Chapter 27 - The Final Sunset on the Tagus
We stayed in Portugal for our remaining four days.
Linda had offered to book us on the next flight out of Lisbon the moment the arrest occurred, but Marcus had insisted there was nothing I needed to do in person that he couldn't handle with my electronic signature. The temporary injunction had secured the house; Bridgepoint Capital’s predatory lien was declared void ab initio due to verified criminal fraud; and Brenda Vance had already signed a full confession implicating Tori in exchange for a plea deal.
"Do not let that woman rob you of a single sunrise you earned, Myrna," Marcus had told me over the phone. "Arthur spent twenty years making sure you were protected. Let me do my job."
So, I stayed.
I walked the steep, cobblestone streets of the Alfama district, running my fingers along the ancient blue-and-white azulejo tiles. I drank strong espresso in quiet corner plazas, listening to the melancholy, beautiful chords of fado music echoing from open tavern windows. I watched the golden streetcars rattle along the hills, carrying lovers, workers, and travelers who had no idea who Tori Mercer was, and cared even less.
For the first time in years, the crushing weight of family obligation didn't rest on my shoulders.
I had spent my entire adult life being the safety net. When Caleb lost his first job, I paid his rent. When Tori wanted a bigger wedding than her parents could afford, Arthur and I quietly wrote the check. When the grandchildren were born, I was the one who answered the midnight calls, who took them when Tori had headaches, who cooked Sunday dinners while Tori sat on my sofa scrolling through social media, criticizing the brand of butter I used.
I had mistaken compliance for love, and tolerance for peace.
On our final evening, Linda and I sat on a rooftop terrace overlooking the harbor. The sky was an explosion of violet, crimson, and deep amber, reflecting off the wide expanse of the Tagus.
"Are you ready to go back?" Linda asked, setting her glass down.
I looked at my boarding pass tucked into my purse—seat 4A, Chicago O'Hare.
"I'm not going back to clean up their mess, Linda," I said, meeting her eyes. "I'm going back to secure my territory. There is a very big difference."
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"Damn right there is," Linda smiled, raising her glass. "Welcome back, Myrna."
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