Chapter 8 - Rebuilding the Foundations
The transition of Ashby Capital Group from a predatory hedge fund into a socially conscious investment firm was the biggest news story of the season, completely eclipsing the viral lie that had threatened to destroy two young lives. The media outlets that had called Callie and Bea "vultures" were forced to issue public, prime-time apologies, running feature stories on the "Miracle Girls of Kellerman Square."
But inside the new penthouse apartment at the St. Regis, the noise of the world was kept at bay.
Dorothy’s recovery was progressing with remarkable speed, thanks to the daily visits from the city’s top orthopedic specialists and physical therapists, all retained on long-term contracts by the newly formed foundation. She sat on the sun-drenched terrace, her walker replaced by an elegant, lightweight carbon-fiber cane.
Callie and Bea were sitting at a small table nearby, surrounded by new books, art supplies, and a massive Lego set of a blue whale that James had found during a trip to London.
James walked out onto the terrace, carrying two cups of coffee. He set one down in front of Dorothy, sitting in the armchair opposite her.
"The lawyers finalized the purchase of the Maple Street building today, Dorothy," James said, taking a sip of his coffee. "The tenants are all receiving ten-year lease extensions with zero rent increases. And the construction crew starts on Monday to install an external elevator system for the entire structure."
Dorothy looked out over the city, her eyes misting over with a deep, profound relief. "You didn't have to buy the whole building, James. A simple ramp would have done."
"The building was just the beginning," James said softly, looking at the girls who were currently arguing over where to place a yellow Lego brick. "The foundation has cleared the back taxes on your family’s original property in the countryside. The school board has agreed to name the new early childhood center after you, Dorothy. Thirty-seven years of teaching shouldn't end in a rehabilitation center because an insurance company had an opinion about eight days."
Dorothy reached across the small table, her wrinkled, soft hand resting over James’s. "You’re a good man, James Ashby. Eleanor would be very proud of the way you're walking these days."
"I’m just trying to keep my eyes open, Dorothy," James said, his voice cracking slightly. "I spent too long looking at the numbers."
Callie ran over, holding up a small piece of paper. It was a drawing made with bright markers. It showed a large blue whale carrying a man in a gray suit and two little girls with puff-balls in their hair across a big, golden bridge.
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"This is for your office, James," Callie said, pressing the paper into his hand. "So you don't forget where we're going."
James folded the drawing carefully, sliding it into the breast pocket of his charcoal suit—the exact spot where his heart had stopped beating, and where it had now found a completely new reason to start again.
