Chapter 9 - The Cleanup
Three months later.
Spring had finally arrived in Minnesota. The ice on the Mississippi River had melted, replaced by crisp blue waters flowing under warm, golden sunlight.
I stood on the back patio of my home—now solely titled in my name—watching a landscaping crew plant fresh white hydrangeas along the brick garden wall. The house felt lighter, cleaner, as if the dark energy of Alistair's lies had been completely scrubbed from the walls.
My senior partner, David Mercer, walked out onto the patio holding two glasses of iced tea.
"Final court filings came through this morning," David said, handing me a glass. "The divorce decree is officially absolute. You are legally Jacqueline Ross again."
"And Finch Capital?" I asked, taking a sip.
"Completely liquidated," David reported. "Every single dollar stolen from our legal clients was recovered from the Cayman accounts and the sale of the Edina townhouse. The clients suffered zero financial loss."
"And Alistair?"
David sighed faintly, pulling a folder from under his arm. "He accepted a formal plea deal last week to avoid a jury trial. Four years at the Minnesota State Correctional Facility in Stillwater, followed by three years of mandatory financial probation. His financial advisor license has been permanently revoked."
"And Paige?"
"Given three years of probation after turning state's evidence against Alistair," David said. "She moved back to her parents' house in Iowa with her son. She's working at a local retail store."
I looked out over the blooming garden. Justice was not always joyous, but it was absolute. Alistair had sought to build a paradise on a foundation of theft and betrayal, only to find himself sitting in a cold prison cell while the woman he tried to destroy reclaimed her peace.
Martha Finch had been forced to sell her Duluth home to pay back the $180,000 she had accepted in stolen allowances, moving into a small assisted-living apartment on the outskirts of the city. The toxic family that had tried to erase my existence had been scattered to the wind by the weight of their own choices.
"How do you feel, Jacqueline?" David asked softly, looking at me with genuine care.
May you like
I smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached my eyes for the first time in a very long time.
"I feel free, David," I said. "Completely free."
