Chapter 10 - The New Dynasty
The final chapter of the Oak Brook saga didn't end with a shouting match, a dropped plate, or a legal filing. It ended in the quiet, sunlit kitchen of our River North condo on New Year’s Day.
The holiday season had come and gone without a single family disaster. Loretta had attempted one final, weak-willed passive-aggressive maneuver at Christmas Eve by gifting us a dusty, oversized ceramic fruit bowl, which Vance had promptly thanked her for, packed in bubble wrap, and stored in the back of our storage locker where it belonged.
Tatum had blocked us both on Instagram, which we celebrated with a bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Now, on the first morning of 2027, the apartment was peaceful. The white floral arrangements from our wedding—now dried and preserved in a custom glass shadow box hanging in our hallway—cast soft shadows across the hardwood floors.
Vance was standing at the kitchen island, flipping pancakes while listening to a jazz record on the turntable. I sat at my usual barstool, scrolling through my corporate calendar for the upcoming quarter.
The front door clicked open.
We didn't lock it because we didn't need to, but only one person had the security fob and the newly earned, strictly conditioned permission to use it.
Harlan walked into the loft, carrying a brown paper bag from a local Chicago bakery. He didn't wear his leather briefcase anymore. He looked lighter, as if someone had finally taken a thirty-pound backpack off his shoulders.
"Morning," Harlan said, setting the bag on the counter. "Brought cinnamon rolls from the bakery on State Street. Your mother didn't come. She’s... well, she’s watching golf."
Vance smiled, turning off the stove and pouring his father a cup of black coffee. "Thanks, Dad. Sit down."
Harlan took a seat two stools away from me. He looked at the gleaming marble, then at the open-concept layout, and finally at me.
"Sloane," Harlan said quietly.
"Harlan," I replied, tilting my head. "Did Loretta send you to negotiate a treaty regarding our savings accounts?"
Harlan let out a dry, genuine chuckle, shaking his head. "No. Loretta is currently realizing that when you alienate your son and your daughter-in-law, you spend New Year's Day watching old golf replays by yourself." He took a sip of his coffee. "She’ll come around eventually. Or she won't. Either way... that's her problem now, not yours."
I set my tablet down on the counter. For the first time since I had met the man, I felt a genuine spark of respect for him. He had survived forty years of Loretta’s matriarchal dictatorship, and he had finally figured out how to step out of the blast radius.
"Cinnamon rolls are a good start," I noted, opening the paper bag and inhaling the warm, sugary scent.
Harlan smiled, nodding once. "I'm learning, Sloane. We're all learning."
After Harlan left an hour later—having promised to visit without bringing any legal documents or family bylaws—Vance and I stood together by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the snow dust the rooftops of downtown Chicago.
Vance wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. He looked down at my right hand, lifting it up and pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the back of my knuckles where the faint, invisible ghost of Tatum’s seafood fork once lived.
"Happy New Year, Mrs. Vance," he whispered against my skin.
I turned around in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck, looking into the eyes of a man who had finally learned what it meant to choose his own family.
"Happy New Year, Mr. Vance," I smiled. "And remember the number one rule of our household."
"What's that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
May you like
"Elders choose first—unless the elder is Loretta, in which case she can make her own breakfast."
Vance threw his head back and laughed, pulling me close against his chest as the Chicago snow fell softly outside our windows, marking the first day of a dynasty we built entirely on our own terms.
