Chapter 8 - The Transition of Legacy
By the spring of 2027, the rumors about Dominic Reyes’s “niece” had become an accepted part of the Chicago landscape. The street had learned that the little girl in the yellow coat was the one line that could not be crossed under any circumstances. A low-level enforcer from the South Side who had made the mistake of taking a photograph of her school bus had vanished from the city database within three hours, his car found empty in the middle of the Skyway bridge with the keys still in the ignition.
Dominic sat at his dining table, a glass of water in front of him, watching Sophia attempt to build a replica of the Willis Tower out of sugar cubes.
“It’s leaning,” he said.
“It’s not leaning,” she argued, her small finger pressing against the top cube until the entire structure collapsed into a white pile on the walnut wood. “It’s just resting.”
She looked up at him, her face serious. “Are we going to California this summer?”
Dominic set his glass down. He hadn't thought about California in months. His life had become an endless cycle of school drops, board meetings, and security reviews. “Why do you want to go to California?”
“To show Mama my new boots,” she said, lifting one foot to reveal a pair of pink leather boots with shiny silver stars that Felix had bought her for her sixth birthday. “She said that when I turned six, I could have boots that looked like the night sky. She said you would buy them for me, but Felix had to do it because you don't know how to use the credit card at the toy store.”
Dominic looked at his pinky ring, the heavy gold cold against his skin. “Felix has too much free time.”
“He says you have too much money,” Sophia countered, her small fingers already clearing away the broken sugar cubes. “He says if you don't spend it on me, the government takes it and buys tanks with it. I don't want tanks. I want a pony.”
“There are no ponies in Reyes Tower,” Dominic said flatly.
“We can put him on the roof,” she said, as if solving a simple logistics problem. “Hawk says the roof can hold three helicopters. A pony is lighter than a helicopter.”
The phone on the table buzzed. It was Felix.
Dominic answered, his voice dropping into its defensive register automatically. “What?”
“Boss, the California probate court just finalized the estate release for Elena Vasquez,” Felix said, his voice carrying a strange, unexpected note of satisfaction. “The deed to the cottage in Del Mar has been transferred to your name as the natural guardian of the minor heir. And there’s something else.”
“Speak.”
“The registrar sent over the certified copy of the original filing from five years ago. Elena didn't just put your name on the father’s line, Dominic. She left a note in the sealed appendix. It was for the judge in case you ever tried to dispute the lineage.”
“What did it say?”
A short pause on the line. Felix cleared his throat. “It said, 'Dominic Reyes will tell you he doesn't have a heart. Do not believe him. He’s just keeping it in a safe place until she’s big enough to carry it.'”
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Dominic looked at his daughter, who was now using her pink boots to try and slide across the polished slate of the kitchen floor. She fell down once, landing with a soft thud on her bottom, but she didn't cry. She simply sat there, looked up at him, and gave him that small, triumphant smile she had inherited from the woman on the beach.
“Get the plane ready, Felix,” Dominic said, his voice lower than usual, carrying a thickness he couldn't entirely control. “We’re going to San Diego on Friday.”
