10. Owen
OWEN
Owen kept his eyes fixed on the older woman, the heavy quiet of the intensive care waiting area stretching tight as her words lingered in the air.
His chest ached with a deep, crushing sympathy for his longtime mentor, the raw weight of her decades-old heartbreak mirroring the quiet shadows he carried within his own ribs.
Yet, beneath the layer of deep sorrow, a cold, persistent friction began to needle at his thoughts.
One specific name from her narrative stood out with a terrifying, unyielding clarity.
It was a name that had been chasing him since he launched his own academic career, a name that had actively driven the conspiracy that destroyed the woman he had loved deeply.
He leaned forward slightly in his vinyl chair, looking directly into her lined face. Her eyes were still wet with tears from the emotional step back into her own history. "You never mentioned you had a direct run-in with Professor Hyrum Wineberg before all of this happened."
Her jaw clenched into a hard, rigid line, the fragile, grieving posture vanishing as a familiar flash of academic fire sparked deep in her gaze. She turned her head slowly to meet his look, her tone carrying an undercurrent of old fury. "Yes. I've known Hyrum for most of my life."
"How?" Linda asked before Owen could form a secondary question.
She shifted in her seat, her brow furrowing deeply as she looked between her aunt and the café owner.
"He's the exact same man who acted as the primary driving force behind the scenes in Charleston.
He's the one who ended up destroying not only all of your hard work back then, but he fractured three separate people's lives beyond repair. "
Anna let out a slow, heavy breath, shaking her head sadly as she adjusted the strap of her canvas bag.
"I'm originally from a very old-money family in Charleston," Anna admitted, her gaze drifting toward the glass partition where George lay sleeping. "My parents and Hyrum's family went back generations in the exact same social circles."
Owen's heart clenched tight at the admission. A dull, heavy knot of dread began to tighten behind his ribs, and he thoroughly disliked the direction the logic was heading. The structure of her history felt eerily close to the wreckage of his own past academic nightmare.
"Okay," Owen said, swallowing hard against the dryness that had taken over his throat. He reached down to touch the plastic rim of his lukewarm coffee cup, needing the physical anchor to keep his hands from shaking.
"He was constantly following me around when we were younger," Anna told them, her teeth clicking slightly as she remembered the stifling pressure of her youth.
"Our parents even suggested at one point that we should form a legal arrangement, establishing a formal engagement to finally join the Wineberg and Caldwell families together into a single corporate empire. "
"Oh dear," Maggie said softly, her eyes widening as she sat forward, her fingers tightening around her paper napkin as she, too, figured out the internal gears of the timeline.
"Hyrum got it firmly into his head that we were destined to be engaged, regardless of my own choices," Anna continued, her features hardening with a cold disdain.
"I had no desire to be part of his world, and he was never a man who took personal or professional rejection well.
" She clenched her jaw, her fingers tracing a slow line against her knee.
"I left Charleston to go off to university, trying to put a massive amount of distance between us.
He followed me there. I dedicated my life to studying field archaeology.
He changed his major to do the exact same thing.
But whereas I truly wanted to get to know our past and preserve the heritage of these coastal lands, his sole motivation was to commodify it. "
Owen nodded slowly, recognizing the clinical, ruthless pattern. "He wanted to exploit the discipline for private gain."
"He wanted to use the past to collect money, pure and simple," Anna explained, her tone dripping with a sharp edge of intellectual contempt.
"He saw historical sites not as sacred human timelines to be protected, but as transactional leverage.
He made a lucrative career by acting as a mercenary for wealthy real estate trusts, running fraudulent contract archaeology reports to either fabricate or refute discoveries depending on who was signing his paycheck.
And to be honest, he was never talented enough to execute a real dig.
He relied entirely on the labor and intelligence of others to build his professional standing.
I don't think he even managed to earn that doctoral degree on his own merit. "
Owen sat back against his cushion, a dark, heavy revelation clicking into place behind his eyes as he looked at Linda.
