Chap­ter IX – Der­rick Vaughan–Novelist begins in the wake of grief, where the weight of a lost oppor­tu­ni­ty adds a new lay­er to Derrick’s sor­row. Fol­low­ing the funer­al, the dis­cov­ery of an unsigned will brings to light what could have been a sub­stan­tial inher­i­tance. Lawrence, Derrick’s broth­er, remarks cold­ly that lit­er­a­ture will sure­ly make up for the loss, a com­ment that cuts deep­er than intend­ed. This exchange reveals the widen­ing rift between the brothers—Lawrence, dri­ven by appear­ances and ambi­tion, con­trasts sharply with Der­rick, whose inner life remains ground­ed in qui­et pur­pose. While Lawrence thrives on soci­etal sta­tus, Der­rick clings to the mean­ing he finds in words, even when suc­cess feels dis­tant. The moment marks not just a legal loss, but a sym­bol­ic reminder of the frag­ile nature of fam­i­ly ties and the emo­tion­al cost of rival­ry.

Der­rick­’s resolve is test­ed as pub­lish­ers repeat­ed­ly reject his man­u­script, At Strife. Each refusal chips away at his con­fi­dence, yet he persists—not for fame, but from a com­pul­sion to speak truth through fic­tion. His writ­ing is not shaped by trends but by con­science, which makes him vul­ner­a­ble yet sin­cere. He sees his craft not as a pro­fes­sion, but as a calling—a mes­sage that must be deliv­ered regard­less of audi­ence or reward. These strug­gles reflect a broad­er real­i­ty faced by many cre­atives: rejec­tion is not always a reflec­tion of tal­ent, but of tim­ing and mar­ket tastes. Der­rick endures it all with qui­et strength, even as oth­ers, includ­ing Lawrence, scoff at the val­ue of such pur­suits. For him, lit­er­a­ture is a per­son­al sal­va­tion, not a career move. And that makes his per­se­ver­ance all the more admirable.

The chap­ter also paints a sharp con­trast between Derrick’s inner life and Lawrence’s pub­lic one. Lawrence, whose charm once won over social cir­cles, begins to unrav­el when secrets from his past come to light. His bro­ken engage­ment and social fall from grace expose the shal­low­ness of his con­struct­ed image. The irony is clear—while Der­rick, under­es­ti­mat­ed and ignored, remains con­sis­tent and authen­tic, Lawrence is undone by his own decep­tion. This jux­ta­po­si­tion is not just per­son­al but philo­soph­i­cal. It reflects the book’s deep­er theme: that integri­ty, though slow­er to reward, out­lasts pre­tense. Derrick’s jour­ney proves that gen­uine effort may not always be praised, but it leaves a last­ing mark. He stands as a qui­et rebuke to those who seek recog­ni­tion with­out sub­stance.

Mean­while, Der­rick chan­nels his emo­tion­al insights into his third book, Dick Carew, which reflects his obser­va­tions and time spent in the poor­er quar­ters of Lon­don. His writ­ing evolves not only styl­is­ti­cal­ly but moral­ly, tak­ing on the bur­den of social respon­si­bil­i­ty. Through fic­tion, he gives voice to the over­looked, shap­ing sto­ries not for pop­u­lar­i­ty, but to illu­mi­nate injus­tice. This com­mit­ment makes his work res­onate, even if acclaim comes slow­ly. He does­n’t sep­a­rate his art from his life—instead, each expe­ri­ence deep­ens the authen­tic­i­ty of his nov­els. Behind each char­ac­ter lies a face he’s seen, a moment he’s lived. That depth, while sub­tle, becomes the core of his grow­ing lit­er­ary mer­it.

How­ev­er, pro­fes­sion­al advance­ment does lit­tle to resolve Derrick’s per­son­al void. His unre­solved feel­ings for Fre­da linger beneath the sur­face, influ­enc­ing his work and out­look. Her absence forms a qui­et ache, a space in his life that suc­cess can­not fill. He nev­er voic­es this long­ing open­ly, but it is present in the way he describes love and loss in his sto­ries. The emo­tion­al restraint that defines him pub­licly only mag­ni­fies what remains unsaid. Read­ers are left to sense that his heart, though guard­ed, has nev­er ful­ly let go. These per­son­al under­cur­rents lend his writ­ing emo­tion­al res­o­nance, draw­ing read­ers into a world that mir­rors their own dis­ap­point­ments and hopes.

As the chap­ter nears its end, a let­ter arrives—an invi­ta­tion to join a cruise, echo­ing an ear­li­er chap­ter of his life that once brought him joy. The tone shifts from reflec­tion to sub­tle antic­i­pa­tion. There’s no promise that this jour­ney will resolve his inner con­flict, but it sug­gests a new begin­ning or at least a chance to revis­it a hap­pi­er time. The sea voy­age becomes more than a lit­er­al escape; it sym­bol­izes renew­al. A qui­et hope stirs that per­haps, in revis­it­ing the past, some­thing lost might be reclaimed—or at least bet­ter under­stood.

Through the arc of this chap­ter, Derrick’s sto­ry becomes a med­i­ta­tion on suc­cess, not as soci­ety defines it, but as the indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences it. His life illus­trates that achieve­ment with­out peace offers lit­tle sat­is­fac­tion, while humil­i­ty and per­sis­tence, though often over­looked, car­ry endur­ing val­ue. His nar­ra­tive speaks to any­one who has ever felt unseen, remind­ing them that the pur­suit of pur­pose is its own reward. Der­rick Vaughan’s path, marked by hard­ship and qui­et tri­umph, is one that reflects the real cost—and the rare beauty—of liv­ing authen­ti­cal­ly.