Chapter 10 - The Unfinished Chapter
The autumn wind whipped off Boston Harbor, rustling the golden leaves scattered across the paved walkways of the Seaport district.
Sophie and Caleb were running ahead, laughing as they chased a stray pigeon near the waterfront promenade, their backpacks swinging loosely against their backs. For the first time in six years, there was no invisible weight holding them down, no walking on eggshells, no quiet anxiety lingering in the corners of our home.
I walked slowly behind them, my hands tucked deep inside the pockets of my wool coat, breathing in the crisp, salt-scented air.
The legal proceedings were far from over. Margaret was facing up to fifteen years in federal prison with no possibility of parole, and Nathan was currently facing multiple counts of financial fraud and perjury, his career permanently incinerated. The Seaport penthouse was officially registered entirely in my name, and Monroe-Stark Holdings was undergoing a complete corporate restructuring to ensure our family assets were permanently bulletproofed.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, expecting an update from James’s legal team regarding the final asset transfers.
Instead, it was an unknown international number.
I frowned, sliding my thumb across the screen to answer.
“Hello?” I said, stepping to the side of the walkway to watch my children skip ahead toward the harbor railing.
“Is this Caroline Monroe?” a deep, unfamiliar voice asked. There was a faint, crackling static on the line, as if the call were coming from halfway across the world.
“Yes, this is Caroline,” I replied cautiously. “Who is this?”
“That doesn't matter right now,” the stranger said, lowering his voice into a hushed, urgent tone. “What matters is that you need to know the truth about your late husband, Daniel. The accident six years ago wasn't an accident, Mrs. Cole. And the person who signed off on the brake-line maintenance report wasn't a mechanic.”
The world around me seemed to instantly freeze. The sound of the wind, the chatter of pedestrians, and even the laughter of my children fading into a dull, distant hum.
“What... what are you talking about?” I whispered, my fingers tightening around the phone until my knuckles turned white.
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“I’m talking about the Sutton family,” the voice said quietly. “And the insurance payout that funded Margaret Cole’s very first real estate empire six years ago—a payout that your late husband’s business partner signed over just three days before his car went off the bridge.”
Before I could demand an answer, the line clicked dead, leaving only a hollow dial tone humming in my ear.
