Page 60 of The Breakup Broker

With great affection,

James

A knock at my door startled me from my tears. When I opened it, Victoria Kingston stood there, elegant as ever in her mourning clothes.

She studied me for a long moment. “I hear you’re quite skilled at ending things, Miss Honeysucker.”

“I was,” I said, caught off guard by her directness. “But I think I’m done with endings. I’m ready to help people find their beginnings instead.”

Her lips curved—not warm, but expectant. “What about one last ending? For old times’ sake?” She gestured toward the boxes lining my walls. “We need to talk about Richard, the future, and what James really left you.”

I stepped back, letting her enter. Something in her expression told me this conversation would change everything.

Victoria moved through my small apartment with surprising grace, taking in the boxes of books lining every wall. Her fingers trailed over one labeled “Victorian Treasures” with something like affection.

“I’ll be direct, Miss Honeysucker. I want to hire you for one last job.” She turned to face me, her eyes sharp with purpose. “I’m leaving Richard. After James’s death, I realize I can’t let him destroy anything else I love.”

My gaze drifted to theJane Eyrefirst edition, James’s letter still tucked inside. Help people find their beginnings, he’d written. Maybe this was mine.

“Richard will fight back,” I said. “He won’t go quietly.”

Victoria’s expression sharpened a glint of determination in her eyes. “Count on it. That’s exactly what we need. Let him show everyone exactly who he is. In public. Where he can’t hide.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope, placing it on my coffee table. “Yourstudent loans. James kept meticulous records of everything Richard might try to use as leverage.” She tapped the envelope. “Consider this hazard pay for one last job.”

“I can’t—it’s too much,” I protested, staring at the envelope.

“It’s the cost of freedom—mine.” Victoria’s voice softened. “Some things are worth any price, Savvy. I learned that from James. Now I’m learning how to fight for it.”

I picked up the envelope. “If I do this … it’s my last breakup job. Ever.”

“Good,” she said. “It’s time for you to write different stories.”

“When?” I asked.

“You pick the time and place,” Victoria said, standing smoothly. “I’ll tell him it’s a meeting about merging assets. Make him think he still has a chance to get everything he wants.”

A glimmer of satisfaction crossed my face. “I know exactly where to do this. And I know who can make sure the right people are there to witness his true colors.” I could already picture it—the perfect stage for his final act. “Word travels fast in this town. If we set the scene right, the people who need to see Richard for who he really is will be there.”

“Henry has everything you’ll need,” Victoria said, moving toward the door. She paused, her hand on the knob. “Savvy? Thank you. For understanding what needs to be done.”

After she left, I stood among James’s books—his legacy, his protection, his last gift. Outside, leaves skittered across my window, red and gold in the fading light. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle echoed—wistful or hopeful. I couldn’t tell anymore.

I picked upJane Eyreagain, running myfingers over its worn leather spine. “Well, James,” I whispered to the quiet room. “I guess we have one last story to tell. And this time, it’s happening at Rise and Grind.”

The books around me seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the next chapter to begin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Henry

I came back here to feel close to him, to remember the man who had shaped everything I wanted to be. The hallway to Room 517 looked exactly the same—same bland artwork, same antiseptic smell, same squeak in the tile near the door. But when I pushed it open, the room beyond felt like stepping into a void.

Gone were the rich leather chairs, the towering bookcases, and all the warmth James had brought to this sterile place. The afternoon sun streamed through bare windows where his favorite curtains had once filtered the light. It had been reset to its original state—another place for someone else to wait out their final chapter.

An empty hospital bed dominated the room where his reading chair had been. The walls, stripped of their temporary personality, glowed an institutional white. It was amazing how quickly a life could be erased, packed away in boxes, leaving nothing but blank spaces behind.

"Mr. Kingston?" Sarah, the morning nurse, appeared inthe doorway. Her voice was gentle and understanding. "Sometimes it helps to remember them somewhere else, somewhere they really lived."

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