10. Owen #2
Anna's eyes widened a fraction as she took in the sudden spike in tension, and she turned an apologetic look toward the younger archaeologist. "Oh, didn't you know? Sorry, Owen, I thought they were already aware of the family background."
"It's okay," Owen said, offering a quiet, reassuring wave to ease her discomfort. He felt a faint flush of self-consciousness creeping up his neck, but he kept his voice steady. "I'm from a wealthy background. It's not something I advertise around the bay."
Maggie's eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, her attention locking onto Michael first before tracking over to Linda's calm expression.
"I went to college with him," Linda explained softly, reaching out to give Maggie's arm a gentle, defusing pat. "We've been close friends for a very long time. Of course I know about his family's corporate holdings."
"And I'm his primary financial advisor," Martin told them, adjusting his sunglasses with a low chuckle that did little to soothe Maggie’s annoyance. "I've been managing his structural portfolios for many years, long before I ever made the choice to pack up and move down to Sweet Blossom Bay."
Owen drew in a slow breath, deciding it was time to put the remaining cards on the table to keep the family anchored in the truth.
"George knows about it as well," he confessed quietly, looking toward Michael.
"The moment I realized the depth of the hotel's debt structure, I offered to use my family's private capital to clear the foreclosure lines.
But your uncle told me in no uncertain terms that he would formally disown me and ban me from the property if I ever tried to interfere with his accounts. "
"He told me the exact same thing when I reviewed the registry assets," Martin added, his tone turning sober.
"Yeah, he said that to me too when I brought up the regional bank expansion parameters," Maggie murmured, her defensive posture finally relaxing as she leaned back against the vinyl cushion.
"None of you have a single thing to feel guilty about regarding the hotel's financial status," Linda said, her voice firm as she looked around the small circle of chairs. "Uncle George is a remarkably proud man, and he was never going to allow outside capital to fix his private battles."
"To the point of his own absolute detriment," Anna hissed, her features darkening with a sudden, hot flash of ancient anger.
Her jaw clenched tight, her breathing turning shallow as she stared at the glass partition.
"That man... he is so thoroughly infuriating.
" She sniffed softly, her eyes misting over with a sudden wave of buried affection that she quickly tried to blink away.
"And right before he passed out inside the room, his final words were a direct message for me to tell you, Anna, he was sorry," Michael pointed out, his gaze locking onto Anna's face with an unyielding intensity.
"Given the timing and the stress of the revelation, I think he genuinely wants to make amends for the past."
"Uncle George actually said that?" Linda asked, turning a stunned, searching look toward her brother.
"Yes," Michael confirmed as he looked back down at the technical files clutched against his chest.
“So when you say wealthy, Owen,” Maggie was still processing how this archaeologist who ran a small community cafe and drove a beaten-up Volvo was rich. “How wealthy?”
“Do I have to tell you?” Owen asked, feeling decidedly awkward.
He didn’t want to tell them that his family owned at least two properties in nearly every state in America and around the world.
His father collected sports cars from the age of fifteen and had to build a few air hangar-sized garages to fit in his collection.
They owned a few private jets and helicopters, and there were not enough lifetimes for him to spend all their money.
As the only child, when his parents were no longer on this earth, he was going to donate it all to the most needy, real causes.
All of a sudden, he thought of Isabel and how perfect she’d be to handle that with him.
He could picture them at charity galas, visiting places around the world that were in desperate need of infrastructure, medicine, and other essentials.
Suddenly he realized what he was doing and forced his thoughts to skid to a stop. What the heck, Owen. He forced himself back to the room. Owen swallowed hard and took a minute to compose himself.
He turned his attention back to Anna, his analytical mind tracking the legal irregularities of the multi-generational threat.
"Hyrum Wineberg, Dr. Debbi Wineberg's uncle... why exactly are they so adamantly driven to discredit everything connected to Hearts Hotel?"
“Psycho?” Maggie offered.
Owen snorted. That was one way to describe Hyrum. He’d met the man more than he’d like to remember. Then he looked at Anna.
