Chapter 5 - The Closing Ledger
Ten minutes later, Marco walked back into the dining room carrying a thick, heavy manila envelope stuffed with crisp, banded hundred-dollar bills. He placed it squarely on the table in front of my mother.
“Exact count,” Marco said. “Plus an extra five hundred for the broken dinner plates and emotional damages.”
Mom looked at the envelope, then at the money, and then down at me. She didn't say a word. She just buried her face in my red hoodie and began to cry—not the jagged, desperate sobs of the night before, but big, wet, relieved tears that soaked right through my shoulder.
Vincent watched them for a moment, adjusting his cuffs.
He reached out, his large, scarred hand gently resting on my head for a second.
“Next time you want to audit a payroll, Rory,” Vincent said with a dry, quiet smirk, “use the front entrance and ask for me by name. My guards need the practice.”
“Yes, Mr. Kane,” I said solemnly.
As Vincent turned and walked toward the exit, followed by his silent wall of bodyguards, the restaurant doors swung open to let in the cold Chicago wind.
Mom pulled the envelope close to her chest, stood up, and took my small hand in hers.
“Come on, Rory,” she whispered, her voice stronger and clearer than I had heard it in years. “Let’s go buy some groceries.”
May you like
Outside, parked right beside the curb, David Sterling’s brand-new red Porsche was sitting on four bare brake rotors, its wheels neatly stacked in the trunk of Marco’s sedan.
And as we walked down the stone steps into the crisp autumn air, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my purple crayon, and drew one final, glowing star right on the back of my hand.
