My Fake Death Was The Punchline To His Cruel Joke Chapter 37
Two years later, Ortiz Design moved into the top floor of a new office building in downtown Denver.
On the day of the open house, Leo showed up before anyone else.
He stood at the entrance holding a large cardboard box, a mock-serious expression on his face.
“Mara Elena Ortiz, package for you.”
I looked at him.
“If that’s more champagne, I’m sending it back.”
“This is serious business.”
Inside the box was the old laptop I’d used when I first arrived in Denver, the signed contract for our very first café renovation, and the framed notice of the state design award.
At the bottom was a copy of the closing documents for my apartment.
Mara Elena Ortiz.
The signature was steady, confident.
Leo had already framed it. He hung it on the wall right by the entrance.
“Why not hang the award?” I asked.
“There will be other awards.”
He stepped back, admiring his work.
“This,” he said, tapping the framed signature, “is the first thing you took back.”