4. Anna
ANNA
The sterile, pale green walls of the visitor waiting area felt like a containment cell.
Anna shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the squeak of her rubber-soled shoes against the linoleum flooring breaking the quiet hum of the hospital corridor.
She sat down on one of the rigid vinyl chairs, only to stand up again three seconds later, driven by a restless energy she could not seem to control.
It was hard to believe how nervous she was to face George after all these years.
Decades of forced distance and buried resentment were currently churning in her stomach, making her breath catch in her throat.
She reached down, her fingers tightly patting the side of her large canvas tote bag.
The heavy cardstock texture of the folder inside offered a grim sort of comfort.
It contained every single piece of clear, undeniable evidence she had painstakingly gathered throughout the year, a comprehensive paper trail that left no room for interpretation.
George, you old fool, she thought, closing her eyes as a wave of old exhaustion washed over her.
Why had she still clung to some foolish, desperate hope after all this time?
Why had she even bothered to coordinate this entire effort, just to save a man who had cast her out of his life without a second thought?
Her internal questions were cut short by the sound of firm, measured footsteps approaching from the recovery wing.
Anna opened her eyes and watched Michael walk toward her.
He had a tight, dark expression on his face, his broad shoulders squared in a manner that screamed defensive hostility.
Her heart sank into a cold, hollow space behind her ribs.
She knew without a shadow of a doubt that George had already spun his customized version of their history, poisoning the well before she could even step through the doorway.
A sharp, hot anger boiled through her veins, turning her anxiety into a focused, hard edge. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.
“That stupid, stubborn old fool,” Anna hissed beneath her breath, her jaw locking.
"Can I go in now?" Anna rushed forward the moment Michael reached the edge of the waiting area.
He stopped directly in front of her, his tall frame blocking the path down the hall.
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, his gaze cool, analytical, and deeply assessing.
The legal weight behind his stare sent a sudden chill down her spine.
It was a look she had seen him use in court cases, a detached, probing evaluation designed to strip away defenses and uncover hidden motives.
He was trying to see right through her, searching for the gears of a trick.
"I need to ask you something," Michael said. His voice held no warmth at all.
The initial chill turned to solid ice in her veins as she went rigid. There was no longer any room for doubt. The old coot had delivered his speech, painting her as the manipulative villain who had supposedly tried to ruin the hotel years ago.
"What is it?" Anna asked, holding his stare without flinching. She cocked her head slightly, waiting for the words she knew would be formatted more as a formal accusation than a genuine question.
"Are you certain these findings are genuine, and not...
" Michael paused, his features shifting into a pained, uncomfortable line.
It was clearly difficult for him to cross this line with a member of his own family, but his duty to the hotel registry took precedence.
"...not an elaborate piece of staging?" Before she could unleash the fury building in her chest, his demeanor softened slightly, a wave of patronizing understanding crossing his face.
"Look, I know you were only trying to find a clever way to help us push back against the foreclosure, but if the preservation board discovers that the site was?—"
"So you think I staged this whole thing?
" Anna interrupted him, her words tearing out through her clenched teeth in a vicious, low hiss.
Her heart hammered violently against her ribs, a painful mixture of deep hurt and a sudden, sharp twinge of guilt spurring through her chest. "So he told you his little story? "
Michael swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against his collar as a faint, guilty flush crept up his cheeks. He didn’t get a chance to answer.
Anna saw red. That was the absolute limit of her patience.
She was thoroughly tired of having that old, fraudulent stain follow her name, tired of being the villain in George's private drama while he played the tragic, self-sacrificing martyr.
It was time to put the truth on the table.
Recovery or not, fractured hip or not, that old coot was going to get a substantial piece of her mind, a confrontation she should have forced decades ago instead of hiding away and waiting for the right moment.
Without another word, Anna stepped sharply around Michael's broad shoulders and stormed down the long hallway toward George's room. She didn’t bother to knock.
She gripped the silver handle, throwing the heavy wooden door open with such force that it slammed against the rubber wall stopper.
A wave of grim satisfaction sliced through her as she saw George jump against his pillows, his face turning instantly pale as his sharp eyes locked onto hers.
"You..." George sputtered, his voice cracking as he instinctively reached for the blanket.
Before he could form another syllable, Anna marched straight over to the side of the bed.
She yanked the thick manila folder from her canvas tote bag, her movements swift and sharp.
She was careful not to strike him anywhere near his injured hip.
She was furious, but she was not a monster, and she slammed the heavy packet down directly against his bare torso.
The impact caused a few of the loosely clipped corporate documents to slide out, scattering across the white hospital sheets.
"I think you need to go through every single page in this file," Anna hissed, leaning over the bed rail just enough to force him to look her in the eye.
She was shaking with rage, her fingers trembling as she gripped the metal barrier.
"You read those records before you spread one more single lie about my professional integrity.
Because I swear to you, George Heart, if you whisper another word of that ancient nonsense to your children, I will come back with a full legal team of my own for slander, and I will step back from helping this hotel permanently. "
She did not wait to watch the stunned, silent shock mirror across both George's and Michael's faces. She turned on her heel, her canvas bag swinging against her hip as she headed for the exit, though she paused at the threshold for a final, parting shot.
"I'm glad you're healing," she said to George, her voice dropping into a flat, rigid tone. "I truly hope you won't be as stubborn and prideful with your medical team so they can actually do their jobs and help you recover."
She pushed past Michael where he stood frozen in the doorway, her heels slapping loudly against the tile as she retreated toward the main lobby elevators. "I'll see myself back to the hotel," she threw over her shoulder.
Ten minutes later, Anna was sitting in the back seat of a local cab, her hands still shaking slightly as the vehicle crossed the regional bridge toward Sweet Blossom Bay.
The heavy mid-morning humidity pressed against the closed windows, and her mind was reeling at a frantic pace.
What on earth had she expected? Had she honestly believed that a physical crisis would force George to finally admit he had been wrong?
The man hated admitting even a shred of personal weakness.
His stubbornness was a disease, a prideful flaw so deep it had ruined his own happiness and fractured their lives beyond repair decades ago.
Anna leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the green mangroves blur past. Her thoughts shifted away from the hospital room, landing squarely on Linda and Owen.
She remembered the pure, bright excitement on Linda's face when they had discussed the excavation grids, and how hard Owen had been working to coordinate the validation files. They were fighting so desperately to save their home, placing their full faith in a historical shield she had handed them. A heavy wave of raw guilt hit her square in the chest, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn’t let them continue the fight in the dark.
It was time to come clean to the kids, no matter what the personal cost might be.
The cab pulled up to the shaded front entrance of the Hearts Hotel half an hour later.
Anna paid the driver, grabbed her canvas bag, and marched through the front doors, bypassing the main desk entirely as she headed down the executive corridor.
She found Linda exactly where she expected her to be—sitting behind the large mahogany desk in George's old private office.
A sudden, bittersweet wave of memories hit Anna the second she stepped over the wooden threshold. The smell of old paper, leather, and cedar wood was exactly the same as it had been forty years ago.
"You're back," Linda said, looking up from a ledger sheet with a bright, happy smile. Her expression turned instantly to one of deep concern the moment she took a proper look at Anna's pale, drawn features. "How did it go at the hospital? Is Uncle George doing okay?"