Chapter 9 - The Cascade Cabin
The house in the Cascades wasn't a mansion. It was built of rough-hewn cedar logs and massive river stones, sitting on a high ridge above the Methow Valley, where the air smelled of dry sage and fresh pine resin. There were no white marble floors or gold accents; the floors were wide planks of reclaimed fir that showed the knots and the scars of the wood’s old life.
It was June 2027, and the summer sun had turned the valley into an ocean of green grass and wild lupine.
I stood on the wide wooden deck, wearing a comfortable flannel shirt and a pair of old jeans, a mug of fresh coffee in my hands. Below me, in the meadow, Emma was running through the tall grass, her yellow raincoat replaced by a simple summer dress.
Behind her, bounding with a clumsy, joyful energy that shook the wildflowers, was Barnaby—a massive, ninety-pound Newfoundland puppy we had adopted from a shelter in Wenatchee a month earlier.
The sound of her laughter drifted up the hill, light, loud, and entirely free of the old silence.
The screen door behind me opened with a soft clack, and Arthur Vance walked out onto the deck, wearing a short-sleeved linen shirt and carrying a small, silver tray with a single envelope on it.
"The certified mail from the federal court arrived in Twisp this morning, Audrey," he said, setting the tray on the cedar railing between us.
I looked at the envelope. It bore the return address of the Western District of Washington Federal Compliance Office.
"Is it finished?" I asked.
"Nathan’s final appeal was rejected by the circuit judge yesterday afternoon," Arthur said, his voice quiet, steady, and full of completion. "His twelve-year sentence has been finalized at the federal prison in Sheridan. The corporate restructuring has been cleared of all outstanding liability. The Shellbourne-Vanguard merger is now the highest-rated green logistics network on the Pacific coast."
I didn't open the envelope. I didn't need to read the legal text or see the judge’s signature to know that the wall had been built.
"Thank you, Arthur," I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "For everything."
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"You did the work, Audrey," the old attorney said, looking out at the meadow where Emma had just fallen into the grass, Barnaby immediately dropping beside her to lick her cheeks until she shrieked with delight. "Your father would be very proud of the way you handled the trust. He always said you were the one who had the eye for the foundation."
"The foundation is solid now, Arthur," I said, looking down at the drawing Emma had made three months ago in my Seattle office. It was pinned to the inside of the kitchen window, the green trees and the yellow sun perfectly matching the reality of the valley below us.
