Chapter 9 - FIVE YEARS LATER
Norah was twelve when she stopped carrying Clover everywhere.
Not abandoned.
Retired.
He moved to a shelf beside her bed.
Marisol cried secretly.
I pretended not to notice.
The Juniper Foundation became something I never expected.
Smaller.
More effective.
Less glamorous.
We stopped hosting the annual gala.
No more thousand-dollar tables.
No giant ice sculptures.
Administrative costs went down.
Grants became transparent.
Former recipients joined the board.
One of them publicly criticized me during a meeting.
Five years earlier, that would never have happened.
Good.
Marcus retired from security and became director of ethics and risk.
He hated the title.
I enjoyed that.
Vale Hotels remained.
Construction remained.
Clubs were sold.
Several criminal enterprises disappeared completely.
Some voluntarily.
Some because investigations made choice irrelevant.
I was not prosecuted for every terrible thing people assumed I had done.
I did face legal consequences for some provable conduct.
Fines.
Settlements.
Restrictions.
Public scrutiny.
I cooperated.
Not heroically.
Late.
Late is still better than never.
Norah knew only age-appropriate parts.
As she grew older, Marisol told her more.
At twelve, Norah asked me:
“Did you hurt people?”
We were sitting beside the lake.
“Yes.”
“Bad people?”
I looked at her.
“Sometimes.”
“What about good people?”
Silence.
“Probably.”
She stared at the water.
“Do you feel bad?”
“Yes.”
“Does that fix it?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“You sound like Mom.”
Terrifying.
Then:
“Why did you help me?”
That question surprised me after five years.
“Because you were freezing.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Really.”
I thought of Juniper.
The obvious answer.
But Norah deserved more than being someone's replacement daughter.
So I said:
“At first, because you reminded me of someone I loved.”
She nodded.
“Juniper.”
“Yes.”
“But after?”
I smiled.
“Because you were Norah.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
May you like
That was enough.
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