“They have.” Michael nodded in confirmation.
"I bet you’ve already worked your way meticulously through it all,” Maggie guessed, her brows raised knowingly.
“Most of it,” Michael answered truthfully. “I'm waiting for Linda to bring the keys for all the cabinets in Uncle George’s office.”
There was a small pause as they sipped their coffee and picked at a biscuit.
“How bad is it really?” Maggie said softly, her eyes catching his. “Give it to me straight. I already know most of it. But, like Uncle George, I’ve made myself pretend it’s not as bad as I think it is.”
"Honestly,” Michael answered her, holding her gaze. “It’s probably best to think the way you are. Because the truth is not good at all.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You really don't want to know."
"I do, actually. I've been carrying pieces of it for two years. I'd like to know the whole shape of it." Maggie picked up the honey and spooned some into her coffee, idly stirring it.
Michael looked at her. Of course, she'd been carrying pieces of it. She, Tom, and Martin had been carrying the whole thing on their backs while he and Linda had been four hours away, none the wiser.
"It's bad," Michael admitted. "There are three mortgages. And the third one's a disaster. Suppliers' payments are behind. The staff is being paid out of Tom's and your pockets, which I'm still trying to forgive myself for not knowing about.” His eyes searched hers. She didn’t flinch. Just watched him intently. He blew out a breath. “But I’m confident that as long as we can hold the Wayne Group off, it's not unsalvageable.” He sipped his coffee and smiled. “Bad isn't the same as hopeless. I've seen hopeless, and this isn't it."
"You really think we can save it?" Maggie’s brows furrowed.
"I think if the whole family, of which I include you and Martin in this, put our heads together, we can do more than save it." Michael leaned forward on his elbows. “There are a few strategies we can put together that can get us back on track.”
“Such as?” Maggie leaned in a little closer as their voices were lowered, not wanting anyone to overhear them.
He hadn't meant to tell anyone about his plans before Linda. But Maggie was looking at him with those bright, steady eyes, and the words came out before he'd decided to let them.
"I've been thinking about your idea, actually," Michael continued. "Building up the thorn jungle and moving your boutique along with some other businesses there.
"You have?" Maggie breathed, thrilled. “So Martin told you that plan too?”
“He did,” Michael replied. “We even thought of calling it The Thorn Jungle Strip."
“Oh, I like that,” Maggie said, excited.
Before he could ask her, Maggie launched into her idea for the pavilion of small boutique shops along the road frontage, with her clothing boutique as the anchor in the largest space. The five or six smaller units could be leased to local makers and small independent businesses. The whole development would be tied into the hotel, drawing the festival crowd, the wedding trade, and the summer tourists all into one place. She told it in the way a person talks about a dream they'd been holding so long it had worn smooth in their hands.
Michael watched her face the whole time and barely heard the second half, which was a problem because that was the important part.
"It's a good plan, Maggie," Michael told her when she'd finished. "It's better than good. It's the kind of plan that could turn this whole thing around."
"That's the dream, anyway." Maggie gave a smile and a little shrug. “We have to get around Uncle George, and he is not keen on it.”
“I didn’t think he would be,” Michael told her. “But I have a plan around that too.”
“Oh?” Maggie said, putting her cup down, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Not yet,” Michael grinned teasingly as he saw her eyes get a little narrower and turn into a glare.
“Rosa is right about you, Michael Heart,” Maggie scoffed. “You haven’t changed. You still like tormenting people with dangling tidbits of juicy information and not budging until you are ready to reveal them.”
“Maggie…” Michael drawled. “That’s what makes me such a great attorney.” He laughed at the look she gave him. Then, he changed the subject. “Talking of attorneys. How is the divorce going?”
“That’s just it,” Maggie growled, her jaw clenching and her eyes now growing stormy. “It’s still going.” She shook her head. “Which makes my plans to move the boutique anywhere rather moot at this point because I might not even have a boutique when it is finally through.”
Michael's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?" Michael asked her, his brow furrowing.
"Kevin, the no-good gold-digging leech of a soon-to-be ex-husband," Maggie said through gritted teeth, "and his girlfriend have decided that the boutique is community property and they're entitled to half of my business. Which it isn't, and they aren't entitled to any of it. As you know, my grandparents left it to me free and clear years before I ever met Kevin. But his lawyer keeps filing motions and requesting continuances and finding new reasons to drag it out, and my lawyer..." She trailed off with an angry hiss.
