Chapter 14 - THE COMPANY MY FATHER TRIED TO GIVE BACK
Nathan's second will wasn't about making me rich.
That was the first thing Daniel Reed explained.
Dad had been named trustee over shares purchased through charitable money stolen by Graham Mercer.
Those shares had eventually become part of Castle Maritime.
Nathan believed the ownership should be returned to the people whose funds were taken.
Not to me.
Not to Victor.
To the beneficiaries.
I stared at the documents.
“So I don't inherit the shares.”
Daniel shook his head.
“You inherit the authority to complete the restitution process, subject to court approval.”
I smiled.
“That sounds like Dad.”
Victor read the papers.
Then surprised everyone.
“I won't contest it.”
His attorneys stared.
Daniel stared.
I stared.
Victor shrugged.
“If stolen money bought part of the company, I don't want to own that part.”
For a man raised inside a criminal empire, that sentence mattered.
The legal process took more than a year.
Independent auditors traced the original charitable funds.
Courts reviewed claims.
Some ownership interests were converted into restitution funds.
Others were transferred into a nonprofit structure.
Nothing happened overnight.
Nothing was simple.
But the process was public.
Documented.
Accountable.
The opposite of how the old Castle organization operated.
By then, Brooks House Events had become successful.
Not enormous.
But mine.
We coordinated community fundraisers, hospital benefits, small weddings, and corporate events for businesses I actually liked.
Mom worked reception twice a week because retirement bored her.
She terrified vendors who arrived late.
Victor thought that was hilarious.
Then something unexpected happened.
I met someone.
His name was Noah Grant.
Thirty-seven.
Architect.
Widower.
He came to Brooks House because his firm was sponsoring a housing fundraiser.
Our first conversation lasted twenty minutes.
Our second lasted two hours.
The first time Victor saw him pick me up for dinner, he stood at my apartment window like an overprotective lunatic.
I opened the door.
“Go home.”
“I am evaluating him.”
“You are not my father.”
“I know.”
“You are also not a mafia boss anymore.”
He looked offended.
“That seems unnecessarily specific.”
I laughed and pushed him toward the elevator.
Noah knew my history.
Not every detail immediately.
But enough.
He never treated it like entertainment.
Never seemed impressed by Victor.
Never acted intimidated either.
He simply asked:
“Are you happy now?”
The question stopped me.
I realized I was.
Not because the conspiracy ended.
Not because I found siblings.
Not because money was recovered.
Because I had built a life that wasn't organized around fear.
A year after we started dating, Noah took me to the Grand Meridian Hotel.
I stopped outside.
“No.”
He laughed.
“Not the penthouse.”
“Good.”
We entered the ballroom where the charity gala had once taken place.
Now Brooks House was managing a fundraiser for emergency housing.
The room looked completely different.
Warm.
Bright.
Safe.
No fake police.
No blood.
No Victor half-naked.
Thank God.
Then Noah led me toward the balcony.
My heart started racing.
“Why are we here?”
He smiled.
“Because this building almost killed you.”
“That isn't romantic.”
“No.”
He took my hand.
“But it also started the chain of events that gave you your family back.”
My throat tightened.
May you like
Then he lowered himself onto one knee.
And for the second time in my life, that hotel took my breath away.
