“Neither will I,” I said quietly.
Final: The Masterpiece Kept
Three weeks later, the morning sun illuminated the historic district of downtown Chicago.
I stood on the pavement directly opposite a two-story brick building nestled snugly among towering modern skyscrapers. The windows were dusted with time, and the weathered sign above the entrance still read: The Oak Tailor — J. Vance, Est. 1974.
Standing beside me were Arthur Pendelton and a small delegation of historic preservation architects.
Caleb’s legal team had exhausted every possible avenue over the preceding twenty-one days—filing temporary restraining orders, contesting the validity of the marriage, and dangling massive off-the-books cash settlements to buy me out. Yet, Julian’s legal fortification remained absolute. Every psychiatric evaluation proved flawless, and every signature was legally binding.
The property was officially mine.
