Chapter 7 - Reclaiming the Crown
Two weeks later, the morning sun broke over the skyline of Baltimore, painting the glass towers of the financial district in brilliant hues of rose and gold.
The front page of every major newspaper in the country carried the same headline:
VANCE LOGISTICS FOUNDER AVENGED: DAUGHTER RECLAIMS $50 MILLION EMPIRE; STEP-FAMILY FACES LIFE SENTENCE.
I stood in the corner office on the top floor of Vance Logistics—my father’s old office. The dark mahogany desk had been restored, the heavy leather chairs polished, and behind the desk hung a large, oil-painted portrait of my father, smiling warmly down at the room.
My coffee shop on 4th Street wasn't closed; I had turned it into a vocational training center for young women escaping domestic hardship, fully funded by the newly established Arthur Vance Foundation.
The door to the office clicked open.
Giovanni stepped inside. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking relaxed and strikingly handsome in the soft morning light.
“You’re late for your board meeting, CEO Vance,” he said, a rare, breathtaking smirk touching his lips as he set two takeaway coffee cups onto my desk.
“I own the company, Mr. Campone,” I replied, stepping around the desk to meet him. “The board waits for me.”
Giovanni chuckled softly, taking my hands in his. His palms were warm, steady, and familiar—a sanctuary I had come to rely on more than anything else in the world.
“Eleanor and Marcus accepted a plea bargain this morning,” Giovanni informed me quietly. “Life without parole. No chance of appeal. Their shell accounts have been frozen and fully transferred back into your foundation’s trust.”
I let out a long, quiet breath, feeling the last lingering weight of my past vanish into the air. “And Celeste?”
“She moved to a small town in Ohio,” Giovanni said. “Working at a diner. Paying off her own debts. Nobody in this city will take her phone calls.”
I nodded slowly. It wasn't about revenge anymore. It was about peace.
May you like
I looked up at Giovanni, resting my cheek against his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you, Giovanni. For everything. You didn't just save my father’s legacy. You saved me.”
“You saved yourself, Willow,” he murmured into my hair, his arms tightening around me. “All I did was give you the floor.”
