28. Owen
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Owen
Page Turners looked unlocked.
I wasn’t surprised. With everything going on, I was sure Aurora was running herself into the ground.
The fight with Hank Lawson had to be the reason I hadn't seen much of her. None of us had.
So, I stopped by The Brewed Bean on my way over and grabbed her a coffee.
When I pushed open the front door of the bookstore, the little bell above it chimed softly. The place was empty, dark except for a lamp glowing at the front counter and a single overhead light coming from the back of the store.
I knew where to find her.
“Aurora?” I called, making my way toward the storeroom.
No answer.
I stepped over a pile of books she’d left scattered near the register and kept going, the scent of old paper and ink growing stronger.
Then I heard it. A muffled grunt, followed by the scrape of something heavy shifting against the floor.
I picked up my pace.
When I reached the storeroom doorway, I stopped short.
Aurora was kneeling on the floor, hair spilling over her shoulder, her sleeves pushed up as she braced herself against a massive metal safe built into the wall.
A heavy-looking cabinet had been dragged aside, revealing a loose wooden panel behind it. Papers and books were strewn across the floor around her, like she’d torn through the room in a hurry.
I frowned. “Are you planning to rob your own bookstore?”
She startled, her head whipping toward me.
I held up the coffee in my hand. “Brought you something. Figured you could use the caffeine before your big heist.”
Aurora let out a breath, shaking her head. “Jesus, Owen. You scared the shit out of me.”
I walked in, setting the cup on a nearby table. “That makes two of us. What the hell is this?”
She exhaled, wiping a smudge of dust from her cheek as she sat back on her heels.
“A safe. I found it behind this panel.” She gestured toward the exposed wall, the heavy iron door of the safe looking as solid as the day it was installed. “It’s what the key unlocks. Although the lock isn’t budging.”
I crouched beside her, running a hand over the metal. It was old, probably hadn't been opened in a while. The hinges were thick with rust, the keyhole nearly swallowed by years of dust and grime.
“Let me try.”
Aurora handed me the key, and I slid it into the lock. It fit perfectly, but when I turned it, nothing happened.
I tightened my grip, twisting harder.
The lock barely budged.
“Damn thing’s seized up,” I muttered.
Aurora let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back against the cabinet. “Figures. The one time I actually have answers within reach, the universe decides to screw with me.”
I leaned back on my heels, thinking. “We need some WD-40. Or oil. Something to loosen it up.”
Aurora rubbed her hands over her face. “And let me guess, you just happen to have some lying around?”
I smirked. “Do you know how many rusted bolts I’ve dealt with at the shop?” I pushed to my feet. “Stay put. I'll be back.”
Aurora let out a half-laugh. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”
At the auto shop, I rummaged through the cluttered back of my truck until I found it: an old can of oil, stained and heavy with the scent of machinery and long-forgotten workdays.
Plus, I found the lock box, which contained the copy of the key that I now knew was for the Page Turners' safe.
Ethan didn’t know where else to keep it, so he’d put it back where he found it. It probably wouldn’t help, but I figured I might as well bring it with me.
Why was there a copy, anyway?
Why was it here? What did the safe have to do with us ?
Back at Page Turners, Aurora was exactly where I’d left her—sitting on the floor in front of the safe, drumming her fingers on her knee, a mix of frustration and impatience written all over her face.
I set the oil can and the spare key down beside her. “Got what we need.”
She eyed the second key, brow furrowing. “Is that the other key?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Found it at the shop. Ethan had put it back in the lockbox.”
Her frown deepened. “Why would it be there in the first place? I’m still confused about that.”
“Good question.”
One I didn’t have an answer for.
But if this safe tied into my family somehow, I needed to find out how deep that connection went.
I picked up the oil can, shaking it before carefully applying a few drops into the lock.
The scent of metal and old grease filled the air as I worked the key back and forth, letting the oil seep in. Aurora hovered beside me, silent but tense, watching my every move.
