Chapter 3

The next morning, I took the stack of scanned documents and went to my mother’s old office.

It sat right next to the ocean-view suite, filled with nothing more than old ledgers, early photos of the inn, and a few pieces of furniture my mother left behind.

Conrad used to complain about the damp smell and hardly ever pushed the door open.

Today, the lock was brand new.

I was standing outside, about to call maintenance, when Conrad came down the hallway. Tie-less, holding a cup of coffee, he wore the same patient smile from last night.

"You're up early."

"Why was the lock changed on the office?"

"There are important files inside." He offered me the coffee. "Ivy is organizing the branding proposal, and with people coming and going, I didn’t want anything getting lost."

I didn't take it. "That's my mother's office."

Conrad’s smile faded slightly. "Mara, it's also part of the inn. You can't keep everything old locked away forever."

He sounded as if he were trying to help me face reality.

Conrad always said the inn needed to modernize.

What he truly hated was simpler: every room reminded him Seabrook had belonged to me long before he arrived.

"Give me the key," I said.

"Once Ivy finishes organizing."

"She has no right to go through my mother's things."

Conrad stared at me, lowering his voice. "You're overly sensitive right now. I know letting her stay in that suite made you uncomfortable last night, but you can't bring personal feelings into business. We need change, and we need money. One day you'll see that I'm just trying to find a way forward for us."

Before turning to go downstairs, he added, "Stay out of that office."

The warning made the decision for me.

That afternoon, Conrad took Ivy out to meet with a "brand consultant."

I didn't wait for them to return. I grabbed a master key from the maintenance room.

My mother had always insisted on keeping a spare key for every door, saying the inn was meant to welcome people back, and no door should ever stay locked forever.

Inside, the office showed no obvious signs of tampering. My mother’s framed photo sat on the desk, and the ledgers were still in the cabinet.

But the old desk near the window had been shifted slightly, pressing against the edge of the rug.

I knelt down, pulled back the rug, and felt a loose floorboard underneath.

When I was a child, my mother used to hide emergency funds for our staff right here.

She told me with a smile that the things that truly mattered shouldn't be left where anyone could find them at a glance.

Beneath the board was a manila envelope.

Inside was an addendum to a trust agreement I had never seen, dated two months before my mother passed away.

The first page stated clearly: If the manager of the property participates in the sale, mortgage, or transfer of core assets, the beneficiary reserves the right to immediately revoke management authority.

My heart thrashed against my ribs as I read.

But the final page of the agreement had been neatly torn away.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

I shoved the document into my bag and snapped the board back into place just as the door pushed open.

Conrad stood in the doorway, his eyes falling directly on my dust-stained fingers.

He didn't ask what I had found. Instead, he slowly closed the door and turned the lock.

"I warned you," he said.

I tightened my grip on my bag strap.

“Then unlock it,” I said. “Or explain to Nora why I have to call for help from inside my own office.”

His eyes flicked to the phone in my hand.

Before he could answer, someone knocked on the door.

“Mr. Vale?” Nora called from the hallway. “Your call is waiting on line two.”

Conrad unlocked the door at once.

At the threshold, he turned back to me. His voice was low enough that Nora could not hear it.

“The developer is coming at seven tomorrow night,” he said. “By then, you’d better learn to accept reality.”