Chapter 18 - THE SUMMER HARVEST
Three months later.
Late August brought a golden warmth to northern Michigan. The three-acre property on the outskirts of Traverse City was alive with the deep, rich colors of late summer.
The apple trees in our orchard were heavy with crisp, red Honeycrisp apples, their branches bending low toward the lush grass. The garden surrounding the porch was a sea of crimson roses and massive, snow-white hydrangeas.
There were no more federal agents in our guest house. No more encrypted phones on the kitchen table. No more silent watching of the treeline.
On a warm Saturday afternoon, the front lawn was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking glasses.
We were hosting our first annual harvest celebration.
More than thirty people from the local community—our neighbors, Addie’s youth soccer team members, the local family practitioner who had taken over Addie’s routine care, and several of Miller’s former colleagues from Detroit—were gathered under white canvas canopies set up on the grass.
Addie, wearing a bright green soccer jersey with the number 7 printed on the back, was running through the orchard with a group of four other children, kicking a soccer ball through the trees while Barnaby chased them, barking happily.
Her lungs were strong, her breath clear and deep, her cheeks flushed with the vibrant, unstoppable energy of a healthy six-year-old child.
I stood on the wrap-around porch, wearing a simple yellow summer dress, serving fresh apple cider from a large glass dispenser.
Miller walked up the steps, dressed in a crisp white linen shirt and jeans, carrying a wooden tray loaded with fresh corn on the cob and grilled chicken.
"The soccer team is eating us out of house and home," Miller joked, setting the tray on the long wooden picnic table. "That kid of yours ate three hot dogs in ten minutes."
"She earns it," I smiled, watching Addie expertly dribble the soccer ball around a large oak tree. "Her coach told me yesterday that she’s the fastest forward in the junior league."
Miller looked out at the lawn, his eyes reflecting the warm golden light of the afternoon sun. He looked younger, the deep lines of stress around his eyes smoothed by months of quiet outdoor work and peace of mind.
"I got a letter from the Department of Justice this morning," Miller mentioned casually, leaning against the porch railing beside me.
"Oh?"
"Apex Bio-Tech's bankruptcy liquidation was finalized yesterday," Miller said. "Their clinical trial patents have been permanently canceled, and the seventy million dollars seized from their offshore accounts has been placed into a federal victim restitution trust."
He looked at me, his gaze gentle and serious.
"Addie’s share of the trust was approved, Clara. Two million dollars, held in a legal guardianship account for her college education and medical care."
I looked out at my daughter, watching her collapse onto the grass with her teammates, laughing hysterically as Barnaby tried to steal the soccer ball.
May you like
"We don't need the money to be happy, Miller," I said softly. "But it's good to know she'll be safe no matter what happens."
"She’s already safe, Clara," Miller said, taking my hand in his. "Because she has you."
