“I think that idiot attorney of hers is on Maggie’s ex’s side,” Martin stated.
“I agree,” Linda told him.
“Anyway. Maggie has told your uncle twice that, the moment the divorce is final, she wants to put the proceeds from her building into the hotel. She has a specific proposal. She wants to clear that overgrown strip of land along the south fence of the property, the thorn jungle, and build a small pavilion of boutique shops along the road frontage. Five or six small spaces. She wants to relocate her bridal boutique into the largest of them, making it the anchor. Lease the rest to small independent local businesses. Tie the whole development into the hotel.” Martin laid out Maggie’s proposal for Linda.
Linda’s eyebrows lifted. “The thorn jungle.”
“The thorn jungle.” Martin nodded in confirmation.
“My uncle always told us that strip was cursed,” Linda laughed. “That was why the thorn trees were so gnarled, and the path through them was always overgrown. When I was very little, I was convinced it was where Sleeping Beauty was.”
Martin laughed at that. “I can see why that would seem like that to a young girl.”
“What did Uncle George say to Maggie’s plan?” Linda sat back.
“The same thing he told Tom and me when we offered to invest. That he’d have to think about it.” Martin told her. “And yes, he’s still thinking about it.”
She let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Michael’s been after Uncle George for years to expand the hotel,” Linda replied. “He’s said for as long as I can remember that there is enough land along Bay View Drive to do something proper without ever touching the reserve.”
“Michael’s right. The hotel owns most of the land along the town’s most prominent road. We are sitting on a goldmine,” Martin pointed out.
“And the goldmine is going under.” Linda closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying not to let the dire news about the hotel’s finances get to her.
“Yes.” Martin agreed.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ll find a way to bring Uncle George around, Martin. I will. Michael will be here in a few days. The four of us will sit down with him together. He won’t be able to say no to all of us at once.”
“Let’s hope not,” Martin said.
“Pull together your proposal. Maggie’s pavilion. Your investment offer. Tom’s. The whole thing as a single integrated plan,” Linda told him.
“I’ll have it ready by the end of the week,” Martin assured her.
She nodded slowly. Her eyes drifted, unbidden, to the cream envelope still sitting in the open drawer beside her.
She drew a slow breath. “Martin.”
“Yes.” He looked at her expectantly.
“How much time do we have before we lose everything?” Linda looked at him.
Martin didn’t answer immediately. He held her eyes for a long moment, the way a person did when they were about to give an honest answer that they did not want to give.
“Not enough,” Martin replied at last.
Linda felt the small cold thing in her chest tighten. “Tell me what happens if we can’t fix this in time.”
“A few things could happen,” Martin told her honestly. “The bank could foreclose on the property. That would be the cleanest version of the worst case. They would take the hotel, sell it at auction, recover their losses, and your uncle would walk away with nothing but the small clause in the original mortgage that protects the family living quarters. That’s Heart House. He’d keep that. He’d keep his pension. Everything else would be gone.”
“Is there another version of this?” Linda felt sick.
“The bank could choose to restructure the debt and bring in a partner of their own choosing to keep the hotel operational. That’s worse, in some ways, because your uncle would still hold a paper share, but he’d have no real control over anything. Some faceless investor would sit in this chair every Monday morning and decide what he ate for breakfast.” Martin’s eyes flashed with anger at the thought of that happening.
She closed her eyes.
“Or,” Martin continued.
