Chapter 9 - The Cleansing of the Estate
By Sunday morning, the Cross estate in Lake Forest was undergoing an absolute, historic purge.
Moving vans were lined up along the circular driveway. Every piece of furniture Vanessa Reed had selected, every painting she had hung, and every carpet she had ordered was stripped from the walls and loaded into the trucks for charity donation.
Inside the grand kitchen, the morning sun poured through the wide windows, illuminating the freshly painted buttercup-yellow walls.
Ethan was sitting at the island, eating a giant bowl of homemade strawberry pancakes, laughing uproariously as Damian attempted to flip an omelet without burning the edges.
Damian wore a simple gray cotton t-shirt and faded jeans, with an apron tied around his waist that read World’s Okayest Chef—a gift Ethan had bought him at the mall yesterday.
"Dad! You flipped it too high!" Ethan yelled, ducking as a piece of mushroom hit the range hood.
"I have it under control, Ethan!" Damian laughed—a genuine, carefree sound that had never echoed in these halls for three long years.
I walked into the kitchen wearing a comfortable linen sweater and jeans, carrying a basket of fresh oranges from the garden conservatory.
Damian stopped his cooking, turning to look at me with an expression of quiet, reverent adoration.
He had spent the last forty-eight hours signing legal documents prepared by Arthur Vance.
He had willingly transferred fifty-one percent of Cross Industries' voting shares permanently into an irrevocable family foundation managed jointly by me and an independent board of ethics, capping his own executive salary and redirecting all excess corporate dividends into community development funds across Chicago.
He had stripped himself of his throne to prove that he was no longer a slave to his ego.
"How is the omelet coming, chef?" I smiled, setting the oranges on the counter.
"It's slightly scorched on the left, but structurally sound," Damian grinned, scooping it onto a plate and setting it before me with a gentle bow. "One western omelet for the Chairman of the Board."
"Thank you, Damian," I said, taking a bite. "It's actually delicious."
Damian beamed with the pure, untainted pride of a boy who had just won a ribbon at a school fair.
Ethan looked between us, a wide, peaceful smile spreading across his young face. "Are we going to the lake house this weekend, Elena? You promised to teach me how to paddleboard."
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"We are definitely going to the lake house, Ethan," I promised, ruffling his hair. "And your brother is on barbecue duty."
"Understood, ma'am," Damian saluted with his spatula. "Steaks and roasted potatoes, just like old times."
