Tears streamed down James’s face. He’d hoped for something else—to hug his father, not a stranger. Money didn’t matter; he sought a connection. While they talked, Vicky stepped into the hall and told the head of security how Mira and Antonio tried to kill her, drugging her at the café. Their motive: fear that Michael would give his assets to Ellen and James. Eliminating Vicky would bury the truth.
Learning of his wife and stepson’s actions, Michael called a notary, filed for divorce, and named James an heir, avoiding police involvement. He hurried to honor his debt to Victor, sensing his time was short.
Later, it turned out Mira and Antonio punished themselves. On the day they attacked Vicky, they fled but crashed, losing control. Mira escaped with bruises, but Antonio faced possible disability. Still, Michael included them in his will, ensuring they weren’t left destitute.
James, feeling mild disappointment, thanked the businessman, wiped a tear, and stepped into the hospital courtyard. Sitting on a bench, he reflected. Soon, Vicky joined him and patted his shoulder: “Don’t worry. It’s better than nothing. You didn’t meet your dad, but you know where his grave is—you can visit. And now you’re a rich guy.”
“Rich, but with a tarnished reputation,” James whispered bitterly. Vicky perked up: “What’s the trouble? Tell me, maybe I can help? I specialize in these cases.” He sighed heavily and spilled everything: how he was framed for a bribe. Vicky listened closely, asking for details. “Sounds like a setup. They used your teacher as a pawn. I’ll try to prove it,” she concluded.
“No way that’ll work. It’s all on camera—hard to dispute,” he doubted. Vicky smiled mysteriously: “Give me time.” She tackled the case professionally, guiding James every step. In the end, the case collapsed before trial. It turned out the money in the book was planted by Barbara Peterson’s neighbor—Richard Paulson’s mistress. She knew Barbara would give the book to her former student and slipped the bills in before the visit.
The camera footage proved nothing, and James’s fingerprints weren’t on the money—but the mistress’s were. “Thanks, Vicky. I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” James said earnestly, back in the GP department. Richard was sacked, and talk swirled about James’s potential promotion. He didn’t get his hopes up but looked to the future with optimism.
Learning of her ex-husband’s inheritance, Emily tried to come back, acting as if nothing happened. But instead of reconciliation, she got divorce papers and a locked door with new bolts. Six months later, James and Vicky had a quiet wedding—after all they’d been through, they craved simple happiness.
James realized Victor Grayson’s wealth didn’t change who he was. He stayed a doctor, true to his calling, and kept translating medical books, finding solace in it. Vicky became his rock, helping navigate the legal maze of his new status. They often recalled that evening by the river—the chance encounter that brought them together and upended their lives.
Sometimes, James visited his father’s grave abroad, as Michael had shared its location. Standing at the headstone, he mentally thanked Victor for the unintended gift of fate. The money let him open a small clinic where he practiced medicine with integrity, as always, not chasing profit. Vicky, still a lawyer, took on cases of the wrongfully accused, honoring her own brush with injustice. Their home became a haven of warmth and understanding, the kind James had dreamed of since childhood.
James and Vicky built the life he’d longed for—a quiet one, full of purpose. Victor Grayson’s wealth didn’t go to his head. He remained true to himself: healing, translating, and avoiding excess profit. The money funded a good cause—he opened a small clinic, treating patients with care, as he always had. Patients valued his attentiveness and affordability, and colleagues respected his principles.
Vicky, continuing her legal career, defended those unfairly accused. Her near-death experience left a mark—she knew how easily a life could be ruined and couldn’t stand by. Together, they often recalled that riverbank evening when fate united them. “If not for you, I wouldn’t have made it,” she’d say. “And without you, I’d have drowned in my troubles,” he’d reply with a smile.
Sometimes, James traveled to his father’s grave overseas, its location shared by Michael. At the headstone, he thanked Victor for the unexpected gift of destiny. He never knew him in life but felt a bond through Michael’s stories. These trips brought peace, filling the void left from childhood.
Emily, learning of the inheritance, tried repeatedly to return. She called, wrote, even showed up at the house, but met a locked door and cold silence. James held no grudge but had no intention of forgiving. The divorce closed their chapter, and he was glad Vicky became his new one. Emily, left with her businessman lover, soon realized money couldn’t replace the warmth she’d lost.
At the hospital, after Richard Paulson’s exit, things changed. Rumors of James’s promotion didn’t pan out, but he didn’t chase titles—he had his work. Colleagues whispered he could lead the department, but James brushed it off: “I’m fine as is.” His clinic became his legacy, where he lived out what he’d learned his whole life.
Their home with Vicky turned into a cozy nest. It wasn’t lavish, but it brimmed with warmth and mutual support. They loved breakfasts together—a simple ritual James missed with Emily. Sometimes, Barbara Peterson stopped by with new books. Learning how she’d been used in the setup, she apologized profusely, but James just hugged her: “It’s not your fault. I let you down by not seeing it sooner.”
Their wedding was low-key, no fuss. After all they’d endured, they valued quiet and each other. Vicky joked: “We’re like a fairy tale—doctor and lawyer against the world.” James nodded: “As long as we won.” Their life flowed calmly, each day filled with small joys. They knew happiness wasn’t in wealth but in having someone who understands and supports you—their greatest treasure.