Chapter 5 - The Roots Beneath the Snow
Six months later.
A heavy, clean white snow had fallen over the rolling hills of Oakhaven, covering the apple orchard, the broad fields, and the roof of the farmhouse in a sparkling, untouched blanket.
The air outside was zero degrees, but inside the main living room of the farmhouse, a massive stone fireplace roared with a crackling oak fire, filling the high-ceilinged room with warm, golden light and the sweet scent of burning wood.
My mother sat in a plush velvet armchair near the hearth, wrapped in a hand-knitted wool blanket. Her face had filled out; her silver hair was thick and shining, and her eyes were clear, bright, and full of life following her successful cataract surgery two months ago.
Beside her, my father sat in his oak rocking chair, whittling a small wooden bird out of a piece of dry pine, humming an old country tune under his breath.
I sat at the dining room table, a hot cup of coffee at my elbow, working on a blueprint spread across the polished oak surface.
After liquidating Jessica and Michael’s seized assets, along with selling my private holdings in Chicago, I had officially retired from industrial contracting in the city. I had used the funds to establish the Arthur & Eleanor Land Reserve—a two-hundred-acre organic farm and agricultural training center dedicated to teaching young local farmers sustainable soil management.
A knock sounded on the front door.
I stood up, walked to the hallway, and pulled the heavy mahogany door open.
Standing on the porch, wrapped in a thick parka, holding a snow shovel and a leather briefcase, was Deputy Miller.
"Afternoon, Daniel," Deputy Miller smiled warmly, stamping the snow off his heavy boots as he stepped inside. "Cold one out there today."
"Come in, Deputy," I smiled, stepping aside. "Coffee's fresh."
"I can only stay a minute," Deputy Miller said, taking off his gloves and pulling a thick blue folder from his briefcase. "I just came by to hand-deliver the final restitution check from the state trustee's office."
He handed me an official state voucher made out to Arthur and Eleanor Thorne for the amount of three hundred and ninety thousand dollars.
"The auction on Jessica’s jewelry and Susan’s Florida condo went through last week," Deputy Miller explained. "Every cent has been recovered. The court has officially closed the asset file."
I looked down at the paper in my hands.
The money was real now. It wasn't numbers on a screen or promises made over a cell phone from a cold apartment in Chicago. It was security—absolute, unshakeable security that would ensure my parents never had to worry about a roof over their heads, a doctor's bill, or a meal for the rest of their natural lives.
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"How are they doing, Daniel?" Deputy Miller asked quietly, looking past me into the warm living room where my mother was laughing as my father showed her his whittled bird.
"They're home, Deputy," I said softly, looking at my parents framed by the golden firelight. "They're finally home."