After a minute, I gave the key one last firm twist.
A low click echoed through the storeroom. Aurora sucked in a breath.
I reached for the handle, hesitating for half a second before pulling the heavy iron door open.
The hinges groaned, protesting years of neglect, but the safe gave way.
A rush of stale air hit us, carrying the scent of aged paper and something else. Something like time itself settling in dust-covered layers.
Inside, stacks of documents were arranged neatly in rows.
A few envelopes, some bound ledgers, and—at the very bottom—a thick, weathered folder marked with George Bennett’s name.
Aurora exhaled shakily. “Holy crap.”
I pulled the folder out, laying it carefully on the floor between us. My fingers brushed over the brittle edges before flipping it open.
The first few pages were financial records—bank statements, transaction logs, things that probably only made sense to an accountant. But beneath those…
I froze.
A deed.
I scanned the document, my heart hammering. It was old but clear as day.
It confirmed that Page Turners had been legally transferred to George Bennett years ago.
No loopholes, no unsettled agreements.
I glanced up at Aurora. Her face was pale, eyes wide as she read over my shoulder.
“This, this proves it,” she whispered. “Hank doesn’t have a claim.”
I flipped to the next page, my stomach tightening as I took in the official stamps, the signatures. Everything was in order.
But then, another set of documents, buried beneath the deed.
These were different.
The paper looked newer, like someone had altered something more recently.
I skimmed them, my pulse pounding.
These weren’t original records. Someone had tampered with them.
Aurora’s hand shot to her mouth.
“He forged documents,” she whispered. “He had to. He made it seem like my uncle never fully owned the bookstore. And my uncle found out.”
The implications hit me hard.
Hank Lawson had built his entire case on a lie.
But that wasn’t all. Buried in the back of the folder was another document—one that made my stomach drop.
It wasn’t just about Aurora’s uncle.
There was another name tied to all of this.
And it was ours.
I met Aurora’s eyes, my grip tightening on the page.
“Whatever this is,” I said, voice low, “it doesn’t just affect you.” I turned the paper toward her. “It affects my family, too.”
Aurora reached for the document in my hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned the page.
I watched as her expression shifted. First confusion, then dawning horror.
“This,” she trailed off, flipping through the rest of the folder like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “This isn’t just about Page Turners.”
I swallowed hard, glancing at the pages now spread between us.
There were letters—old ones, yellowed at the edges—between my grandfather, Walter Grady, and George Bennett.
Financial agreements, business proposals.
And then, a letter that changed everything.
I picked it up, scanning the typed words.
Mr. Bennett,
Per our arrangement, Walter Grady has agreed to the revised terms for the property acquisition. Once the paperwork is finalized, the loan from the bank will be approved, and you will be free of your financial burden.
However, our mutual acquaintance, Mr. Lawson, has informed me of a complication. It would seem certain parties have raised concerns regarding the legitimacy of the deal. To ensure a smooth transaction, Mr. Lawson will handle the matter discreetly.
Your cooperation in keeping this matter private is expected.
Best regards,
A. Reynolds
I barely heard Aurora’s sharp inhale as the words sank in.
Reynolds. The old bank manager.
And Mr. Lawson. Hank’s father.
A slow, sick realization crept over me. “Hank’s family—his father—set them up.”
Aurora’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “What?”
I laid out the documents.
“Look at this. This wasn’t just a bad deal. Hank’s father orchestrated the whole thing, made it look like George was in over his head financially, forced my grandfather into a position where he had no choice but to pull out. And then, when George tried to fight back…” I pointed to another letter. “They blackmailed him.”
Aurora grabbed the letter, her jaw tightening.
It was from George to Walter Grady.
Walter,
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this quiet. They have something on me, something I can’t let get out. You know the truth, but I can’t ask you to ruin your family to clear my name. Just take care of yourself, alright?
If anything happens to me, don’t let them win.
Aurora pressed a hand to her mouth.
