Chapter 8 - The AftermathBy midnight, the gala had resumed its philanthropic mission, though the only thing anyone was whispering about across the five hundred tables was the devastating, televised downfall of Chloe Sterling.
I didn't stay for the dessert course.
I slipped out through a side exit, climbed into the back of my private SUV, and told Hector to drive straight home.
When the SUV rolled through the wrought-iron gates of the Bel-Air estate forty minutes later, the house was warm, glowing, and peaceful.
I walked through the front doors into the foyer.
Marisol was sitting quietly at the kitchen island, grading Valeria’s spelling homework while Sofia sat beside her, happily coloring in a massive drawing book with her newly retrieved brown stuffed rabbit clutched tightly under her arm.
When they heard my footsteps, both girls looked up.
Without saying a word, they scrambled off their barstools and ran across the marble floor, throwing their arms around my legs in a fierce, joyful double hug.
I dropped my briefcase, knelt down on the floor, and wrapped my arms around my daughters, burying my face in their hair as a profound, overwhelming wave of relief washed over my soul.
Marisol walked over slowly, standing a few feet away with a soft, knowing smile on her face. I looked up at her, my eyes shining with unshed tears.
"Is it over?" Marisol asked quietly.
"It's over," I said, standing up and taking a deep breath of fresh air. "She’s gone. For good."
Marisol nodded, her expression softening into deep, maternal warmth. "Would you like me to make you some fresh coffee, Mr. Vance? Or maybe some tea?"
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I looked at the housekeeper who had protected my family when I was too blind to see the truth. I looked at my two healthy, happy daughters smiling brightly under the kitchen lights.
"No coffee tonight, Marisol," I smiled, reaching out to ruffle Sofia's hair. "Just sit down with us. We have a lot of family movie nights to catch up on."
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