Below, the lake was a dark, shifting mass, the waves crashing against the seawall.

The city lights in the distance were blurred by the fog.

I looked down at my hands.

They were red from the cold, but they were steady.

For months, I had looked at this view while holding a bucket of soapy water.

I had watched the parties from behind the glass, hidden in the dark corners of the terrace.

I had listened to the laughter of people who did not know my name.

Now, the house was silent.

The mansion was mine, but I did not care about the rooms or the silk rugs.

I cared about the name that had been dragged through the mud by grease and greed.

“Valerie,” Julian said, standing in the doorway.

“The car is ready if you want to go back to your apartment.”

“I am not going back to the apartment,” I said.

“I am staying here tonight.”

“In the master suite?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“In the guest room.”

“Tomorrow, we begin the real work.”

I turned my back on the lake and walked back inside, closing the French doors behind me.

I turned the brass latch, locking out the cold wind.

The house was quiet, and for the first time in my life, I felt at home.