Chapter 10 - The Five-Minute Rule
One year later, the Marquette estate was no longer known as the silent fortress behind the iron gates.
Locals in the nearby town of Mahwah had grown accustomed to seeing the black Suburban parked outside the local library, or seeing the tall, silver-haired man walking through the community park with a laughing little girl perched high on his broad shoulders.
The delivery drivers looked Vincent in the eye now. They waved when they drove past the stone entrance.
Inside the grand house, the changes were even deeper.
The dark mahogany paneling in the central gallery had been brightened with pale cream paint, and the walls were no longer bare. Framed photographs now lined the staircase: pictures of Daniel holding an infant Lily in a sunny park; pictures of Anthony and Clara from thirty-five years ago, restored and hung in places of honor; and a new, large photograph taken on the estate’s lawn just last autumn.
In that photograph, Vincent stood beside me under the blazing red leaves of a sugar maple. Lily was between us, holding our hands, her feet lifted off the ground as we swung her forward into the air, all three of us laughing so hard our eyes were squinted shut against the sun.
On a rainy Tuesday morning in October—the exact anniversary of the morning Lily had first confronted him—Vincent sat in the deep leather armchair of his private library.
The room, once off-limits and cold as a vault, was now filled with the warmth of a crackling hearth. Bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, but the bottom two shelves had been cleared out entirely to make room for picture books, wooden building blocks, and an extensive collection of plastic dinosaurs.
The heavy oak door swung open, and Lily marched in.
She was five now, taller, her brown curls tied back with a bright red ribbon. She wore her small yellow rain boots and carried Barnaby by the arm.
She walked straight across the Persian rug, stopped in front of Vincent’s chair, and planted her hands on her hips.
Vincent lowered the architectural plans he had been reviewing and looked over his spectacles at her.
“Yes, Miss Reyes?” he asked, his voice deadpan.
“The big hand is on the twelve,” she announced. “Mommy says lunch is soup. Tomato soup with the little crackers.”
“I am currently reviewing the foundation’s medical grant proposals,” Vincent replied, raising the papers slightly. “I need five more minutes.”
Lily’s eyes narrowed in that familiar, terrifyingly authoritative way.
She reached out, gently took the papers from his fingers, and laid them neatly on the coffee table beside his glasses.
Then, she pointed toward the door.
“Five minutes are for the corner, Mister,” she instructed him firmly. “For lunch, you don't wait. You wash hands, and you eat soup.”
Vincent stared at her for three seconds.
Behind him, in the arched doorway, I leaned against the frame with a tea towel in my hand, smiling softly as our eyes met across the room.
Vincent shook his head, a deep, warm chuckle rumbling in his chest—a sound that filled every empty corner of the great stone house with life, light, and safety.
He rose from the armchair, towering over her, and then lowered himself down until he was at eye level with the little girl who had saved his soul.
He reached out, gently tapped the velvet nose of the worn plush rabbit under her arm, and extended his hand.
May you like
“Lead the way, boss,” Vincent said.
Lily took his hand in her small, warm fingers, and together, they walked into the light of the kitchen.
