Chapter 178
Chapter 178
In his letter, Ulysses wrote that the cleanup at the Visconti Group was largely complete. The company was gradually resuming normal operations, with most of its focus shifting overseas.
His return date was uncertain. Looking back on everything, he thanked Arabella for her help during the darkest times, and thanked Cornelius for stepping up when it mattered.
At the end, he'd added a line: [The coffee here is excellent. Come try it sometime.]
Arabella finished reading, smiled, folded the letter back into the envelope, and tucked it into her desk drawer.
---
That same month, Sophie won the Annual Investigative Journalism Award for her in-depth series on the Hawk case.
The ceremony was held at the city television station's broadcast hall. Arabella made a point of attending in person.
She sat in the middle of the audience, watching Sophie stand under the spotlight in a deep blue gown, uncharacteristically nervous—the hand gripping the microphone trembling slightly.
During her speech, she nearly stumbled over a word but caught herself just in time, narrowly avoiding a live broadcast disaster.
Afterward, Sophie gathered her skirt and hurried over to Arabella. She dropped into the seat beside her and threw her arms around her, voice thick with emotion. "Arabella, I owe you. Without you, I never would've found that kind of investigative material, and I never would've won this."
Arabella patted her back and laughed. "That was all you. I had nothing to do with it."
Sophie pulled back and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.
"Could you please stop being so humble every single time? You're killing my sense of accomplishment here."
Arabella didn't argue. She picked up the glass from the table with a smile and clinked it against Sophie's.
Neither said anything more. They leaned back in their chairs, watching the next award being presented onstage—lights glittering, applause rising and falling.
"Oh—after this wraps up, let's go to Ms. Webb's place together."
---
After the ceremony, Arabella and Sophie got in the car together.
Sophie had changed into something casual and sat in the passenger seat scrolling through news alerts on her phone.
Arabella started the engine and pulled out of the station's parking garage.
Her hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, her voice carried a note of quiet satisfaction.
"I've been trying to convince her for so long. She finally agreed to move."
Sophie looked up from her phone.
"That old apartment of hers definitely needed to go. I only visited once and I could tell—terrible natural light, hallways crammed with junk, fire exits completely blocked."
"From the moment I first stepped inside her place, I told myself that once everything settled down, I'd get her somewhere better."
Arabella shrugged. "Finally talked her into it a little while ago."
The car wound through narrow lanes in the old part of the city and finally stopped in front of an aging residential building.
Clio had already packed. Two woven bags and an old suitcase stood neatly by the entrance.
She wore a gray quilted coat, standing beside her luggage with a cloth bag in her hand. When she saw Arabella's car pull up, she gave them a nod.
The movers loaded the luggage. Arabella helped Clio into the back seat.
The car left the old district, crossed several main roads, and stopped at a modest older neighborhood.
Fifth floor, south-facing, excellent light. The first time Arabella had brought Clio to see the place, Clio had stepped onto the balcony, looked out, and known immediately.
Everything was carried upstairs, and Arabella helped unpack.
Clio didn't own much—a few boxes of books, some clothes, several paintings she'd done herself, and assorted small keepsakes.
The heaviest was a box of books. Arabella nearly lost her grip carrying it. When she opened it, every volume was a professional design text.
Many had cracked spines held together with clear tape. Inside, the margins were dense with annotations.
Arabella recognized the handwriting. Some was Clio's. Some was Gregory's.
She didn't ask questions. She sealed the box and carried it into the new apartment's study.
Sophie helped in the living room, unwrapping packages and hanging Clio's paintings one by one.
One was an ink-wash plum blossom—gnarled branches rendered in pale, spare strokes with generous white space.
Sophie stepped back to assess it, then turned to Clio. "Ms. Webb, is this spot okay?"
Clio stood in the kitchen doorway holding a rag. She glanced over and nodded.
By the time everything was in place, evening had fallen. Arabella and Sophie said goodbye to Clio and headed downstairs. The sky had already gone dark.
Streetlamps flickered on, casting pools of warm amber light on the damp pavement.
---
The days that followed were quiet.
After the plaza project's final wrap-up, the studio settled into a gentler rhythm.
Arabella delegated the remaining smaller projects, kept regular hours, and occasionally worked a weekend—but nothing like the grueling stretches before.
As Christmas approached, Arabella gave the studio time off. That morning, she handed out year-end bonuses. When Ethan received his envelope, he squeezed it to gauge the thickness, raised an eyebrow, and grinned.
The other staff collected their envelopes in turn, said their thanks, packed up, and filtered out one by one.
Arabella was the last to leave. She checked the power switches and windows, turned off the lights, and locked the door.
When she stepped outside, she saw a familiar car parked at the curb.
The black body gleamed cold under the streetlamp. The window was rolled halfway down, revealing Cornelius's profile.
He sat in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, clearly waiting for someone.
Arabella walked over and bent down to peer through the window. "What are you doing here?"
Cornelius turned his head. "Get in and you'll find out."
Arabella stood by the car, studying him for a few uncertain seconds.
His expression gave nothing away. He simply looked at her, waiting for her to decide.
She hesitated two seconds more, then opened the door and got in.
The heater was running strong inside, a sharp contrast to the cold outside. She buckled her seatbelt, leaned back, and glanced at him. "Can you tell me now?"
Cornelius started the car without answering directly. "You'll know when we get there."
The car left the city and merged onto the highway.
Streetlamps receded one by one. Inside the car was quiet and warm—only the soft hum of the vents and the low drone of tires on asphalt.
Arabella leaned back, watching the nightscape rush past the window. Gradually, her eyelids grew heavy.
She fought it for a moment, then lost. Her head tilted to the side, and she fell asleep against the seat.
She didn't know how long she slept. Somewhere in the haze, she felt the car stop. The engine cut off.
She pried her eyes open with effort and yawned. She was still in the car, Cornelius's jacket draped over her.