Chapter 6
The small stone cottage in Georgetown smelled of old paper, sun-warmed cedar, and damp earth. It belonged to an aunt of Harrison’s who spent her golden years traveling the Mediterranean, leaving the historic property in their care for as long as they needed peace. Clara sat on the edge of a wrought-iron bed frame, surrounded by half-unpacked cardboard boxes filled with books, legal pads, and simple clothes. There were no designer dresses here, no silk slips, and certainly no high heels that required sacrifice to wear.
Harrison walked into the bedroom carrying a tray with two mugs of black coffee and a plate of fresh pastries from the local bakery down the cobbled lane. He set the tray on a scarred pine nightstand and sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing hers.
“The news vans found the front gate about an hour ago,” Harrison remarked casually, taking a sip of his coffee. “Marcus redirected them toward an empty warehouse in industrial Maryland. They’re currently interviewing a bewildered night watchman about tax loopholes.”
Clara smiled, taking a warm mug into her hands. “Marcus is worth every penny we pay him.”
“He’s worth twice that,” Harrison agreed. He looked around the sunlit room, his expression turning thoughtful. “You know, Clara, for five years you lived a double life in that mansion. You played the quiet, overlooked archivist while gathering enough evidence to sink a battleship. Weren’t you ever afraid?”
“Every single day,” Clara admitted quietly, staring into the dark depths of her coffee. “Julian was ruthless. If he had known I was the one auditing his personal ledgers, he would have had me buried under a foundation somewhere before I could blink. But fear isn’t a reason to stop, Harrison. It’s just an indicator that what you’re doing actually matters.”
“You have more courage in your little finger than an entire courtroom full of corporate defense attorneys,” Harrison said, his voice thick with unexpressed emotion. He reached out, gently tracing a scar along the back of her hand—a souvenir from a night two winters ago when she had broken into Julian’s private office to retrieve a stolen hard drive before the shredders could reach it.
“Courage is just stubbornness with a noble cause,” Clara replied softly.
They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment, listening to the distant church bells tolling the arrival of noon. The sunlight streamed through the multi-pane glass windows, warming the wooden floorboards. For Clara, this was the first time in her life that home did not feel like a temporary shelter between battles. It felt permanent. It felt safe.
“What are you going to do with your law degree now?” Clara asked, turning her head to look at him. “You spent ten years building the firm into a corporate powerhouse. Now that the Sterling case is finished, are you going to go back to defending tech giants and pharmaceutical conglomerates?”
May you like
Harrison set his mug down on the pine table and turned to face her fully, taking both of her hands in his. “No, Clara. I’m done with corporate boardrooms. I want to open a pro-bono practice right here in Georgetown. Families who lost everything to corporate predators—people like your father. We can spend the rest of our lives making sure men like Julian never get to build an empire on the backs of the vulnerable.”
Tears welled in Clara’s eyes, hot and genuine, completely different from the cold, calculated tears she had forced back at the water fountain. This time, they were tears of profound, overwhelming relief.
