Chapter 43
SYLVIE
After pulling myself together enough to function, I made my way to my parents’ house.
Dad was sitting at the dining room table, likely waiting for me.
I could hear Mom in the kitchen. The familiar sounds of her baking—the clatter of cookie sheets, the opening and closing of the oven—providing a comforting backdrop to what I knew was going to be a devastating conversation.
I could only imagine how pissed my dad was going to be at me. I was the one that brought the idea to them. I thought I was delivering good news. He would be disappointed in my naivete. I couldn’t blame him. But the offer was going to come whether I slept with the enemy or not. That much I knew.
Dad looked at me. And yep, there was disappointment in his eyes.
“Did you read this?” he asked quietly.
“Apparently not as well as I should have,” I muttered.
“Do you understand what this is?” His calmness was far more disturbing than the anger I knew was bubbling beneath the surface like a volcano getting ready to blow.
The Bancroft paperwork was spread across the table.
“I do now,” I answered.
His demeanor changed into a storm of anger and betrayal. I’d never seen him look quite like this. His jaw was clenched so tight I worried about his teeth. I said nothing and chose to brace myself for the coming explosion.
“This is insulting,” he said. “The sheer audacity of the Bancrofts thinking this was helping us. This doesn’t help us, Sylvie. This destroys us. With one fatal blow.”
I nodded. My own anger and hurt were temporarily overshadowed by Dad’s rage.
“They want to buy the land outright,” he continued, his voice rising.
“Displace our entire family, flatten everything we’ve built over generations, and drill for oil.
Oil! And they have the gall to present it as if they’re doing us a favor, as if two hundred million dollars makes up for erasing our family’s legacy! ”
“Harold, keep your voice down,” Mom said. “The guests at the lodge will hear you.”
That was doubtful but she was trying to make a point.
I sat in the chair across from him, feeling like a child who’d brought home a failing report card. There was nothing I could say that would make this better. No explanation that would undo the damage I’d caused by trusting Kent Bancroft.
“Do you have any idea what this means for everyone who works for us?” Dad continued, his voice shaking with fury.
“Bill Anderson with his horses? The seasonal workers who depend on Christmas tree sales? The housekeeping staff at the lodge? They’ll all lose their jobs.
And for what? So some oil company can tear up the land that’s been in our family for over three centuries? ”
I watched him pace behind the table, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. In all my twenty-seven years, I’d never seen my father this angry. Even when Brom had crashed the family truck into the barn when he was sixteen, Dad hadn’t looked this devastated.
“The whole town will have to move,” he went on.
“Do you understand that? This isn’t just about us losing the lodge and the tree farm.
The drilling operation will make this area uninhabitable.
The noise, the pollution, the constant truck traffic hauling equipment in and oil out.
Everyone who stays will have to deal with that, and most people won’t.
They’ll pack up and leave, just like we’ll have to. ”
My throat felt tight. I hadn’t thought about the ripple effects.
I barely had time to get my head around us being forced to move.
I didn’t think about how the oil operation would affect our neighbors and friends.
I’d been so focused on our own family crisis that I hadn’t considered how this would destroy the entire community.
“Dad, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I thought—”
“You thought what?” He whirled to face me. “That the Bancrofts were philanthropists? That they wanted to throw money at a failing business out of the goodness of their hearts? Sylvie, you’re smarter than that. Or at least I thought you were.”
The disappointment in his voice cut deeper than any shouting could have. I felt tears threatening again, but I forced them back. My father deserved better than my self-pity right now.
“I know how desperate we’ve been,” I said quietly. “I know how worried you and Mom have been about money. When Kent said his family wanted to invest, I wanted to believe it so badly that I didn’t ask the right questions.”
“Kent.” Dad practically spat the name. “That boy’s been playing you from the beginning, hasn’t he? Charming his way into your good graces while planning to take everything we’ve worked for.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. The shame of how thoroughly I’d been manipulated was almost unbearable.
“Where is he now?” Dad asked.
“I don’t know.”
Mom appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Harold, it isn’t her fault. She didn’t know.”
He softened a little. “I know it’s not your fault, Sylvie. I’m just so pissed!”
“I know. Me too.”
He grabbed his coat from where it hung by the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, though I already knew the answer from the look on his face.
“I’m going to run that Bancroft punk off our property,” he said, jamming his arms into his coat sleeves.
I jumped up, grabbing my own jacket. “Dad, wait.”
“Don’t try to stop me, Sylvie. That man came into our home under false pretenses, lied to us, manipulated us.”
“I know!” I said. “But let me come with you.”
Mom shook her head. “Harold, Sylvie, don’t you dare make a scene in front of paying customers. Whatever you need to say to that man, do it privately.”
We were already heading out the door. Dad’s long strides ate up the ground between the house and the tree farm. I had to jog to keep up with him. Kent was a big guy and younger, but my dad was born and bred on hard labor and he was pissed. I wasn’t sure who would win a fist fight.
The wagon ride had just ended when we arrived. Families were climbing down from the decorated wagons. Children chattered excitedly about the experience. And there was Ozzo, grinning his usual dopey grin, handing out candy canes to kids who were beaming from ear to ear.
