The heavy, soundproofed mahogany doors of the Imperial Grand ballroom muffled the collective laughter of two hundred guests, yet Derek’s voice still pierced through the thick barrier.

Two weeks passed before the initial shockwave of the scandal completely faded from the corporate headlines, replaced by the relentless, churning news cycle of the financial district.

Derek’s trial didn't even reach the courtroom stage. Faced with an airtight forensic audit trail compiled by my team and corroborated by his co-conspirators, his defense counsel advised him to take a plea deal in exchange for a recommendation of a reduced federal sentence.

He received eight years in a medium-security federal penitentiary in Indiana.

During the sentencing hearing, Derek had looked around the courtroom desperately, searching the rows for anyone who might offer him a shred of pity or support. But the gallery was empty. Vanessa was nowhere to be found; her family had quietly packed her bags and sent her abroad to a relative in Europe to wait out the social fallout. His corporate colleagues had distanced themselves completely, scrubbing every digital trace of their association with him from their professional networks.

I didn't attend the sentencing. I was at home, helping Noah build a massive Lego spaceship on our living room rug while the afternoon sun streamed through the windows of our new home—a spacious, sunlit penthouse overlooking Lincoln Park that Dad had insisted we move into for security and convenience.

“Mommy, does bad guys always lose?” Noah asked suddenly, holding a little plastic astronaut in his hand as he looked up at me with those serious, clear green eyes.

I set down the instruction booklet, reached out, and brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead.

“Not always right away, sweetie,” I answered honestly. “Sometimes they lie for a long time. Sometimes they make people think they’re winning. But truth has a way of adding up, Noah. Every number tells a story. And eventually, the math catches up with everyone.”

Noah nodded thoughtfully, processing my words before returning his attention to his spaceship. “Good. Because my spaceship has lasers that shoots math problems at bad guys.”

I laughed out loud, pulling him into a tight embrace as he giggled and wriggled in my arms.

Just then, the front door unlocked, and heavy, familiar footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Is that my favorite mathematician I hear?” Arthur Vale’s voice boomed warmly through the apartment as he walked in, tossing his wool overcoat onto the entryway rack and loosening his silk tie.

Noah immediately abandoned his Lego bricks and ran down the hall. “Grandpa Art!”

Arthur scooped the boy up with effortless strength, swinging him around in a wide circle as Noah shrieked with laughter. My father’s silver hair caught the light, and for the first time in his life, the legendary, unyielding corporate titan looked completely, effortlessly at peace.

“Wash up for dinner, young man,” Arthur instructed gently, setting Noah down before walking into the living room and pausing beside my chair. He looked down at me with a warm, approving smile. “You’ve been working too hard this week, Clara. The forensic reports for the European expansion can wait until Monday.”

“I’m not working, Dad. I’m supervising a space mission,” I smiled, gesturing to the Lego debris on the floor.

Arthur chuckled, pulling up an armchair and sitting down opposite me. “Good. Because your mother—well, if she were here, she’d tell us both to put the paperwork away and eat proper food.” He paused, his expression softening as he looked out the window toward the park. “You know... for thirty-four years, I thought my legacy was the buildings we built, the steel we manufactured, the markets we conquered.”