Page 37 of Inn To You

“According to the records for the Bluebird Hollow Inn, there’s a substantial amount of taxes owed on the place. Roughly five years, actually.”

“But…but where did the money go?”

The loan officer shrugs. “It’s simply not in the records. Either the money was accumulated but never paid out, or the money was never collected.”

“What does this mean?” I turn to Zack, still too dazed from the rejection of the loan.

“It means that until the back taxes are paid, the place cannot be sold. Unless those taxes become part of the contingency for sale. Meaning a potential buyer would pay them off. Either way, the taxes must be paid, or the property reverts to a bank.” Zack’s eyes narrow at the bank employee.

“Are you saying someone stole the money?” I swallow around the thought.

“Or the inn never made enough money to pay the taxes,” Zack clarifies.

“But my uncle…” has purchased a place in Florida. The inn had to have made money. “Joe wouldn’t steal from me.” My voice is weak. The thought incomprehensible.

“Is there someone else on the books? Someone else who worked for the inn who had access to the money?” Zack asks.

“Isaiah, but he didn’t have access to the bank. He could make deposits, but he couldn’t—”

“Isaiah Reardon?” the loan officer interjects, and I turn to him. “He’s a co-signer on the accounts.”

“He’s what? How?”

The banker glances down at the paperwork. “His signature is dated roughly seven years ago.”

“Did he…embezzle the money?”

“Jesus,” Zack mutters beside me, and I remember what Noah told me about their father. He went to jail for stealing from his employer to pay off his gambling debts. Isaiah wasn’t a gambler. But could he have taken the money?

“We have no way of knowing that.” The loan officer gives me a weak smile. “You’d have to run your own investigation. Since the taxes are due on the inn, though, it can’t be put up for sale. That money needs to be paid, or the IRS is going to step in, and a bank will own the place.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have the amount mentioned for back taxes. I didn’t have the money to buy out my uncle. And as of now, I didn’t have an inn to be purchased, only confiscated from the bank.

+ + +

“Tell me you didn’t take the money for taxes to buy a condo in Florida.” I don’t even greet my uncle with hello but jump into the continuation of my hellish morning.

“Tessa Marie Brogan.” My uncle’s voice thickens. He’s been like a second father to me, but since Isaiah’s presence—and subsequent absence—and Jonas’s birth, my uncle has slowly been slipping away from me.

Taking a deep breath, I continue. “The bank can’t give me the loan for a property with back taxes. You wouldn’t even be able to sell it unless a new buyer is willing to cover the loss.”

Joe remains silent.

My voice lowers. “That’s it, isn’t it? You knew about the taxes, and that’s why you want to sell to someone who takes it all as it is, back taxes and all.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Why? Why would you do this?”

“I noticed Isaiah hadn’t paid after I went to refinance my condo. When I questioned him, he reminded me I’d left him in charge up there. I’d let things go too long.”

Uncle Joe made a huge mistake trusting Isaiah with anything pertaining to the inn, just as I had made the same error in trusting Isaiah with my heart.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice drops as tears fill my eyes. Then I answer my own question. “You thought you’d sell it outright.”

Joe doesn’t respond.

“You’d let me lose my home, Jonas’s home, rather than tell me the truth.”