THE ALDER ROOM SECRETS

The dining room of The Alder Room was quiet.

The journalists had cleared out. The police had taken Robert away. Patricia had given her formal statement and surrendered her keys, though I promised her I would review her severance fairly given her courage at the end.

Now, the sprawling, elegant restaurant was completely empty, save for a few lingering waitstaff.

The soft jazz music had been turned back on. The little candles on the tables flickered warmly.

I sat at Table 12, the same table we had been kicked away from an hour earlier.

Sophie sat across from me. She was wearing her pink sneakers, swinging her legs happily beneath the chair. The silver locket rested against her pink sweater.

A waiter—the one who had called her "Miss Sophie" earlier—approached the table carrying a massive tray.

He didn't look at my muddy boots. He smiled warmly.

"Your dinner, Miss Sophie," the waiter said with a small bow.

He set down a plate of perfectly roasted chicken, golden fries, and a massive slice of chocolate cake with a sparkler burning brightly on top.

Sophie’s eyes lit up. "Wow!"

"Congratulations on the perfect report card," the waiter said kindly before stepping away.

I leaned back in my chair, watching my daughter dig into her food with absolute joy.

The company was safe. Elena’s memory was protected. The toxic culture Robert had infected my restaurants with was going to be ripped out by the roots starting tomorrow morning.

But none of that mattered right now.

"Is it good?" I asked, taking a sip of my water.

Sophie nodded, her mouth full of fries. She swallowed and looked across the table at me.

"Daddy?" she asked.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I think we belong here after all."

I smiled, the heavy weight of the day finally lifting from my shoulders.

I reached across the white tablecloth and took her hand.

"We belong anywhere we want to be, Sophie," I said. "As long as we're together."