The sun began to paint the Michigan pines with streaks of rose and gold. The house was finally quiet, the syndicate enforcers having departed after ensuring the perimeter was fully secured. New, silent guards, loyal to the charter, were now posted at the outer gates, ensuring my absolute safety for the rest of my life. The Anchorage, my home, my legacy, was truly mine again.
I stood on the front porch, the cool morning air a balm against the exhaustion in my bones. The gravel driveway stretched out before me, leading into the dense woods.
A car engine rumbled to life, shattering the stillness.
It was Leo’s sedan.
He drove slowly down the long driveway, the headlights cutting through the lingering morning mist. He didn’t wave. He didn’t look back.
The red taillights disappeared around the bend, swallowed by the rising sun and the encroaching trees.
I was alone. In the massive stone fortress I had built forty-two years ago.
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