Chapter 16 - The Audit of the Past
By the following Monday, my corner office on the thirtieth floor of Harrington Towers felt less like a battleground and more like a permanent home.
The transition had settled into a steady rhythm. The media storms surrounding Graham Ellison’s arrest and my father’s quiet resignation had begun to fade from the front pages, replaced by financial columns praising Northbridge Capital’s aggressive restructuring and the sudden, dramatic uptick in Harrington’s operational efficiency.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, holding a ceramic mug of black coffee, watching the morning traffic flow seamlessly across the bridge below.
My intercom buzzed softly.
“Claire,” Harrison Cole’s voice came through the speaker. “You have a visitor in the ground-floor reception. She doesn't have an appointment, but security called up asking if you'll see her.”
I frowned slightly, setting my mug down. “Who is it?”
“Your sister.”
A quiet pause hung on the line. I hadn’t spoken to Vanessa since the night of the ruined wedding at Rosewood Estate.
“Send her up, Harrison,” I said evenly.
Ten minutes later, the heavy glass doors of my office swung open. Vanessa stepped inside, looking nothing like the untouchable society bride she had been months ago. She wore a simple, unbranded black coat, her hair pulled back into a loose, unpretentious ponytail. She looked tired, humbled, and profoundly stripped of her armor.
She stopped ten feet from my desk, her eyes sweeping over the minimalist office before locking onto mine.
“I didn't think you’d see me,” she whispered, her voice lacking its old, sharp edge.
May you like
“You’re family, Vanessa—even if our definition of family has changed,” I said, gesturing to the leather chair opposite my desk. “Sit down. Tell me why you’re here.”
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