Chapter 24 - One Year Minus Seven Days
Seven days before Tasha’s fortieth birthday, Malik came home with a paper bag.
He hid it behind his back.
Tasha looked up from the kitchen island.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
“That is visibly something.”
“It’s groceries.”
“From a jewelry store?”
Malik looked at the logo.
“Bad bag choice.”
Tasha laughed.
He ran upstairs.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the house.
A year earlier, loud footsteps meant Darren was angry.
Now footsteps were just footsteps.
Therapy had taught Tasha to notice those differences.
Safety was sometimes the return of ordinary meaning.
At Brooks Heritage, the final major restitution calculation was approved.
Insurance, returned funds, and court-ordered payments would recover a substantial portion of direct losses over time.
Not every dollar.
Tasha accepted that.
Elena completed her forensic engagement.
She packed the binders that had dominated Tasha’s life for a year.
“You’re firing me?” Elena joked.
“I hope so.”
“Best thing a client can say.”
Tasha hugged her.
“Thank you.”
Elena pointed toward the framed governance quote.
“Keep questioning confident people.”
“Especially accountants.”
“Absolutely.”
Denise became chief operating officer.
Unlike Darren, she received authority through documented board approval.
Her powers had limits.
Her compensation was transparent.
Conflicts required disclosure.
Tasha had learned that trust worked better when systems did not require blind faith.
At home, Malik prepared college applications.
He wanted to study architecture or finance.
Tasha suspected the second option came from trauma.
“You don’t have to become a forensic accountant because of Darren.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
“I might become one because Elena bills like a surgeon.”
Tasha laughed.
His recovered savings became another issue.
Through restitution and bank recovery, much of the money Darren diverted from the family account was restored.
Tasha wanted to replenish the remainder personally.
Malik refused at first.
“You didn’t take it.”
“I allowed the account to be vulnerable.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No.”
“Then don’t pay me guilt money.”
Tasha stared.
“Therapy made you dangerous.”
“Correct.”
They compromised.
Tasha restored only amounts she had originally intended as her contributions.
Malik treated anything recovered through legal restitution separately.
He also opened a youth checking account with clearer controls and transparency.
No hidden access.
No mystery transfers.
Tasha taught him to review statements monthly.
“Financial romance,” Malik complained.
“Financial survival.”
“You sound like Elena.”
“That’s permanent damage too.”
Andre visited for Malik’s seventeenth birthday.
Their relationship remained imperfect.
That was healthy.
Andre did not become Super Dad.
Malik did not instantly forgive lost years.
They built something slower.
Phone calls.
Games.
Occasional silence.
Andre also apologized directly to Tasha.
“For letting Darren speak for you.”
Tasha nodded.
“I spoke for Malik too.”
“We both did.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
She believed he meant it.
Whether he succeeded would be determined by actions.
That was another lesson.
Celeste spent more time at the Brooks house.
One afternoon she brought Raymond’s old toolbox.
“For Malik.”
He opened it.
Inside were wooden-handled chisels, pencils, measuring tools, and a small brass level.
Malik picked up the level.
“Grandpa used this?”
“Every day.”
Tasha smiled.
“He trusted that thing more than employees.”
Celeste handed Malik an envelope.
Inside was Raymond’s note from years ago.
A crooked line can fool the eye. Measure anyway.
Malik grinned.
“More confident-men philosophy.”
“Your grandfather contained multitudes.”
They placed the note near the hummingbird necklace.
Two objects from Raymond’s world had reached Malik through accidents, inheritance, and choice.
Not secrets.
Not leverage.
Memory.
The remaining major legal issue was Darren’s appeal of part of the restitution calculation.
His attorneys argued some amounts included legitimate consulting work.
Elena’s records supported excluding certain services.
The court adjusted the total downward modestly.
Malik was angry.
“They reduced it?”
“Because some work had actual value.”
“He still committed fraud.”
“Yes.”
“So why give credit?”
“Because accurate accounting matters even when we dislike the person.”
Malik rolled his eyes.
“You love fairness now.”
“I’m trying.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Growth often is.”
The protective order also approached expiration.
Simone discussed options.
Darren remained incarcerated.
Other legal restrictions applied.
Tasha considered whether to seek extension based on current circumstances and legal advice.
She did not treat the decision symbolically.
Safety planning remained practical.
Locks.
Digital security.
Business access.
Emergency contacts.
Not because Darren had threatened future harm from custody.
Because preparedness no longer embarrassed her.
She stopped confusing precaution with panic.
One evening Malik found the crushed original jewelry box in a drawer.
“You kept this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t ready to throw it away.”
He examined the cracked lid.
“Can I have it?”
“For what?”
“You’ll see.”
Tasha groaned.
“Planning face again.”
He took it upstairs.
Two days later, Celeste arrived carrying birthday decorations.
Tasha stopped her at the door.
“No surprise party.”
“It isn’t a surprise if you know decorations exist.”
“No giant cake.”
“Define giant.”
“No forty candles.”
Celeste looked offended.
“I bought forty-one in case one fails.”
Tasha laughed.
The house filled with preparation.
Not tension.
On the night before her birthday, Tasha stood alone in the living room.
Warm lamps.
Dark leather sofa.
Polished coffee table.
Same room.
She remembered Darren’s hand closing around her arm.
Malik shouting.
The chain snapping.
The deputies knocking.
Her own voice saying, You do.
She expected pain.
Instead she felt gratitude toward the woman she had been.
Afraid.
Late.
Imperfect.
Still brave enough eventually.
Then she noticed something on the coffee table.
The old crushed jewelry box.
Malik had repaired it further.
Inside lay no necklace.
Only a folded note.
Tasha opened it.
Tomorrow.
She laughed out loud.
From upstairs Malik shouted, “Don’t snoop!”
“You left it in the living room!”
“That doesn’t mean read it!”
“It literally says tomorrow!”
“Exactly!”
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Tasha sat on the sofa laughing.
The room no longer belonged to the worst thing that happened there.
