Chapter 6 - The Unspoken Promise
By four o'clock in the afternoon, the storm had completely cleared. The stock market had responded to Quantum’s official press release—which included the arrest of Julian Vance and the firing of Evelyn Shaw—with a five percent surge in share value. The story in the Daily Ledger was retracted online, replaced by a retraction notice and an apology for publishing fabricated rumors.
Wesley stood in his office, his coat off, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms as he signed the final documents for the acquisition of Vance Holdings' regional assets.
Clara walked in carrying a small paper bag from a high-end bakery three blocks away.
"Sir," she said, placing the bag on his desk. "Ms. Miller sent this up with Marcus. She said it was the least she could do after reading the news this afternoon."
Wesley opened the bag. Inside were six cinnamon rolls, freshly baked, carefully wrapped in white parchment paper with a small hand-written note tied around the top with blue ribbon.
The note read:
Thank you for fighting for those who can't fight for themselves. The girls ask if you’re coming down for dinner.
Wesley looked at the note for a long time. The neat, slightly rounded cursive handwriting reminded him of his mother's letters—the ones she used to write to the bank every month, asking for three more days to pay the water bill.
"Clara," Wesley said without turning around. "How is the legal team progressing with her housing case?"
"It’s completely resolved, sir," Clara reported. "Her previous landlord admitted to withholding her employment records to force a fast eviction so he could double the rent for new tenants. Our lawyers filed a civil suit against him for damages. He’s agreed to settle out of court for fifty thousand dollars, which will be deposited into Ms. Miller’s account tomorrow."
Wesley nodded slowly. "Good."
"She’s free to look for a new apartment now, sir," Clara added carefully, watching his face. "With the settlement money, she can easily afford a two-bedroom rental in the upper district."
Wesley didn't answer right away. He walked to the window, watching the rain tap lightly against the thick glass of his office.
"She doesn't need to look for an apartment," Wesley said softly.
Clara smiled faintly. "Sir?"
"Tell the residential management team at Blackwood that Suite 3102 is no longer on the executive availability list," Wesley said. "Transfer the deed to the Miller family trust. I’m setting up an educational fund for Bella and Daisy today—ten million dollars each, locked until they turn twenty-one."
Clara took a fast note on her tablet. "And your schedule for this evening, Mr. Davis?"
May you like
Wesley turned around, reached for his jacket hanging on the mahogany coat rack, and pulled it over his shoulders.
"Clear my evening," Wesley said. "I have a dinner reservation on the thirty-first floor."
