Chapter 9 - POETIC JUSTICE
Three months passed. Chicago had quickly adapted to the new hierarchy. The Hales, Whitmans, Mercers, and Vaughns were erased from the city’s elite social circles.
I had finished my degree, no longer hiding my identity. With Julian’s backing, I had opened my own luxury restaurant, The Sovereign. It was designed to rival and surpass The Imperial Room in every way, blending exquisite culinary arts with impeccable, respectful service.
One evening, as we prepared for our grand opening charity gala, Julian pulled me aside.
"I have a surprise for you," he said, adjusting the diamond necklace around my throat. "Look outside."
I walked to the tinted windows of my private office, which overlooked the grand entrance of the restaurant.
Down below, the valet team was busy parking the endless line of luxury cars arriving for the gala. But one valet stood out. He was struggling to open the door of a massive Rolls Royce, sweating profusely in his cheap uniform, bowing apologetically to the wealthy guests.
It was Preston Hale.
"His family went bankrupt," Julian said softly from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. "He had to drop out of university. He needed a job. I ensured this was the only one in the city that would hire him."
I watched as a wealthy patron handed Preston a single dollar bill as a tip, which he pocketed with a look of utter defeat.
"Poetic justice," I smiled, leaning back against my husband's chest. "What about the others?"
"Bryce is working the dish pit in a diner out in the suburbs. Cole is driving a delivery truck. Tyler’s father is in federal prison, and Tyler is currently working at a car wash."
May you like
Julian turned me around to face him. "They wanted to see you at the bottom. Now, they are the ones looking up at you."
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