Chapter 15 - The New Terms of Engagement
Three months later, the morning sun broke over the harbor with the crisp, clean clarity of early autumn.
The front page of the Tribune framed on the wall of the clinic lobby told the entire story in bold black ink:
*MARCUS VANCE SENTENCED TO 35 YEARS FOR CORPORATE ESPIONAGE, CONSPIRACY, AND ATTEMPTED HOMICIDE.*
*ELENA VANCE-MORETTI APPOINTED CHAIRWOMAN OF RESTRUCTURED MARITIME AUTHORITY.*
The Oakridge Animal Emergency Clinic was no longer operating out of a cramped industrial strip.
A brand-new, three-story state-of-the-art trauma facility now stood on the bluffs overlooking the river basin.
The plaque beside the main entrance read: THE HART MEMORIAL CENTER FOR WILDLIFE AND DOMESTIC SURGERY—FOUNDED IN HONOR OF THOMAS HART.
Camille stood in the sunny third-floor surgical prep suite, reviewing digital charts on a tablet.
Down the hallway, the heavy sound of polished leather boots approached.
Camille didn't look up until the shadow fell across her desk.
Julian Moretti stood in the doorway, dressed in a sharp navy suit, looking significantly less like a fugitive and far more like a man who owned the horizon.
Beside him, padding with silent, majestic arrogance across the pristine non-slip tiles, was Violet.
The Maine Coon was magnificent.
Her silver coat was brushed to a mirror shine, her hindquarters moved with fluid, unbroken power, and her weight was back to an impressive eighteen pounds.
She wore no collar.
Violet trotted straight to Camille’s desk, leaped effortlessly onto the high counter, and headbutted Camille’s shoulder with enough force to spill her coffee.
"She still lacks professional boundaries," Julian observed, leaning against the door frame with folded arms.
"She owns the clinic," Camille said, scratching the cat behind her ears until Violet began a motorboat purr.
"The deed of gift came through yesterday morning, Mr. Moretti."
"The foundation insisted."
"The foundation has your signature on the bottom of the escrow release."
Julian’s lips curved into a faint, genuine smile.
"My wife thought it was appropriate compensation for sixty stitches you didn't get."
"Elena is doing well?"
"She spent three hours on the docks this morning firing Marcus's old harbor masters," Julian said.
"Her clavicle is fully healed. Her temper is worse."
Camille laughed, resting her hand on Violet’s thick, warm ruff.
"And you?" Camille asked softly.
"What brings the king of the shipping lanes to an animal hospital on a Tuesday morning?"
Julian reached into his pocket and placed an antique silver pocket watch onto the desk beside the tablet.
Inside the open lid, replacing the cracked glass, was a polished rose-gold setting holding the tiny cracked bell from Lock 9.
"Violet refused to eat her breakfast until we took the car," Julian said, his eyes locking onto Camille’s with an intensity that had nothing to do with threats or medicine.
"And I've learned that arguing with that animal is an inefficient use of my time."
Camille met his gaze, the quiet understanding between them humming like the current of the deep river below.
May you like
"Efficiency is overrated, Julian."
Violet curled her enormous silver tail around Camille's wrist and closed her eyes in the sun.
