Chapter 7 - Second Chances
Sentencing was brutal. Voss got 35 years in federal prison, no chance of parole—he’d die behind bars. Evelyn got 25 years in state prison, 10 of which were mandatory. She screamed at me as they led her away: “I’ll get out! I’ll make you pay! This isn’t over!” I just waved. I knew she’d never get out. She was 62, 25 years would make her 87, and with her health problems (she had diabetes and high blood pressure, all untreated because she’d spent all her money on plastic surgery), she’d be lucky to make it to 75.
Spencer got 5 years probation, 2,000 hours of community service, and a permanent criminal record. He had to pay back every penny he’d stolen, plus interest, which meant he’d be working for the next 20 years just to break even. He came up to me after the sentencing, his head down. “Thank you,” he said. “For giving me a second chance. I’ll never waste it.”
I nodded. “Don’t thank me. Thank Penelope. If she hadn’t come forward, you’d be in a cell right next to your mom. Now go. Build a life worth living. And stay out of mine.”
I never saw him again.
Penelope thrived. I got her full immunity, enrolled her in Miami Dade College to study social work, got her little brother Jake into a great private school in Coral Gables, got them a safe apartment in a nice neighborhood. She started volunteering at the domestic violence shelter I donated to, helping other young girls who’d been abused by their families. “I want to be the person I needed when I was 16,” she told me one day, over coffee at my penthouse. I cried. I was so proud of her.
Apex grew bigger than ever. We expanded into renewable energy, built solar farms across South Florida, created 2,000 new jobs. I launched the Hale Foundation, named after my mom and my lost baby, to help women who’d suffered financial and domestic abuse—we paid for legal fees, housing, college tuition, therapy. In the first year alone, we helped over 1,200 women.
I was busy, happy, fulfilled. I didn’t need a man. I didn’t need a family. I had my work, my foundation, Lila, Marcus, Penelope and Jake, my friends. I was whole on my own.
Then I met Eli.
It was at a charity gala for the foundation, in November, a year and a half after the wedding disaster. I was giving a speech, and afterward, a man came up to me, holding a glass of champagne, wearing a simple navy suit, no flashy watch, no expensive shoes. He was tall, with curly brown hair, warm brown eyes, a scar on his jaw from a childhood bike accident.
“Great speech,” he said, smiling. “I’m Eli Carter. I’m a pediatrician at Jackson Memorial. I volunteer with the foundation’s kids’ program every Saturday. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, but you’re always so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”
We talked for an hour, then two. He didn’t know who I was at first—he’d started volunteering because he loved working with kids, not because of the Apex money. He didn’t care about my net worth, or my board seat, or the trial. He cared about the kids we helped, about the way I talked about my mom, about the fact that I loved bad 90s rom-coms and could eat an entire large pepperoni pizza by myself.
We started dating. Slow, easy, no pressure. He never asked me for money, never asked for favors, never tried to get me to introduce him to rich people. He just liked me. Laura, the girl who cried at dog adoption commercials, who burned toast every Sunday, who still slept with the teddy bear her dad had given her when she was 5.
Six months into dating, he took me to the Everglades, to the same spot my dad had taught me to fish. He brought a fishing rod, a cooler of beer, and a ring. Not a giant diamond, not a flashy thing—just a simple silver band, with a tiny blue sapphire in the center, my mom’s birthstone.
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“I don’t have a lot of money,” he said, getting down on one knee, the alligators splashing in the water behind him. “I’m just a pediatrician who drives a 10-year-old Honda and eats cereal for dinner half the time. But I love you. All of you. The tough CEO, the soft girl who misses her parents, the woman who would burn down the world to protect the people she cares about. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your status. I just want you. For the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”
I said yes. I cried so hard I could barely breathe. For the first time since my parents died, I felt like I was home.
