Chapter 12 - The Hospital Room on the Ninth FloorThree weeks later, on a sunny morning in February, Toby stood in the consultation room of Presbyterian Hospital, holding his discharge papers.
His doctors, nurses, and physical therapists gathered around the nurses' station, applauding warmly as Toby rang the ceremonial brass bell that signaled complete molecular remission and discharge from the oncology service.
Toby wore a handsome new wool coat and leather boots, walking with complete, unassisted strength.
He hugged Dr. Vance tightly, then turned to throw his arms around me and Adrian.
“We did it, Claire!” Toby laughed, his eyes shining with tears of joy. “I’m completely healthy!”
“You did it, little brother,” I whispered, kissing his cheek, my heart overflowing with peace.
As we walked out of the hospital through the private executive lobby, two federal marshals in plainclothes approached Adrian, handing him a sealed legal envelope.
“Mr. DeLuca,” the lead marshal reported respectfully. “Arthur Romano and Vanessa Romano were formally transferred to their federal penitentiaries this morning. The forfeiture proceedings on the Romano real estate portfolio have concluded. All court documents have been certified.”
Adrian took the envelope, nodding once.
“Thank you, Marshal.”
We climbed into the waiting town car, the heater warming the leather interior as the vehicle merged onto the FDR Drive toward Manhattan.
Toby sat in the front passenger seat, excitedly talking on the phone with his high school friends about returning to class on Monday.
I sat in the back with Adrian, resting my head against his broad shoulder, our hands intertwined on the leather seat.
Adrian opened the federal envelope.
Inside was the official decree transferring the title of the Romano family’s historic estate on Long Island Sound into the Claire Bennett Foundation.
“What will we do with that estate, Adrian?” I asked softly, looking at the photographs of the sprawling waterfront property.
“Whatever you want, Claire,” Adrian smiled gently, kissing the top of my head. “It belongs to you.”
“I want to turn it into a pediatric convalescent home,” I said, looking into his eyes. “A place where children recovering from bone marrow transplants and chemotherapy can stay with their families for free, right by the ocean, with fresh air and gardens.”
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Adrian looked down at me, his gray eyes shining with an admiration so profound it took my breath away.
“You have your mother’s heart, Claire,” he murmured, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. “And your father’s soul. We will begin the renovations on Monday.”
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