The metallic taste of iron flooded my mouth. I used my tongue to press my torn cheek against my teeth, locking away the sob before it could claw its way up my throat. In front of me, Valeria Mendoza was still frozen in her triumphant pose, her fingers curled slightly from the impact, her chest rising and falling beneath the expensive cream blazer. She looked less like a woman who had just committed assault in a municipal building and more like an actress taking a curtain call.

My phone rested on the wicker table, completely silent.

The Newport estate of Evelyn Vance had been legally restored to its rightful heirs. The charitable marine conservation foundation was fully funded, operating independently under a board of directors dedicated to preserving the very coastline I stared at every single morning. Gregory Sterling had been denied bail, awaiting a federal trial where prosecutors were already preparing a twenty-count indictment. The last remaining tendrils of the Mendoza-Salazar financial syndicate had been severed, burned, and buried.

The screen door opened behind me.

Thomas stepped out onto the porch, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee and a warm, freshly baked cinnamon roll on a small ceramic plate from Hannah’s bakery.

He handed me a mug, placed the plate between us, and sat down in the rocking chair.

“You’ve been awfully quiet this morning,” Thomas observed gently, watching me sip my coffee. “Penny for your thoughts?”

I looked out across the sprawling expanse of the Atlantic, watching the gulls glide effortlessly over the cold, churning water.

“I was just thinking about that day outside the municipal courthouse,” I said quietly. “When Valeria slapped my face, and Alejandro told me to let it go.”

Thomas paused, his mug halfway to his mouth. He looked at me, his eyes softening with deep, abiding warmth. “Do you ever regret any of it? The fight, the audits, the exposure?”

I shook my head slowly, setting my coffee mug down on the table. I reached out, resting my hand over Thomas’s strong, weathered fingers on the armrest of his chair.

“Not for a single second,” I smiled. “Because if I had let it go, I never would have found out who I really am.”

Thomas turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with mine, his grip firm, steady, and entirely secure.

The wind whispered through the tall pine trees behind the house, carrying the clean, sharp scent of the ocean. My past was gone. My future was secure. And the books were, at long last, perfectly balanced.