That morning, I stood in our Greenwich kitchen pouring warm milk into Fiona's favorite panda mug while my driver waited outside.

Two weeks later.

The autumn sun shone brightly over Greenwich, painting the trees in brilliant shades of red, gold, and orange.

The media storm surrounding the arrest of Arthur Sterling, Wendy Croft, and Julian Croft had finally begun to settle. With the federal indictments handed down and the stolen assets frozen by court order, my legal team had successfully recovered over ninety percent of the embezzled funds. Vance Enterprises' stock had rebounded to an all-time high, praised by market analysts for its swift, transparent handling of the crisis.

In our guest cottage—where Wendy had lived for six months—a team of professional movers was loading the last of her furniture into a moving truck.

Jessi stood on the stone porch, holding a small cardboard box filled with old family photographs she had salvaged from her mother's bedroom.

I walked up the steps, sliding my arm around her waist. She leaned her head against my shoulder, letting out a long, peaceful sigh.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked gently.

"I am," Jessi said, looking down at a black-and-white photo of herself and Julian as children, playing on a beach. "For eight years, I carried this dark, heavy ghost around with me. I thought Julian's death was a tragic accident I couldn't fix. Now I know the truth. He made his choices, Mom made hers... and I don't have to carry their guilt anymore."

"You never did," I murmured, kissing her cheek.

Wendy had been sentenced to twelve years in federal prison for grand larceny, child endangerment, and conspiracy. Julian, facing multiple felony weapons and fraud charges, had accepted a fifteen-year plea bargain. Arthur Sterling's assets were being liquidated to pay off federal fines, his legacy completely erased from the corporate landscape.

"Where's Fiona?" Jessi asked, looking toward the main house.

"She's in the backyard with Marcus," I smiled. "He's teaching her how to train the golden retriever to fetch tennis balls."

Jessi chuckled softly—a light, genuine laugh that I hadn't heard in months.

We walked down the steps together, hand in hand, leaving the empty guest cottage behind us forever.

As we walked toward the backyard, the sound of Fiona's bright, bubbly laughter echoed across the manicured lawn. Our golden retriever was sprinting across the grass with a yellow ball in his mouth, tail wagging furiously, with Fiona chasing right behind him in her bright pink sneakers.

She stopped when she saw us, waving both arms frantically over her head.

"Daddy! Mommy! Look! Barnaby learned how to sit!"

I walked over, scooping Fiona up into my arms and swinging her around in a circle while she giggled uncontrollably. When I set her back down, she wrapped her small arms tightly around my neck.

"Daddy?" she whispered into my ear.

"Yes, my sweet girl?"

"Are you going to go on any more business trips soon?"