Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Sabrina stared at the tablet in Kara Donnelly's hands and tried to make the numbers mean something other than what they meant.
"This is the current valuation," Kara said, her stylus moving as she scrolled through screens. "Rough estimate, given the damage. The structure itself is a total loss, obviously, but the land..." She looked up, eyes sharp but kind behind wire-rimmed glasses. "The land is worth a great deal."
They stood off to the side of what used to be the front lawn, where the grass had somehow escaped the worst of the destruction.
The ruins of Norman House filled Sabrina's peripheral vision, a constant presence she refused to look at directly.
Not yet. Kara had claimed a patch of relatively untouched ground and turned it into an impromptu office, tablet balanced on one arm, neat navy blazer buttoned over a cream blouse that had probably never seen ash or smoke or anything more distressing than a spilled latte.
Colby stood a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, boots planted in the grass like he'd grown there. He didn't say much. He just watched, steady and quiet, like always. A solid presence at the edge of her awareness.
"How much is 'a great deal'?" Sabrina asked.
Kara tapped the screen, then angled it so Sabrina could see the figures displayed there.
"Based on recent comparable sales in Copper Moon and the surrounding area, and adjusting for your location near the lake, you're looking at high six figures for the parcel alone.
Potentially more if there's competitive interest."
The number sat there on the screen, dark and precise against the white background. It didn't look real. It looked like something that happened to other people, in other lives.
Sabrina swallowed. "For dirt."
"For land," Kara corrected gently. "This size parcel, this close to town and the water, with existing utilities and road access? It's prime real estate. There aren't many pieces like it left in the area."
Sabrina's gaze flicked, involuntarily, toward the ruined house. Charred beams reaching toward the sky. Twisted metal that caught the afternoon light. The skeleton of the place her grandparents had poured their lives into, reduced to geometry and ash.
"Prime," she repeated. The word tasted bitter.
Kara shifted her grip on the tablet. "I know this is a lot to take in. But I wanted you to have clear information before anyone else tries to give you their version. You're going to have decisions to make, and I don't want you blindsided by numbers or offers or pressure."
"Decisions like what?" Sabrina asked, even though she already knew. Even though the answers were already forming in her chest like stones.
"Whether to rebuild. Whether to sell." Kara hesitated, something flickering across her professional composure. "Whether to consider offers that may come your way."
A chill threaded through Sabrina's chest, settling somewhere near her heart. "Offers."
Kara gave a small nod. "I've already had a call this morning. A development group that's been watching Copper Moon for a while now—they've made inquiries on other properties in the past. They saw the news about the fire online. They asked if the Norman property might be available."
Sabrina's fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. "They didn't waste time."
"No," Kara said. "They didn't."
"What did you tell them?"
"That it's far too early to discuss anything," Kara answered, her voice carrying a firmness that Sabrina found unexpectedly comforting. "That you're still processing what happened, and that if you decide to consider selling at some point, you'll do it on your terms and your timeline. Not theirs."
Some of the tightness eased from Sabrina's lungs. "Thank you."
"Of course." Kara's expression softened, the real estate professional giving way to something more human.
"I'm on your side, Sabrina. I've known your family since I was a kid eating pie at your grandmother's table.
My job right now is to make sure you know what your options are. Not to push you into any of them."
Sabrina nodded, but her heart had begun to pound, hard and fast, like it was trying to beat its way out of her chest and escape this conversation entirely.
"Tell me about the land," she said, because talking about dirt and acreage felt safer than letting her mind linger on a nameless development group circling like vultures over carrion.
Kara turned the tablet back to herself and flicked through another screen, pulling up what looked like a property survey.
"You've got just under twenty acres total.
The inn and the cabin took up roughly two of those.
The rest is a mix of open fields and light woods—mature trees, and good drainage.
Zoning is already in place for lodging and hospitality use, which is a significant advantage.
Utilities run out to the old cabin site.
Both septic and well tested fine last year.
