Part 4: The Clean Slate
Part 4: The Clean Slate
By 4:00 a.m., the high-rise condo was empty.
Nicholas had been taken to the central precinct, his lawyers already refusing to answer his calls because his accounts were locked.
I sat with Hazel in the back of an ambulance, wrapping a heavy wool blanket around her shivering shoulders.
The paramedic finished bandaging the cut on her jaw and stepped away to give us room.
"The bank called Mr. Rodriguez," Hazel whispered, her voice sounding small but entirely free. "The pension fund... the money from my teaching days. It's back in my name."
"I told you," I smiled gently, brushing a wet strand of hair from her forehead. "You didn't walk away with nothing."
She looked back up at the 24th floor of the building, where the lights were still burning in the empty apartment.
"I was so afraid nobody would believe me," she said.
"They had to believe the data," I replied. "You gave them the numbers, Hazel. Numbers don't lie."
We watched the last police cruiser drive away, its sirens silent as it disappeared into the Boston fog.
The rain was finally stopping, the cold morning air smelling of wet asphalt and distant sea salt.
I turned the key in my car ignition, looking at the passenger seat where Hazel sat with her hands resting quietly in her lap.
For thirty years, I had believed that running away was the only way to survive the men in my life.
I had built a quiet room in a retirement community just to hide from the noise.
But as we drove away from downtown, leaving the luxury condo behind us forever, I realized something beautiful.
The noise hadn't followed me.
We had finally turned off the water.
"Where are we going, Mom?" Hazel asked softly, looking out at the rising sun.
May you like
I smiled, stepping on the gas as the highway opened up before us.
"Anywhere you want, daughter," I said. "The world is officially ours."
