Chapter 7 - The Diner in River North
The rain had returned to Chicago by seven o'clock that evening, turning the streets of River North into a shimmering grid of neon lights and yellow taxi cab reflections.
I stood across the street from Trattoria Bella, a high-end Italian restaurant known for its handmade pasta and wealthy executive clientele.
Through the wide glass windows of the restaurant, I could see the busy dining room filled with couples laughing over red wine and waiters gliding between tables with silver trays.
Near the front entrance, standing beside the coat check station, was Layla Vance.
She was dressed in a cheap white hostess shirt and a black apron, holding a laminated seating chart in her hands. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, simple bun, and the designer emerald silk she had worn three weeks ago was nowhere to be seen.
I watched as a party of four wealthy patrons walked through the front door.
Layla put on an artificial, practiced smile, bowing her head slightly as she greeted them. But as she stepped forward to grab four menus, one of the guests—a young woman holding a sleek phone—looked closely at Layla’s face, leaned over to her companion, and whispered something.
The companion pulled out their phone, checked a screen, and laughed softly.
Layla’s face flushed a deep, bright red. She lowered her head, bit her lip, and led the party quickly toward their table near the back kitchen doors.
I stood under my umbrella on the wet pavement, watching her navigate the crowded room.
Part of me wondered if I should walk across the street, step into the restaurant, sit down at a table, and force her to hand me a menu. I wondered if seeing me in my tailored suit while she served garlic bread would give me a final rush of vengeance.
I took a deep breath, letting the damp autumn air fill my lungs.
I realized I didn't need to cross the street.
Vengeance was an exhausting, low-level emotion that anchored a person to the very people who had harmed them. I had already won. I had stripped them of their power, reclaimed my autonomy, and rebuilt my legacy from the ground up. Walking into that restaurant wouldn't make me stronger—it would only pull me back down into their shallow, ugly world.
I turned around, pulled my coat tightly around my shoulders, and signaled to my driver waiting at the curb.
The Maybach pulled up smoothly, the door opening automatically. I stepped inside, shaking the rainwater from my umbrella, and sat back against the soft leather seats.
"Where to, Ms. Vance?" my driver asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
"To the airport, Thomas," I replied, a light smile playing on my lips. "I have a flight to London at ten o'clock. We're closing a two-billion-dollar green energy acquisition tomorrow morning."
"Right away, ma'am," Thomas nodded, putting the car into drive and pulling seamlessly out into the Chicago traffic.
May you like
As the Maybach glided past the glowing neon lights of River North, I pulled out my laptop, opened a fresh document, and began outlining the investment strategy for Vanguard's European expansion.
The past was written, sealed, and archived. The future was mine to design.
