That she was trying to become different.
And that losing her company leadership had forced her to examine things she'd ignored for years.
But she knew he didn't owe her another conversation.
So she remained across the street.
Then turned and continued walking.
As she passed the next house, an elderly neighbor greeted her.
Victoria stopped.
For years, she had barely acknowledged the woman.
Now she smiled.
"Good morning."
The neighbor smiled back.
"Good morning."
It was a tiny interaction.
Ordinary.
Almost meaningless.
But Victoria understood something she hadn't before.
Treating someone with dignity didn't require knowing whether they were wealthy, influential, or useful to her.
It required remembering that they were a person.
And for the first time in many years, she was beginning to recognize how often she'd forgotten that.
Malik watched Victoria leave.
He didn't call after her.
Didn't wave.
And didn't feel the need to announce that he'd won.
There had been enough consequences.
Enough investigations.
Enough difficult conversations.
And enough evidence showing how badly things had gone wrong.
He returned to the Ferrari.
Then opened the old metal toolbox.
Inside were his father's worn sockets and screwdrivers.
He selected a small wrench.
For a moment, he looked toward the house.
His mother was inside preparing lunch.
She'd insisted on making food despite Malik telling her he could order anything she wanted.
Denise said money didn't improve every meal.
Sometimes a person simply needed something cooked by someone who loved them.
He smiled.
Then returned to his work.
A few minutes later, a boy from down the street stopped near the driveway.
He was about eleven years old, Black, with close-cropped hair and a bicycle resting beside him.
He stared at the Ferrari.
For several seconds, he seemed unable to speak.
Then he called out.
"Sir?"
Malik looked up.
"Hey."
The boy pointed toward the car.
"Is that really yours?"
Malik smiled.
"Yeah."
The boy's eyes widened.
"Wow."
He stepped closer but stopped respectfully near the edge of the driveway.
"Can I look at it?"
Malik laughed.
"Of course. Just watch your bike."
The boy leaned toward the Ferrari.
He examined the wheels.
The sleek bodywork.
And the yellow brake calipers.
Then looked toward Malik.
"What do you do?"
Malik considered the question.
"I work with technology and invest in businesses."
The boy frowned.
"Like computers?"
Malik nodded.
"Yeah. A lot of computers."
The child smiled.
"That's cool."
For a moment, he stared at the car.
Then asked something that made Malik pause.