Access road is solid, recently resurfaced, and you're within easy driving distance of the town and the marina. "
Sabrina listened, the words stacking up in her head like details from someone else's life. Facts about a property she'd never thought of as facts before. It had always just been home.
"Developers like what you have," Kara continued.
"They see potential for a boutique resort, mid-range vacation cottages, maybe a spa and wellness center.
That kind of thing draws tourists with money to spend.
The parcel's large enough to support multiple structures without feeling crowded or overdeveloped. "
The ground under Sabrina's feet felt suddenly unsteady, like the earth itself might shift.
"So they'd level everything," she said. "Clear the land. Wipe it clean and start over."
"Most likely," Kara said. "That's typically how these projects work. They'd bring in their own architects, their own vision."
Sabrina looked past her, over the yellow tape and debris, toward the tree line that bordered the back of the property.
She couldn't see the old trail from here, but she knew exactly where it cut through the trees, the way it curved toward the small rise that caught the morning light just right.
The spot where her grandfather had built a simple wooden bench so her grandmother could watch the sunrise.
Her grandparents had walked that trail every evening for forty years.
"You're saying I could get a lot of money if I let them erase my family," she said.
Kara winced visibly. "I'm saying the land is valuable, and people will want it.
That's a fact, whether we like it or not.
But you don't have to let anyone do anything.
You can say no, hold the property indefinitely, or you can rebuild something of your own.
Or you can decide you're done with Copper Moon entirely and want a fresh start somewhere else.
" She took a breath. "Any of those choices is valid.
But yes. There is strong interest, and it will only grow as word spreads. "
Sabrina's throat burned. "I can't sell it."
Kara's brows drew together. "You don't have to decide that right now. There's no deadline, no—"
"I can't sell it," Sabrina repeated, her voice gaining an edge she hadn't intended.
"This is my grandparents' land. My mother grew up racing down that hill on summer afternoons.
I learned to ride a bike in that driveway—my grandfather running behind me, holding the seat until I found my balance.
" Her voice shook. "My grandmother's garden used to run along that fence.
My grandfather planted those oak trees so guests would have shade on the porch in the afternoon.
He used to say a good tree was worth more than gold because it kept giving long after you were gone. "
She dragged a hand over her face, pressing her fingers against her eyes until she saw spots. "If I sell it to some development group, they'll plow all of that under and put up something that has nothing to do with any of them. With us. It'll be like they never existed. Like none of it mattered."
Kara held up her free hand, palm out. "Okay. I hear you."
Tears threatened at the edges of Sabrina's vision, hot and insistent.
She blinked them back, focusing on the clean line of Kara's tablet instead of the grief clawing at her chest. "I lost the house, the inn, everything inside—every piece of furniture my grandmother picked out, every photograph on the walls, every guest book she kept on that shelf by the door.
I can't lose the ground under it, too. I can't."
"No one is taking it away from you," Kara said, her voice dropping low and steady. "You hold the deed. That's not going to change unless you choose to change it. The land is yours, Sabrina. Period."
Sabrina nodded, but the fear had already dug in, burrowing deep.
She thought of the way Diaz had said the word arson. The way Colby had stayed by her side through every awful moment. The way someone had walked into her inn and set fire to a hundred and thirty years of Norman history like it meant nothing at all.
If she handed the land over now, it would feel like finishing the job for them.
"I can't sell," she said again, quieter this time, but firmer. The words felt like a wall going up. "Not to them. Not like this."
Kara exhaled slowly, something like relief crossing her features. "Okay. Then we take that off the table for now. Completely."
Sabrina's shoulders eased by a fraction.
Kara tucked the tablet against her chest. "I'll intercept any calls that come in and tell them you're not entertaining offers at this time.
If that changes down the road, let me know, and we'll revisit.
In the meantime, if you want to talk through possibilities that don't involve selling—rebuilding options, financing, anything—I'm available. Just say the word."