PART 3: THE DEPTHS OF THE PROGENY
The water in the reflecting pool was only four feet deep, but it was freezing.
Victoria was frantic, her expensive gown dragging her down like lead weights.
She was clawing at the black tiles at the bottom, her hands bleeding.
"Where is it?!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the estate.
"Where is the key?!"
The federal agents didn't even go down to help her.
They stood at the edge of the pool with flashlights, illuminating her madness.
Julian and I walked down the grand marble staircase, surrounded by agents collecting hard drives and laptops.
Harlan Beck was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs.
The eighty-year-old lawyer looked smaller than usual, but his eyes were bright.
"You did it, Elena," he whispered, handing me a warm blanket.
"Your father would have been proud."
"It's not over yet, Harlan," I said, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders.
"The files are out, but the assets are still tied up in the family trusts."
Harlan smiled grimly, pulling a document from his coat.
"Not anymore."
"According to the 2006 charter that your father encrypted..."
"If any member of the Sterling family is convicted of corporate manslaughter..."
"The entire estate automatically reverts to a public trust managed by the state of Rhode Island."
"For the purpose of restitution to the victims of Project Newport."
Victoria was dragged out of the pool by two female agents.
She was shivering violently, her skin blue, her wet hair matted to her face.
As they led her past me in handcuffs, she stopped.
She looked at my pregnant belly with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You think you won, you little street rat?" she hissed, her teeth chattering.
"That child will grow up with nothing."
"No fortune. No legacy. No house."
I looked her dead in the eyes, completely unmoved by her venom.
"My child will grow up with a father who chose the truth over money," I said.
"They will grow up knowing their grandfather Rafael was a hero."
"And they will never, ever have to step foot in a house like this."
Julian stepped forward, placing his hand over mine on my stomach.
"Let’s go home, Elena," he said.
He didn't look back at his mother. He didn't look back at the mansion.
We walked out of Greystone into the crisp morning air.
Behind us, the lights of the great estate were turning off one by one as the feds shut down the power grids.
The Sterling name was dead.
But as the sun rose over the Newport harbor, I knew something else was finally beginning.
We got into a plain yellow taxi, leaving the sirens and the luxury behind.
My cheek still stung from the cut, but for the first time in twenty years, I could breathe.
The dryers above the laundromat in Providence were probably running.
The floorboards were probably shaking.
May you like
But we were going home.
And we were clean.
