Chapter 7: The Lot

The seller of the Harbor Street lot was seventy-eight and ran a bait shop out of a shed.

He met us at his lawyer's office at ten, in a brown cardigan, with a folder of papers he'd had notarized by his granddaughter.

Giles came with me.

He sat in a chair by the window and read his phone, and I knew by now that he was reading nothing.

My sister arrived at five past ten.

She wore a cream suit and Wayne's jacket over her shoulders, and she came in laughing.

Wayne followed, in his good shirt, with a haircut.

My father came last.

His face was grey.

"Hallie," he said. "This is ridiculous. You've been married to Giles for one night, and you're already fighting your sister over a gravel pit."

"It's a good lot, Papa."

"It's a bait shop."

"It's going to be a bait shop for another forty minutes," I said, and the old man chuckled.

The lawyer laid out two offers on his desk.

The first was Bachelder Garage LLC, nine million four hundred thousand.

The second was mine.

"Twelve million," the lawyer said. "Cash, closing today."

Reese's smile slipped.

She hadn't known my number.

She had counted on being the only buyer with a number.

"Where did you get twelve million, Hallie?" Wayne said.

He wasn't angry.

He sounded honestly confused.

"My husband lent it to me," I said.

"For a vacant lot."

"For my own reasons."

"That's insane," my father said. "That money should have gone to the hotels. We're sixty days from missing payroll."

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