Chapter 13 - The Quiet Library
Six months later, autumn returned to Seattle.
The red and gold leaves of the maples fell over the manicured lawn of the Clara Sterling Foundation for Maternal Care.
I sat at a large mahogany desk in the newly renovated ground-floor library of the main estate. The room was warm, filled with soft light, the smell of fresh cedar, and thousands of children’s books lining low, accessible wooden shelves.
Clara, now eight months old, was sitting on a thick, colorful foam mat in the center of the room, happily banging two soft plush blocks together while Dr. Aris Thorne—who had joined our foundation’s advisory board—sat beside her, laughing as she built a small tower for Clara to knock down.
The heavy double doors of the library opened.
Julian walked in, wearing his comfortable corduroy jacket, carrying a large box filled with vintage leather-bound storybooks.
“Fresh shipment from the archival society,” Julian smiled, setting the box down on my desk. “The director asked if our chief librarian would approve these for the morning story circle.”
I stood up, stepping around the desk, and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest.
“The chief librarian highly approves,” I whispered, smelling the familiar, clean scent of rain and cedar on his jacket.
Julian wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, his chest rising and falling in deep, peaceful breaths.
For five years, he had carried the crushing burden of two lives—living as a quiet, dismissed clerk by day while building a massive, dangerous federal case against his own family by night. He had carried the weight of his father’s secret ledger, his mother’s sociopathic arrogance, and the constant fear that his world would shatter if his cover was blown.
Now, standing in a room filled with children’s books and bright sunshine, the burden was entirely gone.
“I talked to Detective Miller from Tacoma this morning,” Julian said softly, resting his chin on my head. “Viktor Vance’s legal team accepted a twenty-year plea bargain without trial. He’ll be seventy-five before he ever sees a parole board.”
I pulled back slightly, looking up into his warm, clear eyes. “And Genevieve?”
“Her final legal appeal was rejected by the Ninth Circuit Court yesterday,” Julian said smoothly. “She has been transferred to her permanent housing unit in Alabama. She has zero access to trust funds, zero access to press, and her legal team has officially closed her account.”
He looked past me at Clara, who was currently letting out a high-pitched, joyful squeal as she successfully knocked down Dr. Thorne’s block tower.
“She’s completely alone, Sophia,” Julian said softly. “In the end, her money couldn't buy her a single person who cared if she lived or died.”
May you like
I took his hand, weaving my fingers through his.
“We aren't alone, Julian,” I said, looking around the bright room filled with light and life. “We never were.”