“Do you think Hyrum is after the hotel over revenge?” He frowned. “He was obviously obsessed with you, Anna.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Anna said.
“I took the job in Sweet Blossom Bay to get away from him,” she admitted.
“The man was insufferable. He interrogated and drove away anyone I so much as looked at as a potential date when I was in Charleston.” She smiled.
“I loved living here in Florida so much. I was finally free from that jealous idiot. Free from his overbearing shadow and the constant nagging of my family and his at how good a family alliance would be.” Owen saw anger spark in her eyes.
“Do you know he basically demanded that I join his archaeologist team? They weren’t archaeologists; they were glorified treasure hunters desecrating sacred relics and delicate pieces of history. ”
“I hate people like that,” Linda hissed.
“I think we all do,” Owen agreed.
“So you think this is all about revenge?” Linda asked, her brows furrowed as she turned her focus away from the partition. She looked over at her brother, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make sense of the corporate overlap. “Have you managed to figure out who owns South Coast Holdings?”
“Not yet,” Michael said, his expression tight as he adjusted the paper cup in his hands.
“South Coast Holdings?” Anna frowned, her head snapping around with a sharp, focused intensity. “They were the exact same corporate entity that went after the hotel registry forty years ago. Shouldn’t it be a simple legal matter to verify their articles of incorporation?”
“We found out who the acting head of the company is, but the registration is a total front,” Michael explained, his legal mask remaining steady as he ran through the corporate filing data.
“The entity is structured as a nested series of anonymous shell companies managed by a registered agent out of Delaware, utilizing a nominee director to sign the annual listings. This placeholder director handles the basic regulatory filings but possesses zero actual capital investment in the fund. When our investigators pressed their offices, the nominee flatly denied that there were any other ultimate beneficial owners or external parties involved with the holding trust.”
Just then, a sharp, rhythmic chime broke through the quiet of the alcove as a text message dinged on Anna’s phone.
Owen did not look up from his coffee, his brow knitting deeply as the specific nomenclature clicked into place within his thoughts.
A cold, familiar friction began to needle at his memory.
“It sounds remarkably similar to South Coast Homes.” He shook his head, his fingers tracing a slow line against the cardboard rim of his cup.
“That specific real estate firm is owned directly by Reginald Wineberg, Debbi’s father and Hyrum’s older brother.
Their family also controls South Coast Hotels, alongside South Coast Development and Surveys. ”
Michael’s eyes widened, his posture going rigid against the painted doorframe. “Why on earth didn’t you say something about those corporate patterns before now?”
“I honestly didn't put the structural naming conventions together until this exact minute,” Owen admitted, looking up to meet his friend’s startled gaze.
“They use so many different layered holding entities to mask their transactions that the individual pieces always look disconnected until you lay them out side by side.”
“I will get a corporate investigator to run a comprehensive asset trace on those Delaware shells right away,” Michael declared, his features setting into a firm, resolute line. He stood up, glancing through the glass partition at his uncle one final time. “I’ll be back, Uncle George.”
He turned on his heel and strode down the long corridor toward the visitor elevators to make the high-leverage legal call in private.
“Could it genuinely be possible?” Linda asked, her voice turning into a fragile whisper as she looked across at the chairs.
“If South Coast Holdings is actively coming after the Hearts Hotel after all this time, is it truly because of an ancient grudge held by Hyrum Wineberg?” She swallowed hard, her throat constricting. “That is completely insane.”
“No,” Maggie said, offering a slow, sober shake of her head as she let out a heavy sigh. “It is not insane at all. People execute truly dangerous, destructive things when they are pathologically obsessed with a person.” She sat forward, her eyes widening as she pursed her lips in deep thought.
“From what Anna just revealed about the way he was obsessed with her decades ago,” Owen said, quiet and hollow.
He understood full well what it meant to become the primary target of a Wineberg family fixation.
“Their family will stop at nothing short of utterly destroying the target and every single person around them just to validate their own toxic jealousy.”