Chapter 6 - The New Foundation
The following Monday, the transition of power at the Sterling Estate—now officially and permanently restored to The Vance Estate—was swift and absolute.
Arthur Kensington’s legal challenges evaporated like morning mist before the unassailable fortress of federal land grants and original deeds. Within forty-eight hours, moving vans bearing the Kensington crest were replaced by heavy trucks hauling away the artificial, ostentatious decor that Victoria and her father had installed during their brief, arrogant occupation.
Eleanor Vance didn't waste time on petty vengeance; she simply exercised sovereign law. The estate was purged of pretension. The staff—retained and given a twenty-percent pay raise—returned to an atmosphere of mutual respect, dignity, and quiet efficiency.
Leo, meanwhile, found himself sitting in a spacious, sunlit corner office on the third floor of the Vance Foundation downtown, rather than scrubbing floors at a catering hall.
The office was lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, old oil paintings, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. On his desk sat a sleek new laptop, a stack of scholarship applications, and a steaming mug of dark roast coffee.
The heavy oak door opened, and Marcus—now head of private security for the Vance Estate and Foundation—stepped into the room.
"Morning, Leo," Marcus greeted him with a respectful nod, carrying a thick manila folder.
"Morning, Marcus," Leo smiled, looking up from his computer. "What’s in the folder?"
"Background checks on the new wave of scholarship applicants for the vocational arts program," Marcus said, placing the folder on the desk. "Mrs. Vance wanted you to review them before the committee meeting this afternoon. She specifically noted that she trusts your eye for people who have genuine grit."
Leo opened the folder, scanning the first application. It belonged to a nineteen-year-old automotive apprentice from a working-class neighborhood in East LA who was struggling to pay for certification tests.
"Grit is something you can't teach in a lecture hall, Marcus," Leo said thoughtfully, signing his approval in the margin. "You either learn it when life pushes you into a corner, or you don't."
"Ain't that the truth," Marcus agreed, leaning against the edge of the desk. "You know, kid, when I grabbed your shoulder at the gala three weeks ago, I thought you were just another college kid who was about to get himself permanently blacklisted from the service industry. I never imagined you’d end up sitting across the hall from the Chairperson."
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"Neither did I," Leo laughed softly. "I was fully prepared to walk out of that ballroom with a ruined uniform and zero prospects."
"Well, Mrs. Vance has a habit of recognizing steel when she sees it," Marcus said, pushing off the desk. "She’s waiting for you in the conservatory for your ten o'clock briefing. Don't keep her waiting; she’s reviewing the architectural plans for the new community center wing, and she’s in a very decisive mood."
