Chapter 9 - The Cost of Becoming Clean
Cormack opened every book.
Every account.
Every company.
He gave investigators access before they asked a second time.
Fitz nearly had a heart attack.
“You understand there are things in those records we traditionally prefer governments not examine?”
Cormack looked up.
“Illegal things?”
Fitz hesitated.
“Morally creative things.”
“Fix them.”
“Cormack—”
“Fix them.”
For six weeks, Vale Holdings was dismantled and rebuilt in public.
Old shell companies closed.
Questionable partnerships ended.
Union agreements renegotiated.
Cormack paid penalties where required.
He sold two warehouses.
One casino interest.
A shipping company his father had acquired thirty years earlier.
The newspapers called it weakness.
His former associates called it betrayal.
Sloan called it expensive.
Cormack agreed.
What no one expected was Riverline to survive.
But Sloan did.
She spent nights reviewing investor records.
Toby spent afternoons in cardiac rehab.
Royce testified before a grand jury.
And Fitz complained constantly while accomplishing impossible things.
One evening, Sloan found something.
She entered Cormack’s office carrying a spreadsheet.
“You still own fifty-one percent.”
Cormack looked up.
“Of?”
“Riverline land.”
“The banks control the debt.”
“But not the property.”
“They will if financing collapses.”
“Not necessarily.”
Sloan placed the spreadsheet down.
Cormack scanned it.
“You’re proposing community bonds?”
“Partially.”
“For a billion-dollar redevelopment?”
“Not all of it.”
She leaned forward.
“Break Riverline into phases. Sell nonessential luxury parcels. Preserve the residential and medical zones.”
Cormack looked at her.
“We lose the hotel.”
“Yes.”
“The private marina.”
“Yes.”
“The executive tower.”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“What remains?”
Sloan smiled.
“The parts ordinary people can actually use.”
Cormack stared.
She continued.
“Affordable apartments. Clinics. Public riverwalk. Small-business leases.”
“That wasn’t the original plan.”
“No.”
“Investors hate changes.”
“Then get better investors.”
Cormack slowly leaned back.
There she was.
The woman who once sat quietly at table twelve.
Except she had never really been quiet.
People simply had not understood the language of her silence.
“You should finish law school.”
Sloan blinked.
“That was unrelated.”
“No.”
“It was completely unrelated.”
“You just restructured a nine-figure project while insulting our investors.”
“I did not insult them.”
“You called one ‘a spreadsheet wearing loafers.’”
“He deserved it.”
Cormack smiled.
Sloan stopped.
“You smiled.”
“I do that.”
“No, you perform a small facial malfunction every few weeks.”
Cormack stood.
She stepped backward.
“Don’t intimidate opposing counsel.”
“You’re not counsel.”
“Future counsel.”
He reached her.
“Future counsel is very annoying.”
“Future counsel charges hourly.”
Cormack kissed her.
By spring, Riverline secured new financing.
Not from one billionaire.
From a consortium of regional banks, pension funds, municipal bonds, and private investors.
No individual held enough power to control the project.
Cormack insisted on that.
Sloan noticed.
Of course she did.
Gideon Marsh’s trial began in May.
Sloan testified for two days.
On the first morning, she stood outside the courtroom unable to move.
Cormack waited beside her.
“I can’t go in.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I don’t want him looking at me.”
“He will.”
“That’s not helpful.”
Cormack nodded.
“No.”
Sloan exhaled shakily.
Cormack held out his hand.
Not touching.
Waiting.
She took it.
“Do you know what scares men like Gideon?”
Sloan looked at him.
“No.”
“Being seen accurately.”
She smiled faintly.
Then entered the courtroom.
Gideon watched her.
Sloan looked directly back.
For six years she had written down what other people said.
Now, under oath, people wrote down her words.
She described the dinner.
The coaster.
The threat against Toby.
The locked room.
The forged notarization.
The cardiac annex.
The prosecutor asked:
“Why did you write HELP instead of calling police?”
Sloan paused.
“Because powerful men had spent years teaching me that every system around me belonged to them.”
The courtroom was silent.
“What changed?”
Sloan looked toward Cormack.
He sat in the back row.
“Someone acted like my fear mattered before he knew whether helping me would benefit him.”
Cormack lowered his eyes.
The jury convicted Gideon on every major count.
Preston Halloway accepted a plea agreement.
Mercy Northside replaced half its foundation board.
Royce established a legal fund in his wife’s name for hospital whistleblowers.
And Toby returned to school.
Six months after table twelve, Sloan received a letter.
She opened it in Cormack’s kitchen.
Northwestern University School of Law.
Readmission approved.
Scholarship reinstated.
Sloan screamed.
Cormack nearly dropped a coffee cup.
“What happened?”
She ran toward him.
“I got in.”
He caught her.
“To what?”
“Law school.”
Then she kissed him before he could answer.
Toby walked in at exactly that moment.
He stopped.
“Nope.”
Sloan pulled away.
“Toby!”
“I need warning signs.”
Cormack looked at him.
“You have a key.”
“That is not consent to trauma.”
Sloan laughed.
Toby stole a piece of toast.
“Congratulations, counselor.”
“Not yet.”
“Close enough.”
He pointed at Cormack.
“You pay tuition?”
Sloan frowned.
“He absolutely does not.”
Cormack said simultaneously, “Already handled.”
Sloan slowly turned.
“What?”
Cormack looked at Toby.
Toby immediately left.
“Coward!” Sloan called.
Cormack adjusted his sleeve.
“It’s not tuition.”
“What is it?”
“A scholarship.”
“From whom?”
“The Vale Foundation.”
“We don’t have a Vale Foundation.”
“We do now.”
Sloan stared.
Cormack added, “It funds returning students who left school to become family caregivers.”
Her anger dissolved.
“You created a scholarship?”
“For many people.”
“Because of me?”
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Cormack sighed.
“Yes.”
Sloan stepped closer.
“You cannot solve everything with money.”
“I’ve been informed.”
“Repeatedly.”
“Yes.”
She wrapped her arms around him.
Cormack held her.
Outside, Riverline cranes moved over the Chicago waterfront.
Something new was rising from land once owned by men who believed everything had a price.
Cormack looked down at Sloan.
For once, he wanted something money could not secure.
A future she chose freely.
May you like
And he intended to ask.
Not take.
