Germany surrendered on May 8, 1945. By the time Japan followed suit and officially brought World War II to a close, Europe had already moved on. Life for the young couple took a turn for the better. Hanna worked tirelessly at the gallery, helping Robert pay back his debt little by little. She took to her new profession with the passion of a fanatic, often traveling to meet clients for the purchase or sale of pieces. All the while, her new mentor kept a watchful but trusting eye on her development. Hanna worked countless hours and gave her all, until the blood, sweat, and tears at last began to pay off. And every day without fail, her walk home across Fifty-Ninth Street to Columbus Circle continued. She would gaze up at that other life she craved so desperately, her eyes tracing the facades of the prestigious buildings overlooking the park.
Robert was aware that his wife longed for something more, and though he never spoke of it, he himself dreamt of his family’s lost wealth. It was painful to think he would never become the head of the family that he’d once dreamt of becoming, since his father had recklessly gambled away his birthright. Robert was struck with an idea: What if he found a way to make money from legal deliveries? He already had solid working relationships with clients and suppliers along his legitimate routes. With wartime over, people had a newfound thirst for revelry. The streets of New York were flowing with booze, and yet it was never enough. Robert was inspired to break into the liquor business. Determined to make a killing, he decided to specialize in high-end spirits (bourbon, scotch, brandy), champagne, and rare wines. But to get his business off the ground, he would need to borrow money. Robert made the rounds, only to be refused by bank after bank—the hallowed Stanfield reputation existed only within Maryland’s state limits. In New York, Robert was like any other unproven, ambitious young man. He knew of only one person in the world who might trust him enough to take a leap of faith.
Robert poured body and soul into his new venture. He found the perfect storefront on Ninety-First Street, with a street-level entrance, an inner courtyard large enough for loading vans, and an old shed for storing inventory. As for Hanna, her whole life revolved around the gallery now. The guarded young girl who had stepped off the boat with a wad of bills hidden beneath a layer of gauze was no more. A resolute woman on a mission had emerged in her place. Intoxicated by her new career and all that went with it, Hanna traveled coast to coast—Boston; Washington, DC; Dallas; Los Angeles; San Francisco—one city blurring into the next. Stepping back inside her tiny, cramped apartment only inspired her to work harder so she could one day leave it.
By the end of fall 1945, Robert’s fledgling business had begun to turn a profit, which was no small feat. The young couple saw each other only once a week, on Sundays, when they would make love and sleep the whole day through.
1946
On the second of March, the family butler called with terrible news: Robert’s parents had been killed in a car accident in Miami. What’s more, they died without a penny to their name, lacking even enough to cover funeral arrangements.
Hanna insisted that she and Robert cover the cost. Even if Robert hadn’t forgiven or forgotten, it was imperative a son attend his parents’ funeral. In all the time since the couple stepped off that boat, Robert had never spoken a word to his parents. As far as Robert knew, they had died not even knowing that he had married, and Hanna felt guilty for not pushing her husband to patch things up. She had been so focused on building a life for themselves over the past two years that she had forgotten the bonds of family. Now, it was too late. She made all the necessary arrangements for their remains to be returned to Baltimore, where they could be laid to rest in the family vault, the last vestige of the family’s former glory.
The couple left for Baltimore two days later. There were very few in attendance at the small funeral in the cemetery chapel. The family butler, seated in the first row, seemed most affected by the loss. Hanna and Robert sat next to the housekeeper in the second row. At the end of the pew was a paunchy man in a three-piece suit and an old-fashioned coat. The sermon was short and to the point, and the officiating priest concluded by offering condolences to the many who would mourn the dearly departed. With only five people in attendance, the words resounded in the chapel like the punch line to a very dark joke.
The funeral came to a close as the coffins were placed in the family vault. Hanna was moved to tears, thinking of her own father. Now more than ever, she felt the need to cross the ocean and stand before his grave to pay her respects. While they were fleeing Europe, Robert insisted that the Resistance would have made sure her father received a proper burial, but there was no way to know for sure.
As they returned to their car, they were approached by the paunchy man from the funeral. After offering his condolences, he told Robert something that affected him even more than the loss of his parents. The Stanfield estate was headed for the auction block to pay off his parents’ debts. Robert had but three months to waive his claim of inheritance or be forced to take on those debts himself. Hanna interrupted, asking just how much it would take to hold on to the estate. The banker, as he described himself, said it would take a full five hundred thousand dollars.