Chapter 17: Echoes Fade
Three years after the trial, an envelope arrived in Elena's mail. It was made of heavy, expensive cream parchment, a stark contrast to the standard utility bills. The return address belonged to a modest assisted-living facility in upstate New York. It was from Beatrice.
Elena sat at her kitchen table and broke the wax seal. The handwriting inside was shaky, lacking the sharp, aristocratic elegance it once possessed.
In the letter, Beatrice detailed her downfall. The Vance empire had completely dissolved, swallowed by legal fees and restitution. The penthouse was gone, auctioned off by the bank. Beatrice’s high-society friends had abandoned her, leaving her penniless and entirely alone. The letter ended with a pathetic, desperate plea for forgiveness—and a subtle request for financial assistance.
May you like
Elena read the letter twice. She felt no anger, no vindication, and no desire for revenge. Instead, she felt absolute, hollow indifference. Beatrice was a ghost from a past life that no longer existed.
Without a word, Elena stood up, walked to the shredder in her home office, and fed the heavy parchment into the machine. She didn't write back. She simply turned off the light, walked back to her canvas, and picked up her brush.
