Chapter 10 - The Quietest Room
Two years later, the lake house near Bainbridge Island was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a late-summer sunset.
The water of the sound was calm, mirroring the towering evergreens along the shore. On the wide wooden deck, a two-year-old boy with bright, curious eyes and a head of dark curls was busy pushing a wooden toy train along the planks, making happy chugging noises that drifted out over the water.
Emily sat in a comfortable rocking chair on the porch, a cup of herbal tea resting on the rustic wooden table beside her. She wore a simple white linen dress, her hair caught back in a loose clip.
Raymond walked out onto the deck, carrying a freshly grilled plate of salmon and setting it down on the table. He looked older, but his shoulders were relaxed, carrying none of the heavy burdens that had defined the corporate wars of the past.
"The quarterly audit for the foundation came in," Raymond said, pulling up a chair and sitting down across from her. "Surplus is up twelve percent. We're opening a new free pediatric clinic in East Seattle next month."
Emily smiled, looking over at her son as he successfully navigated his train around a potted fern. "Good. Make sure the endowment is fully secured before the announcement."
"Already done," Raymond chuckled. He picked up his glass of iced tea, raising it toward her in a quiet toast. "You know, your father used to say that the quietest people in any room are usually the ones holding the most cards."
May you like
Emily raised her own cup, clinking it softly against his.
"My father was right," Emily said, her gaze shifting out toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to dip below the mountains, casting a path of pure, unblemished light across the water. "You just have to know when to play them."
