Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
E vie hummed to herself as she moved about the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows and spilled across the familiar space. She breathed in deeply, a simple moment that reminded her so much of lazy mornings with Nana. And soon, this would be hers. As Tally had said, she’d find a way if she really wanted it.
As she reached for a mug, a sharp knock at the door made her pause and a smile tugged at her lips. Randy, no doubt, coming by with his usual morning treat and to open another item from the Christmas box.
She hurried to the door, her bare feet padding softly across the worn wooden floor. She smoothed her hair quickly, then reached for the doorknob, ready to greet Randy with a warm smile.
But as the door swung open, her smile faltered. Instead of Randy’s friendly face, she found herself face-to-face with a stern-looking man in a crisp suit. His expression was impassive, almost cold, and he clutched a sleek leather briefcase in one hand.
“Good morning,” the man said, his voice as stiff as his posture. “Are you Genevieve Chancey?”
Her breath caught. “Ah no, that’s my grandmother.”
“I need to see her.” It was more a command than a request.
“She’s…” She swallowed. “I’m sorry. She’s passed away.”
A brief startled look slipped across the man’s face, but he recovered quickly. “I see. And are you her heir?”
“Why are you asking?” A sense of unease crept over her.
“My name is Dexter Barlowe,” he said, not bothering to offer his hand. “I need to speak with you about a matter of some importance. Since Mrs. Chancey is gone, I should talk to you if you are her granddaughter. May I come in?”
She hesitated, her hand tightening on the doorknob. Everything about this man set her on edge—his formal attire was so out of place on the island, and his businesslike demeanor seemed to chill the warm morning air. But curiosity mingled with her apprehension.
“I… suppose so,” she said finally, stepping back to allow him entry. “Please, come in.”
She closed the door behind him, wishing fervently that it had been Randy at the door instead.
She led Mr. Barlowe into the living room, her mind racing. The cozy space now seemed small and confining. She gestured for him to take a seat on the couch while she perched on the edge of Nana’s chair, her back straight and tense.
Mr. Barlowe settled himself, placing his briefcase on the coffee table. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the weathered furniture and the family photos on the mantel. There was something in his gaze that made her uncomfortable. It was as if he was assessing the value of everything he saw.
“As I said, I have something important to discuss with you.” Mr. Barlowe’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve recently been going through my grandfather’s estate and came across something quite interesting.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a leather portfolio. He carefully extracted an old, yellowed document. The paper looked fragile, its edges slightly frayed with age.
“What is that?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“This,” he said, holding up the document, “is a loan agreement between my grandfather and yours.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “A loan agreement?”
He nodded, his expression grave. “It appears that your grandfather, William, borrowed a significant sum from my grandfather many years ago. And according to this document, he used this very cottage as collateral.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. She felt the blood drain from her face as she struggled to process what she was hearing. “That… that can’t be right,” she stammered. “I’ve never heard anything about a loan.”
“I’m afraid it is,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “And according to the terms of the agreement, the full amount is now due.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when she had just decided to make this place her home. “May I… may I see the document?” she asked, struggling to hide the panic rising inside her.
Mr. Barlowe handed her the yellowed papers. She took them, her hands trembling slightly as she unfolded them. She scanned the faded typewritten words, seeing her grandfather’s signature at the bottom. The amount listed made her eyes widen in disbelief.
As the reality of the situation sank in, she felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath her. The cottage, her inheritance, her newfound dream of staying on Belle Island—it all seemed to be slipping away in an instant.
“I’ll need to have a lawyer look over these documents,” she said, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt.
Mr. Barlowe nodded, his expression unchanged. “Of course. I’ve made you a copy.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope, handing it to her while taking back the original document.
She accepted the envelope, her fingers gripping it tightly. “Thank you,” she said, though gratitude was the last thing she felt at that moment.
Mr. Barlowe cleared his throat, then continued in his businesslike tone. “I should inform you that I’m legally entitled to collect the full amount immediately or take possession of the cottage. My lawyers have thoroughly examined the document.”
Her heart sank even further. “And how long do I have to… to figure this out?”
“I’m giving you a deadline of two weeks to repay the loan,” Mr. Barlowe stated flatly.
The room spun around her. Two weeks? How could she possibly come up with that kind of money in just fourteen days? She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure.
“Mr. Barlowe,” she began, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts, “is there any way we could negotiate? Or maybe extend the deadline? This is all so sudden, and I?—”
“I’m afraid not,” he cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve already waited far too long to claim what’s rightfully mine. I have no idea why my grandfather didn’t collect on this debt sooner.”
A flicker of anger ignited amid her panic. How could he be so cold about this? This wasn’t just a piece of property to her. This was her grandmother’s home, filled with memories and love.
“But this cottage,” she tried again, “it’s been in my family for years. My grandmother just passed away. Surely you can understand. I need some time.”
Mr. Barlowe held up a hand, cutting her off once more. “I sympathize with your situation, but business is business. The terms of the agreement are clear, and I’m well within my rights to enforce them.”
She fell silent, her mind frantically searching for a solution, any solution. But the reality of the situation left her feeling helpless and overwhelmed.
Mr. Barlowe stood, straightening his suit jacket. “I’ll expect to hear from you or your lawyer soon.” He handed her a business card. “Good day.”
As he let himself out, she noticed a hint of satisfaction in his expression, as if he was already envisioning the cottage as his own. She sank back into her chair and pulled out her copy of the agreement, reading it over again.
Dropping it onto the table, she stood and walked over to the bookshelf, picking up a framed photo of Nana, remembering her grandmother’s words: “You end up in life where you’re supposed to be.”
Maybe this meant the cottage was never truly meant to be hers.