Chapter 7 - The Feast from Harbor Grill
Before Elena could protest further, a second black Maybach pulled up outside the green house.
This vehicle, however, was not carrying lawyers or doctors. It was carrying a catering team from one of Seattle’s finest private kitchens, accompanied by Marcus carrying four large, insulated silver containers directly from Harbor Grill—ordered specifically by Colton’s direct command to ensure the manager, Miller, personally prepared every item under strict supervision.
Within twenty minutes, the small wooden kitchen table was transformed.
There was no talk of efficiency or sharing. Instead, the table groaned under the weight of gourmet cheeseburgers wrapped in custom foil, truffle fries, hot tomato soup, fresh fruit, and a towering chocolate cake decorated with strawberries.
Junie carefully pulled the second hamburger from her yellow jacket pocket and placed it right in the center of the table like a trophy.
“See?” she told Colton proudly. “I kept it safe.”
“The logistics of that burger management were flawless,” Colton solemnly agreed, pulling out a chair for Elena as she sat up, color slowly returning to her cheeks under the influence of proper oxygen and warm broth.
For the first time in months, the green house on 4th Street was filled with the sound of genuine laughter. Elena ate a warm bowl of soup, her breathing growing stronger with every spoonful, while Junie happily demolished her cheeseburger, occasionally feeding small pieces of crust to Colton under the table—who accepted them with absolute solemnity, much to Marcus’s quiet amusement standing by the door.
“You didn’t have to do all this, Colton,” Elena said softly, setting down her spoon and wiping her eyes. “You’ve given us our home back. You’ve given me my health back.”
“I’m just balancing a very old ledger, Elena,” Colton said, pouring her a cup of fresh herbal tea. “Forty years ago, you invested in a stubborn kid who didn’t know how to solve for x. Today, I’m simply compounding the interest.”
May you like
Junie looked up from her chocolate cake, her face smeared with frosting. “Is that what billionaires do? Compound interest?”
“No, Junie,” Colton said, reaching out to gently wipe a speck of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb. “That’s what family does. Whether they share blood or just share a rainy sidewalk.”
