostentatious modern art pieces Dominic had insisted upon were replaced with calming, timeless floral arrangements; and the front desk staff wore genuine smiles instead of the rigid, terrified expressions of the past.
I stood on the mezzanine overlooking the grand lobby, holding a baby carrier in one hand and reviewing a tablet report in the other. Maya, now three months old, was wide awake, her bright blue eyes staring up at the crystal chandelier with intense fascination.
"You know, working eighty hours a week with an infant is technically classified as an extreme sport by most parenting magazines," Simone said, walking up beside me with two cups of specialty espresso from the lobby café.
She handed me a cup, leaning against the polished glass railing.
"It's not eighty hours," I corrected smoothly, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "It's seventy-five. I carved out five hours for nap time."
Simone laughed, shaking her head. "You’re relentless, Evelyn. The acquisition of the Miami resort portfolio finalized this morning. Sterling Global’s legal team didn't even contest the valuation. Arthur Sterling sent a formal letter of apology, though I suspect it was mostly out of terror that you might audit his holdings next."
"Let him sleep soundly," I murmured, watching a bellhop assist a family checking in near the front desk. "As long as he stays out of my portfolio, we won't have any issues."
"And Dominic?" Simone asked cautiously, her tone softening. "Have you heard anything from his defense attorneys?"
I looked down at the screen of my tablet, where a secure legal briefing note sat unread.
"His trial date is set for early next year," I said evenly. "Plea negotiations fell through because his former co-conspirators turned state's evidence to reduce their own sentences. Without corporate backing or offshore funds, he’s facing a mandatory federal prison sentence."
There was no triumph in my chest when I said it. Only the quiet, heavy closure of a chapter that had taken far too long to finish.
"He called my attorney’s office last week," I added quietly. "Asking to speak to me. Asking if I could write a character statement for the judge."
Simone arched an eyebrow. "And what did you say?"
"I told my attorney to forward him a copy of our daughter's birth certificate," I replied, my voice steady. "With his name listed in the appropriate box, and a single sentence attached: You were never built for war, Dominic. You were only ever built for paper."
May you like
Simone let out a low, approving whistle. "Brutal."
"No," I corrected, looking down at Maya, who had finally closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep against the soft lining of her carrier. "Just accurate."
