Page 75 of Billionaire Corruption

I’d already emailed my resignation to the company, and I let Toby know I was going to be away for a while, but I’d keep in touch. “Enjoy it!” he said, sounding entirely capable of surviving without me for a few days.

At the bus station, Tyler waited with me, even though he didn’t have to.

“I’m so glad you made peace with your mother. It’s been eating her up, this thing between you,” he said.

I looked down, feeling a bit guilty about having been so unforgiving.

“There was a lot I didn’t know,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “She didn’t want you to know. But at the same time, I think she did. She was dying to tell you,” he laughed, shaking his head.

The bus arrived and I got on, waving goodbye to him as we headed north.

Paul sent me a text, asking me what I was doing.

Just got on a bus.

He asked: Where to?

I looked out the window, smiling to myself. I didn’t know why I was being so secretive.

You’ll have to figure it out by yourself.

In the late afternoon, the bus pulled into the parking lot of the depot and a few of us got off. I didn’t have too much luggage and I found a taxi to take me into town. I opened the door, and the smell of cinnamon sugar almost knocked me off my feet. It was toasty and warm, and I took off my coat right away.

“You made it!” Margaret came over and gave me a hug. I had texted her that I was coming.

“Looks like there might be a storm coming,” she gazed outside anxiously. “Might even get some snow. Hot chocolate?”

She looked thinner to me, her face gaunt.

“Let me help you,” I said, and she gave me a knowing look as I took the plates of pie from her.

I had been corresponding with Margaret ever since I got back to New York. Without telling her too much about our troubles there, she surmised that I was facing some real danger and risks. She told me I was welcome any time to come help her pack up her things and start taking over the coffee shop. She said she could show me the system, introduce me to her suppliers, as well as the customers. That way, the transition would be easier anyway. To top it all, there was an apartment right above the shop. It was only a tiny one bedroom, but it was enough for me for a while. She said she had sometimes rented it out, but it was empty right now.

I went up the stairs and took a look around. It was small and plain, with bare walls and only a few bits of furniture. A bed, a table and a chair. The window looked out over the street and the bay, and this view of the ocean was simply breathtaking. Margaret came up the stairs, huffing a bit from the effort, holding some linen and a lovely, detailed quilt.

“But this is beautiful!” I exclaimed, “Don’t you want it anymore?”

Margaret waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve made so many of these over the years, my house is full of them.”

I looked at the patches of color, different shades of blue and green and gray, making a dreamy ocean theme. The embroidery was so fine and delicate, I marveled at the handiwork.

“I wish we had more time,” I said wistfully, “Then you could show me how to make these.”

“It’s not hard at all,” Margaret said, smiling kindly at me. “Basic sewing, really.”

But my mother had never taught me to sew and the arthritis in my grandmother’s hands had made it difficult for her to do any kind of handiwork. Margaret promised to show me how she made her quilts in the quiet afternoons, when the coffee shop wasn’t busy.

I loved being in Port Victoria, working with Margaret in the coffee shop during the day, getting to know the ins and outs of the business. When she saw that I was getting the hang of things, she started leaving me alone in the shop, to sort things out at her house. Some nights, I went over to help her pack up her cupboards and sort through her things. I could tell that it was hard for her to give up her cottage and her life here, even though she was looking forward to moving closer to her daughter.

“I’m so glad we had this time together,” she said one evening, showing me her scrap material collection, which she had promised to give to me. “It’s given me such a good feeling, knowing the shop is in able hands, with people who genuinely love it, the way I’ve loved it.”

About a week after I had arrived in Port Victoria, I was one afternoon leaning out of the window, looking at the street and the fine dusting of snow that had fallen during the day. A car pulled up in the street in front of the coffee shop. A familiar shape got out of the car, a tall man in a bulky coat.

It was Paul.

He seemed to feel me looking at him because he turned his head towards the apartment.

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