Chapter 20 - The View from the Top
"Sit down, Rosie," I said, motioning toward the leather chair opposite my desk.
She walked in slowly, looking out at the panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She sat down on the edge of the chair, folding her hands in her lap like a nervous schoolgirl.
"The federal prosecutors took my statement this morning," Rosie said softly. "Because I brought Julian’s encrypted drive and cooperated before the formal indictments were handed down, they're granting me full immunity from the Crestview charges."
"I know," I said. "My legal team coordinated with the U.S. Attorney to make sure you were protected."
Rosie looked up, tears pooling in her eyes. "Why? After everything I said to you? After I called you... garbage?"
"Because you were an idiot, Rosie," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "You were arrogant, selfish, and cruel. But you didn't steal Dad’s cancer money. Julian and Evelyn did that. And Dad asked me to protect you."
Rosie buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she let out a quiet, broken sob. "I’m sorry, Clara. God, I’m so sorry. I spent my whole life competing with you, trying to make Mom love me... and she didn't love either of us. She just loved the lifestyle."
"Mom is currently being held on twenty-five thousand dollars bail at Rikers Island," I said coldly. "Her court-appointed lawyer is filing a plea deal. She’ll likely serve eighteen months for felony burglary and estate fraud. The Hamptons house has been sold. The Westchester estate is going to auction next month. She will leave prison with nothing."
Rosie wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. "And Julian?"
"Julian was denied bail. The flight risk was too high. He’s looking at twelve to fifteen years in a federal penitentiary in upstate New York. His career is over. His money is gone."
Rosie took a deep, shuddering breath, looking around the massive office. "What happens to me now?"
I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a thin leather folder, sliding it across the desk toward her.
Rosie blinked, looking down at it. "What’s this?"
"Dad’s real will," I said. "Thirty percent of the intellectual property rights from AeroStream were meant for you. But Dad knew you’d spend it in a week if you got it in cash. So it’s locked in a trust. It pays out a modest dividend—four thousand dollars a month. Enough for a small apartment, health insurance, and groceries. But you have to get a job, Rosie. You have to work."
Rosie stared at the document, then looked up at me, her lower lip trembling. "You're... you're giving me this? You could have kept it all. No one would have blamed you."
"I don't need your money, Rosie," I said, leaning back in my leather chair. "I built my own."
She picked up the pen with shaking fingers and signed the trust acceptance form. When she was finished, she stood up, clutching the folder to her chest.
She walked toward the door, then stopped, turning back to look at me one last time.
"Clara?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "For saving me from them. Even when I didn't deserve it."
"Goodbye, Rosie," I said softly.
She nodded, turned, and walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind her.
I stood up, walking over to the massive glass window, looking out over the sprawling, pulsing city below. The cars looked like tiny ants, the pedestrians mere specks on the concrete.
For ten years, they had looked down at me from their high towers, calling me weak, calling me soft, calling me garbage.
They thought that noise was power. They thought that arrogance was strength.
They never understood that the quietest person in the room is often the one holding the detonator.
May you like
I took a sip of my black coffee, watched the sun illuminate the steel spire of the Empire State Building, and smiled.
The view from the top was finally clear.