The multi-generational pattern of the Wineberg family's deception was finally out in the open.
Hyrum Wineberg had used his fraudulent surveying empire to shatter George's trust and ruin Anna's reputation forty years ago.
Now, decades later, his equally ruthless niece, Dr. Debbi Wineberg, had arrived on the shores of Sanibel Island to run the exact same underhanded playbook against the next generation of the Heart family.
He glanced back through the wide glass window at the quiet room where George lay sedated, the steady, rhythmic beep of the monitor continuing its slow count in the silence.
The battle to save the hotel wasn't just a simple real estate dispute anymore.
It was a deeply personal war against an old, lingering shadow that had been trying to tear their family apart for half a century, and Owen knew they had to hold the line together, no matter what the final cost might be.
Because that same family wanted to tear him apart as well and for the same reason.
Their twisted sense of love was a possession that they owned and ruthlessly controlled.
To the Wineberg family, they took whatever they wanted even if the other party wasn’t willing to give it up. It was their right as a family of self-obsessed narcissists who’d also do anything to protect their family name. A name that was built on illegal alcohol, diamond, and real estate deals.
Owen shifted his weight against the rigid plastic of his waiting room chair, the lukewarm cardboard cup in his hands offering a faint, grounding heat.
The technical details of the Wineberg family history were clicking together in his mind like the heavy pieces of a corporate ledger, and the picture it painted was grim.
"He seems to be a man who has bought everything in his life," Owen said bitterly, his gaze tracking the slow rise and fall of the green vitals line on the distant monitor.
"Oh, yes, their family is wealthy," Anna said, her shoulders tightening as a visible shudder ran through her frame.
Owen did not miss the physical reaction; it was the quiet, structural tell of an old trauma she had carried for forty years.
"I have to say, I don't think all his family's wealth was made through legitimate means. "
"It seems they still aren't making money through legitimate means," Michael chimed in, his voice flat as he shifted in his seat.
"From what I can gather with the way things are moving since Dr. Wineberg arrived back on the island, I think they are gearing up to discredit the current find.
" He blew out a breath. “I think they might just use your history at Hearts Hotel to sow the seeds of doubt.”
"I know," Anna interrupted, her head snapping around with a sharp, focused intensity as her eyes shot directly to meet Owen's look. "Owen, I thought you said Dr. Wineberg left the island with that man she came with."
"No, apparently she didn't," Owen told her, setting his coffee down on the empty chair beside him to steady his movements. "And neither did Baxter Johnson, the Waynes' cousin."
"Baxter Johnson?" Anna repeated, and a sharp, calculating flash moved deep in her eyes as her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She tilted her head, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm against her canvas tote bag. "How exactly is Baxter Johnson involved with Dr. Wineberg?"
"They are together," Owen said, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees. "Well, I think they are together. It's the second time I've spotted her with the man, and her body language looked remarkably possessive when they were clearing the lobby."
A sharp, nasty sound escaped Anna's lips, her expression turning into a mask of pure, intellectual scorn.
"That woman has spent the past ten years hunting you down Owen.
I doubt very much that she's genuinely involved with Baxter Johnson.
" She let out a long, heavy sigh, her posture dropping a fraction as she looked toward the floor.
"He's simply not rich enough for her tastes, nor does he possess the financial capital required to drag her family out of the corporate mess they've been tumbling into for the past ten to twenty years.
" She shook her head with a slow, definitive motion.
"They desperately need you, or someone with your specific type of generational wealth, to come back and bail them out of trouble. Not to mention her brother’s upcoming campaign for governor. "
"Owen's wealth?" Maggie and Michael chorused in unison, their voices rising slightly in the quiet alcove.
They turned their heads simultaneously, their stares shifting in an accusatory, blindsided manner toward Martin and Linda, who sat across the row. Neither Linda nor Martin showed a single shred of surprise at the revelation, their features remaining thoroughly relaxed.