“There’s another option?” By the look on his face, it wasn’t a favorable one either.
“Or a development company could quietly buy up his debt from the bank. That happens more often than people realize. The bank has a non-performing loan on its books. A developer offers to take the loan off their hands at a discount. The bank gets cash today and doesn’t have to manage the foreclosure. The developer becomes the new creditor. The moment your uncle defaults on a single payment, which he is one bad month away from doing, the developer forecloses on their own debt, and the hotel is theirs. Legally. Quietly. With almost no ability for the family to fight back.” Martin’s words echoed through her.
Linda’s eyes widened. “You mean a development company like...” She didn’t finish the sentence. She reached across the desk, pulled the cream envelope out of the open drawer, and slapped it down between them. “Like this,” she finished, her cheeks flushing hot.
Martin’s eyes boggled. He snatched the envelope up and ripped the letter out so fast Linda thought he’d torn the paper. His face went through three colors in five seconds as he read the document.
“Son of a...” he hissed. He glanced at the postmark on the envelope. “When did this arrive?”
“The day before Uncle George’s accident,” Linda informed him. “He hid it in the locked drawer.”
“Linda, this is not good. This is not good at all.” Martin’s eyes shone with worry.
“I didn’t think it was.” Linda’s voice was soft and heavy.
Martin let out a long breath and folded the letter back along its original crease.
“Wayne Group International,” he read off the letterhead. “I know this name. I worked alongside one of their senior people about ten years ago on a deal in Charleston. The principal is a man who’s been quietly buying up coastal property for forty years. He’s good at what he does. He’s also very, very patient. When he sets his sights on a property, he doesn’t usually let go.”
“How does it usually work?” Linda swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry as she realized the vultures had started circling over her family’s hotel.
“They start with a polite letter,” Martin explained. “Just like this one. Expressing interest. Naming a figure. Asking for a conversation. If the owner ignores the first letter, a second one follows. The second one is usually more direct. If the owner ignores that, the company starts making quiet inquiries. They speak to the bank, the suppliers, and the local community. They find out exactly how stretched the owner is. Then the offers escalate. The figures change. The tone changes. By the time the third or fourth letter arrives, it isn’t really a request anymore.”
“And if the owner still won’t sell?” Linda had a feeling she knew what was coming.
“Then they wait. The owner defaults eventually. The bank gets nervous. The company offers to take the debt off the bank’s hands. The bank says yes. The owner is foreclosed on by the people he refused to sell to in the first place, and theproperty changes hands at the auction for a fraction of what it was originally worth.” Martin went over the third option he’d explained to her before.
Her stomach lurched, and a cold feeling slivered down her spine. “How long does the whole process usually take?”
A soft knock at the office door interrupted them. Rosa stepped through.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she apologized. “The engineering company has arrived. They are at the pool deck. They are asking for you.”
“Thank you, Rosa,” Linda answered. “Tell them I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Rosa left.
Linda stood. She slid the letter and the bills back into the drawer and turned the small brass key.
“Will you come with me?” Linda asked, needing some support at the moment.
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t try to do this alone,” Martin replied.
They walked together through the small back corridor of the hotel, out through the staff door, and along the path that led around to the pool deck. Two men in dark blue polo shirts and clipboards stood at the edge of the pool with the head of the maintenance team.
The younger of the two looked up as Linda and Martin approached. “Miss Heart?”
“Yes,” Linda nodded
“I’m Peter from Coastal Engineering. This is my colleague Daniel.” He introduced them.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Linda told them.
She let Martin take over the conversation. He explained what he’d observed about the water level. He walked the engineers through the maintenance records. He answered their technical questions with ease. Linda stood beside him, listened carefully, and tried very hard not to let her hands shake.
The two engineers worked the deck for the better part of forty minutes. They took readings. They tested the tiles. They ran a small handheld instrument along the pool’s edge and the bottom of the deeper end. They conferred with each other quietly. Then they walked back over to where Linda and Martin were waiting.
“All right,” Peter began. “Here’s where we stand. You have a leak. It’s not in the pump system. It’s in the structure itself. The hairline crack runs along the inside wall at the deep end, about a third of the way up from the floor. From the readings we’re taking, it’s narrow at the surface and wider as it goes down, which suggests there has been some settling or movement in the foundation beneath the deep end.”
