“A terrible man, yes.
A ruthless man.
But brilliant.
He believed that every human being had an exact market clearing price.
He thought Kendall’s price was vanity; Gregory’s price was relief from his debts; Miriam’s price was five percent of the Swiss reserve.”
He looked up at me, his spectacles sliding down his nose.
“What was your price, Evelyn?”
I walked over to the dining table, where the dark walnut box sat beside the evidence crates.
I opened the lid.
The scuffed catering shoes lay there, side by side, their black rubber soles worn flat from three hundred hours of running across ballroom carpets carrying trays for men who never looked at my face.
“Dignity, Arthur,” I said quietly.
“Something Russell Vance spent his entire life stealing from other people, because he was too bankrupt inside to ever own it himself.”
I took the silver key from Arthur’s trembling fingers, laid it inside the box beside the shoes, and clicked the brass latch shut for the last time.
“Get out of my house, Arthur,” I said.
The old lawyer looked at me for a long, silent moment.
Then he slowly pushed himself up from the chair, turned his back, and shuffled down the hall into the autumn light, leaving the door open behind him.
I picked up the wooden box, walked down the limestone steps of the Beacon Hill house, and tossed it into the back of an unmarked government sedan idling at the curb.
The street was quiet.
The leaves from the elms along the Common were falling like gold coins onto the brick sidewalks, blowing across the cobblestones, free, weightless, and belonging to no one at all.
For three years, they had told me I would get exactly what I deserved.
And for once in the history of the Vance family, the promise had been kept.
