Chapter 7 - The Queens Exodus
Two weeks later, the loading dock behind the decaying Queens apartment building was blocked by a massive, sleek moving truck bearing the logo Vance Global Relocation Services.
Neighbors peered out from behind cracked window blinds and fire escapes, whispering in awe as a team of professional movers methodically carried out boxes, a brand-new crib, and a custom-built stroller, loading them into the back of the truck.
Savannah stood on the front steps of her old building for the very last time, wearing a simple cream sweater and jeans, holding Noah securely against her hip.
The apartment behind her was completely empty. No unpaid utility bills stacked on the counter, no flickering lights, no peeling wallpaper, no crushing weight of dread. Just a blank slate and a completely new reality.
“Ready?”
Harrison walked up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder. He looked entirely out of place standing on the graffiti-scarred concrete of Queens in a bespoke Italian suit, yet somehow, he fit right into her life as if he had always been there.
“Is everything packed?” Savannah asked, leaning back against his chest with a soft sigh of contentment.
“Every last box,” Harrison murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “The penthouse in Manhattan is fully set up. Victoria hired a top-tier interior designer to build a nursery that looks like a royal palace, and Bruno has already claimed the rug at the foot of the master bed as his permanent post.”
Savannah smiled, turning slightly in his arms to look up at him. “You know you didn't have to buy an entire penthouse floor just for us, right? A two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan would have been fine.”
“A two-bedroom apartment isn't secure enough for my family,” Harrison replied deadpan, though a playful twinkle danced in his grey eyes. “Besides, where else are we going to store all the baby formula you’re never going to have to worry about buying again?”
A familiar, deep bark echoed from the curb.
Parked right beside the moving truck was the black Mercedes S-Class. In the back seat, peering out the window with massive, soulful brown eyes, was Bruno—the massive, former Navy SEAL security dog who had apparently appointed himself official babysitter to Noah.
“Come on, Mr. President,” Savannah whispered down to her son, kissing his chubby cheek. “Time to see your new castle.”
As they walked down the steps toward the waiting car, Savannah paused for a split second, looking back at the scarred metal door of Apartment 3B. She remembered the cold dark of two weeks ago, the terror of an empty refrigerator, the shaking hands typing a desperate text into the void.
May you like
She had thought it was a mistake.
Instead, it was the exact moment her real life finally began.
