Chapter 5 - THE NEW HORIZON
Three months later, the morning sun over Long Island Sound was bright, crisp, and blindingly clear.
The trial had been swift. Without Travis—who had immediately cut a deal with federal prosecutors to turn state's evidence in exchange for a reduced sentence—the case against my parents and my sister had collapsed into a series of frantic, desperate guilty pleas.
My mother was currently serving a twelve-year sentence at a federal women’s correctional facility in Alderson, West Virginia, where her expensive pearls and custom designer clothes had been replaced by a standard-issue khaki jumpsuit. My father had been transferred to a maximum-security federal penitentiary upstate, facing twenty-five years with no possibility of early release. And Madison, who had pleaded guilty to accessory charges related to the assault and obstruction of justice, was serving a three-year sentence at a medium-security facility in Connecticut.
As for Travis, his Wall Street career was incinerated in a matter of forty-eight hours, his assets frozen by federal regulators, and his name dragged through every financial newspaper from Manhattan to London.
I stood on the front porch of a small, sunlit brick building in downtown Bridgeport, holding a clipboard in one hand and a cup of steaming black coffee in the other.
The building had just undergone a complete renovation, funded entirely by the civil asset forfeiture seizures recovered from my father’s illegal real estate shell companies. A fresh, clean sign above the double glass doors read: THE VANCE FAMILY COMMUNITY & YOUTH CENTER.
“Hey, Agent Vance! Look what I drew!”
I looked down. A twelve-year-old girl named Maya—one of the first teenagers I had helped pull out of an abusive foster situation two years ago—was running across the sidewalk toward me, holding up a bright, colorful crayon drawing of a superhero cape.
I smiled, kneeling down to match her eye level. The heavy purple bruise on my temple had completely faded over the last three months, leaving only a faint, nearly invisible shadow that was easily covered by my hair.
“That is incredible, Maya,” I said, taking the drawing and admiring the vibrant blues and reds. “Is this supposed to be me?”
“Obviously!” Maya laughed, rolling her eyes in that classic teenage way that made my heart feel impossibly light. “Though you need way more capes if you’re going to fight all the bad guys in this city.”
“Well,” I said, standing up and looking out over the bustling Bridgeport street where kids were laughing, social workers were carrying clipboards, and life was moving forward with honest, unpretentious energy, “I’ve got a pretty good team backing me up now.”
Maya ran off toward the entrance, joining a group of kids laughing near the front steps.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, feeling the warm, rich taste slide down my throat—clean, sharp, and entirely free of copper or blood.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text notification from Special Agent Katherine Vance:
“Federal oversight committee meeting in Manhattan at 2:00 PM. Suit and tie, Agent Vance.”
I smiled, typing back a quick, one-word reply:
“On my way.”
May you like
I looked back down at the youth center, then out toward the horizon where the Manhattan skyline rose in the distance like a jagged crown of glass and steel against the morning sky. The past was behind me, buried under iron, concrete, and federal indictments.
I turned my back on the old life, adjusted my jacket, and walked forward into the sun.
