Chapter 7 - The Restoration of Ashgrove Street
Three weeks later, Ashgrove Street looked entirely transformed.
The gray, miserable drizzle that had seemed to permanently hang over number 42 had given way to crisp autumn sunshine. The old Victorian houses had all received fresh coats of paint, the overgrown lawns were manicured to perfection, and new oak trees lined the curbs where the potholes used to be.
At number 40, a young, hardworking family of four had just moved in. The father was a carpenter, the mother a librarian, and their two children played happily on a brand-new wooden swing set in the front yard. They had no idea who owned their house, nor did they care — their rent was inexplicably subsidized to zero, and a fresh basket of homemade pastries appeared on their porch every single Monday morning without fail.
Kayla sat on her front porch in a comfortable rocking chair, a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea resting on the small wooden table beside her.
Milo lay stretched out across the top of the porch steps, basking in the warm golden sunlight. His gray muzzle rested between his paws, and he let out a contented snore every few seconds. Passersby walked past the white picket fence, smiling and tipping their hats to the kind, quiet widow who always had a gentle wave for the neighborhood children.
Wilton walked up the path, holding a thick stack of mail and a fresh newspaper. He wore a tweed jacket instead of his usual funeral-director suit, looking remarkably like a respectable family attorney.
"Morning, Boss," Wilton said, handing her the mail. "The city council unanimously approved the Ashgrove District Revitalization Project this morning. No more gangs, no more syndicates, and Councilman Harris is currently serving as an accountant in a minimum-security facility in Montana."
Kayla took a sip of her tea, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the skyline of the city glittered against the blue sky.
"And the Iron Network?" she asked.
" Completely dismantled. Their assets have been liquidated, and the proceeds have been distributed among all the legitimate businesses they tried to extort," Wilton replied, smiling warmly. "The East Coast is entirely ours again, Boss. Peaceful. Quiet."
May you like
Kayla looked down at Milo, who twitching his paws in his sleep, chasing some phantom rabbit across a sunlit meadow. She reached down and lightly touched the small metal tag on his collar—the one bearing Richard’s name.
"Good," Kayla whispered. "Let's keep it that way."
