Chapter 13 - The Echoes of the Past
Two months after the trial ended, winter had fully set in over the Berkshires. A heavy layer of fresh, white snow covered the grounds of the Vance Estate, turning the gloomy pine forests into a quiet, pristine winter wonderland.
Julian sat in his warm library, sitting beside a roaring fire. Across from him sat Detective Marcus Vance, drinking a mug of steaming coffee. On the table between them lay a final thick blue folder—the official closing report of the state police investigation.
"Everything is officially signed off, Julian," Detective Vance said, setting his mug down. "The Sterling assets have been liquidated by the federal receiver. Over fifteen million dollars has been recovered and returned to your family's charitable trust."
"And the lake house?" Julian asked softly.
"Demolished last Tuesday," Vance replied. "Just as you requested. The land has been cleared and deeded to the state as a protected nature reserve. It will be named the Clara Vance Memorial Park."
Julian nodded slowly, looking out the frost-covered window at the white landscape. "Thank you, Marcus. For never truly dropping the case, even when everyone else called it an accident."
Detective Vance gave a faint, nostalgic smile. "I caught a lot of flak from the chief back then. But something about Victoria’s demeanor at the funeral never sat right with me. She was too calm. Too helpful. She stepped into Clara's shoes before the grave dirt was even dry."
"Psychopaths don't feel grief," Julian observed quietly. "They only see opportunities."
"Speaking of which," Vance said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small white envelope. "This came for you yesterday. Delivered to the precinct from the state correctional facility. It was cleared by prison inspectors."
Julian looked at the envelope. His name was written on the front in Victoria’s sharp, distinctive handwriting.
He took the envelope, holding it over the flickering flames of the fireplace for a long moment.
"Aren't you going to read it?" Vance asked, raising an eyebrow.
May you like
Julian looked at the detective, then down at the neat cursive writing. "She spent two years filling my head with lies. She trapped my daughter in a dark wall to save herself. Nothing she writes on a piece of paper will ever hold a single drop of truth."
Without opening the envelope, Julian dropped it directly into the center of the roaring fireplace. The white paper curled, caught fire, and dissolved into black ash within seconds, rising up the chimney and disappearing into the cold winter night.
