Chapter 179 - The Rebirth of Annecy
By midsummer, the estate in Annecy had been reborn into an architectural sanctuary that celebrated life rather than war.
The security trenches had been filled with rich soil and planted with rows of fragrant English lavender, wild white roses, and trailing ivy that climbed the restored limestone pillars.
The bullet holes in the dining room walls had been replaced by a panoramic glass conservatory that opened directly onto the lake, filling the home with natural light, alpine breezes, and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.
Every Saturday afternoon, our long wooden dining table beneath the ancient cedar tree was filled with our family of choice: Marcus Vance, who had retired from active litigation to manage our charitable foundation; Captain Dupont, who had been appointed Chief of Security for the Saint-Germain reserves; and dozens of honest craftsmen and engineers who had helped rebuild our home.
I stood on the wide stone terrace, wearing an off-the-shoulder emerald linen dress, holding a glass of iced mint tea, watching the sun dip behind the peaks.
The front gate chime sounded—a gentle, melodic double tone.
Marcus walked up the gravel path, holding an evening edition of Le Figaro.
He handed the paper to me with a quiet, triumphant smile.
On the front page was a small column beneath the international legal digest:
THE HAGUE: COUNCIL OF NINE SENTENCING FINALIZED.LORD CHARLES STERLING, COUNT DOMINIC STERLING, AND VICTOR STERLING REMANDED TO MAXIMUM SECURITY FOR LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE. ALL APPEALS DISMISSED WITH PREJUDICE.
I looked at the photograph of the three men in their orange prison uniforms—broken, forgotten, stripped of their billions, their names erased from the ledgers of power.
I felt no hatred. I felt no bitterness.
May you like
They were ghosts of a world that had lost all authority over us.
I folded the newspaper, set it on the terrace balustrade, and let the alpine breeze carry the scent of the lake across my face.