“This is why Hank’s been after Page Turners,” I said, my voice low. “It’s not just about money or some business deal gone bad. He's trying to finish what his father started. He's rewriting history to make himself look like the town’s most powerful man.”
She stared at me, her expression unreadable.
“He blackmailed my uncle,” she whispered. “He forced him into a corner, just like Hank is trying to do now.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy with the weight of the truth.
Then Aurora clenched her fists.
“We can prove it,” she said, determination sparking in her eyes. “We have to.”
I met her gaze, feeling that same fire light inside me.
Hank Lawson thought he could control this town. But he had no idea what was coming for him.
Aurora hadn't said much after we finished going through the documents.
She sat on the floor, her back against the cabinet, staring at the papers like they might rearrange themselves into something easier to understand.
Something less devastating.
I knew the feeling. But the more I looked at her, the more I saw how much this was weighing on her.
The tension in her shoulders, the tight grip she had on the letter in her lap. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, barely holding everything together.
And I wasn’t about to let her drown in it.
“We’re leaving.”
She blinked, finally looking up at me. “What?”
I stood, offering her a hand. “Come on. We’re getting out of here for the night.”
Aurora let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Owen, I can’t just leave.”
“Yes, you can.” I crouched in front of her, lowering my voice. “You need a break, Aurora. This? All of this? It'll still be here tomorrow. But you? You need to breathe. And I’m not letting you sit here all night torturing yourself over something that wasn’t your fault.”
She swallowed hard, her throat working as she glanced at the mess around us. I could tell she wanted to argue.
That she felt like she should stay, keep fighting, keep pushing herself.
But when her eyes met mine, something in her shifted.
“Where are we going?”
A small smile pulled at my lips. “You'll see.”
Thirty minutes later, we were parked on a quiet stretch of the lake outside town. The sky was dark, the stars bright against the water.
The only sounds were the soft lapping of the lake against the shore and the occasional chirp of crickets in the distance.
Aurora wrapped her arms around herself as I grabbed the blanket from the truck bed and spread it out on the ground.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” she asked, arching a brow.
I shrugged. “Let’s just say I had a feeling you’d need it.”
She sighed, glancing out over the water. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.” I reached for her hand, tugging her down to sit beside me. “But I wanted to.”
For a while, we just sat there. I didn’t push her to talk.
Didn’t ask how she was feeling or what she was thinking.
I just let her be, let her sit in the quiet without the weight of the bookstore, the safe, or Hank Lawson pressing down on her.
Then, after a long silence, she spoke.
“I don’t know how to do this, Owen.” Her voice was quiet, tired. “I keep trying, but it feels like the second I get a grip on something, everything shifts again. I came here thinking I’d just sell the bookstore and leave.”
She let out a bitter laugh.
“Now I’m in the middle of some decades-old conspiracy that nearly destroyed your family. And my uncle, he must have been so scared to keep this secret for so long. Nancy said he was being blackmailed, but she didn’t know by whom. It has to be the Lawson family.”
I didn’t say anything. Just pulled her into my arms, letting her lean into me.
She didn’t fight it. For a long time, she just sat there, her cheek against my chest, her breathing slow and even.
And then I felt it, the slight shake of her shoulders.
A quiet sniffle.
I tightened my arms around her, resting my chin against the top of her head. “You don’t have to carry all of this on your own, Aurora.”
She didn’t answer, but her hand curled into my shirt, holding onto me like I was the only thing keeping her together.
We stayed like that until the stars blurred, until the weight in her chest seemed just a little bit lighter.
And when she finally pulled back, eyes still a little red but her breath steadier, I reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Better?” I asked softly.
She gave me a look that was part exasperation, part gratitude. “You're impossible.”
I grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She shook her head, letting out a soft laugh, and I finally saw something in her eyes that wasn’t exhaustion.
It was hope.
And I swore, right then and there, that I’d do whatever it took to keep it there.