The scene was so wholesome, it made the contrast with my current emotional state even more jarring.
“Where’s Kent?” Dad demanded, his voice cutting through the cheerful atmosphere like a knife.
Ozzo looked up, his smile fading slightly when he saw Dad’s expression. “Uh, he drove off. After Sylvie left for lunch.”
“He left you here to run this on your own?” I asked incredulously. After all that talk about helping, after offering to stay and assist with the wagon rides, he’d just abandoned the whole thing the moment things got difficult. “And nothing burned down?”
Ozzo shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the implied insult to his capabilities. “Not yet. It was actually pretty fun. Bill helped, and the families were all really nice.”
Dad turned to Ozzo with the full force of his authority. “Listen carefully. Kent Bancroft is not allowed on this property without my explicit knowledge and permission. If he shows up, he can collect his things from his room and check out. But after that, he’s not welcome here. Understand?”
Ozzo nodded, all trace of his usual goofiness gone. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
I watched my father turn and march back toward the house, his shoulders rigid with anger and disappointment. The families from the wagon ride were starting to notice that something was wrong, their happy chatter dying down as they sensed the tension.
I felt gutted. Completely hollowed out.
This was supposed to be our salvation. Kent Bancroft was supposed to be the answer to our prayers, the Christmas miracle that saved the farm and the lodge and everything our family had built. Instead, he’d been the final nail in our coffin, the person who’d shown us exactly how much we had to lose.
I’d been so desperately naive.
“You okay, Sylvie?” Ozzo asked quietly, having apparently dismissed the families back toward the lodge.
“No,” I said honestly. “But I will be. Do you know where Kent went?”
He shrugged. “He was pretty grumpy. Hopped in that SUV and left.”
Maybe he had run back to the city. I wouldn’t put it past him to drop his little bomb and then run.
Coward.
“Do we have anyone else scheduled for rides?” I asked Ozzo.
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“I’ll be at the lodge. If you get busy or need me, just text.”
“Is everything okay?” Ozzo asked.
I knew we all gave the kid a hard time and assumed he was clueless, but I knew he was a lot smarter than he let on.
I forced a smile. “Honestly, Ozzo, I don’t know. When I figure out what’s going on, I’ll tell you.”
“I liked him,” Ozzo said.
“I know. Me too.”
I walked back to the lodge feeling like I was moving through quicksand. Every step took enormous effort, and the cheerful Christmas decorations that lined the path seemed to mock my devastation.
When I pushed through the front doors, Stacy looked up from behind the check-in counter with obvious concern etched across her face. She’d clearly been waiting for me to return.
“What did Harold say?” she asked immediately. “Is he mad?”
I snorted, the sound bitter and humorless. “Mad would be an understatement. He’s furious. At Kent, at the situation, at me for being so gullible.”
“Sylvie, no.”
“He’s right to be angry,” I continued, dropping into one of the lobby chairs. “I brought this disaster right to our doorstep. I was so desperate for good news that I didn’t ask the right questions. I just believed everything Kent told me because I wanted to believe it.”
Stacy came around the counter and sat across from me. “You couldn’t have known. He lied to all of us.”
Before I could respond, the front doors burst open with enough force to rattle the windows.
Brom stormed in, his face a mask of rage that made Dad’s anger look mild by comparison.
His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
There was a dangerous energy radiating from him that made me instinctively lean back in my chair.
“Where is he?” Brom demanded, his voice low and deadly. “Where’s that lying piece of shit Kent Bancroft?”
“Brom, your blood pressure,” Stacy started, rising from her chair.
“I just heard what he did,” he continued, ignoring his wife’s warning tone. “Dad filled me in on the whole goddamn thing. That bastard came here pretending to help us while planning to destroy everything we’ve built. Where is he? I want to personally beat the shit out of him.”
“Brom, calm down,” Stacy said firmly, moving to stand between her husband and the rest of the lobby. “We have guests in the building.”
“I don’t give a damn about the guests right now,” Brom snapped, but he lowered his voice slightly. “That son of a bitch manipulated our entire family. He lied to Sylvie’s face while planning to take everything from us. You’re damn right I want to beat the hell out of him.”
I felt a fresh wave of shame wash over me. Not only had I fallen for Kent’s lies, but now my brother was ready to commit assault because of my stupidity.
“He’s not here,” I said quietly. “He left after I confronted him.”
“Ran off like the coward he is,” Brom said with disgust. “Probably halfway back to Manhattan by now, congratulating himself on a job well done.”
“Brom, please,” Stacy said. “We’ll have a family meeting later. Freaking out isn’t going to help anyone. We need to all stop and think.”
“You think his offer is something we should consider?” Brom asked with rage coloring his voice.
“No, I’m saying you better get your butt outside with that attitude.”
He immediately backed down. “I’m going to chop wood.”
“Good. I love you.”
He paused, softened, and gave his wife a kiss. “I love you.”
After he left, Stacy shook her head. “Boy, I hope that man knows better than to show up here. I don’t think I can hold Brom back.”
I covered my face with my hands. The mess was only going to get messier.