Chapter 9 - The Shadow of the Past
The autumn of 1998 had been cold, but the autumn of the following year brought an early winter to the South Side.
By November, the wind coming off Lake Michigan carried the smell of ice and coal smoke.
In the library of the Oak Park house, the big stone fireplace crackled with heavy oak logs. The room had changed over the last twelve months. The heavy velvet curtains had been replaced with lighter linen, the old oil paintings of dark harbor scenes had been moved to the cellar, and a large oak table near the window was covered with architectural plans for a new youth community center on Thirty-Fifth Street—a project funded entirely by the Vitali Foundation.
Nico sat at his desk, reviewing the monthly balance sheets for the shipping lines.
Arthur Barone walked in, setting a small leather case on the blotter.
"The final liquidation of the Sinclair assets was completed this morning," Arthur reported. "The lake house in Lake Forest was bought by a pharmaceutical executive from Evanston. The proceeds—six point two million dollars—have been transferred to the state receiver for distribution to the defrauded pension funds."
Nico didn't look up from his ledger. "And Vanessa?"
"Her appeal was denied yesterday by the Seventh Circuit," Arthur said flatly. "She has begun serving her twelve-year sentence at the federal facility in Pekin. Her mother’s medical release was also denied. They will both remain in custody."
Nico closed his pen with a quiet click. "And Curtis Vaughn?"
"Found in a small town outside Toronto three weeks ago," Arthur said. "Working as a night clerk in a motel under an assumed name. He signed a full confession to avoid extradition fight. He confirmed everything—the forged vouchers, the payments to Senator Sinclair, and the role Eleanor Vance played in setting up your father’s accounts."
Nico leaned back in his chair, looking at the bright fire burning in the hearth.
For eleven years, his life had been defined by a single objective—to find the people who had destroyed his father’s name and pull them into the light. Now that it was done, the quiet inside the house felt vast, almost overwhelming.
The door to the library opened.
Ellie walked in carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a small plate of shortbread. She was wearing a thick cream-colored sweater and dark jeans, her dark hair falling loose over her shoulders.
She set the tray on the corner of his desk, looking at the thin leather case Arthur had brought.
"Is it finished?" she asked softly.
Nico looked up at her, reaching out to take her soft, warm hand in his broad, scarred palm.
"It’s finished, Ellie," he said, his voice deep and steady. "Every page is turned."
Arthur bowed his head slightly toward them both, picked up his leather papers, and walked quietly out of the room, shutting the double doors behind him.
Ellie sat on the edge of the large desk, looking down into Nico’s eyes. "How do you feel?"
Nico pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.
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"For eleven years, I thought this house was a prison built by dead men," he whispered. "Now... it just feels like a place where I’m waiting for you to come home."
Ellie smiled, leaning down until her forehead rested against his. "I am home, Nico."
