Chapter 9 - Vincent Reflects On The Heartbreaking Purple Stars Drawn Daily
Vincent walked over to the tall bay window of his study, looking out over the dark expanse of Lake Michigan.
His mind kept drifting back to the small piece of notebook paper with its clumsy handwriting and purple crayon stars.
He remembered his own childhood in the freezing tenement apartments of South Boston before the empire was built.
He remembered the nights his mother had sat at the kitchen table pretending to have already eaten so he could finish the bread.
Four-year-old Rory had lived that exact same nightmare, carrying the quiet burden of adult poverty in her small backpack.
The door to his study creaked open softly, and Mara stepped inside, holding a cup of chamomile tea.
“I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Kane,” Mara said hesitantly, stopping near the bookshelf.
“You're never an intrusion, Mara,” Vincent said, turning around to face her with a gentle expression.
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“I just wanted to thank you properly,” Mara whispered, her hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“You saved us tonight from a life we couldn't escape on our own.”
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