Chapter 9 - Reclaiming the Canvas
Six months after the trial.
Spring had returned to the Bay Area, bringing warm sunlight, blooming calla lilies, and crisp blue skies over the Pacific coast.
I stood inside a bright, sunlit art gallery in the heart of the Jackson Square Historic District. The high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and polished concrete floors were filled with vibrant oil paintings, modern sculptures, and dozens of happy guests sipping wine.
It was the grand opening of Vance Contemporary Art—my own independent art consultancy and gallery, funded entirely by my grandmother's trust, which I had finally accessed on my thirtieth birthday.
Anna walked up behind me, handing me a glass of sparkling cider. "Look at this place, Ava. It's magnificent."
"It feels real," I said, smiling as I looked around the crowded room. "For the first time in my life, everything in this room was built on my own terms."
Across the room, Robert Hayes stood talking with Eleanor Vance, who looked radiant, healthy, and completely free of worry. Her granddaughter, now healthy and thriving, was running around a modern wire sculpture, laughing happily.
Sarah Lin walked up to us, raising her glass in a toast. "To new beginnings, Ava. And to the strength to walk away from what hurts us."
"To new beginnings," I echoed, clinking my glass against hers.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, noticing a news alert from the San Francisco Chronicle:
May you like
LUCAS GRANT SENTENCED TO 18 YEARS IN FEDERAL PRISON; MOTHER HELEN GRANT RECEIVES 10 YEARS.
I read the headline once, feeling no lingering anger, no bitter regret, and no sorrow. I slid the phone back into my pocket, closing that world out forever.
