20. Meredith #2
I turn to Richard. “I found this last night, hidden in the Shack. Sixty grand.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.
“You said it yourself—if I could prove he left something behind, you’d consider holding off on the sale.”
“I said I’d consider it. This”—he gestures to the money, then to me— “isn’t proof. It’s another headache, Meredith.”
“I can manage the money.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Meredith, listen to yourself. You’re storming into a business meeting with a bag of cash like some manic drug dealer. You think that’s going to make these men rethink their offer?”
The taller developer chuckles. “I mean, it’s entertaining.”
“This is proof,” I insist. “The Shack was profitable. Dad always had enough to pay his taxes. Something else must have happened for it to have gone so wrong.”
Richard lowers his voice. “And what, you think this little miracle jackpot magically solves everything? It doesn’t even touch the capital you’d need to keep the Shack running through the offseason.”
“It’s enough to buy us time. Enough to convince the bank and a few investors. Maybe even bring in a few staff so we can finish the season. If you care at all about our family legacy, about his?—”
“Don’t talk to me about legacy,” Richard explodes, stepping closer. “Your father nearly dragged this family under with his stubbornness. You want to drown with him? Be my guest. But I’m not letting your mother go down with you.”
I flinch at his choice of words, suddenly at a complete loss.
He exhales sharply, smugly, sensing his win like a shark for blood. Then he turns to the developers with a tight, apologetic smile. “I’ll have her removed.”
Before I can fire back, the door behind me slams open. June stands in the doorway, breathing heavily, her hair whipped into a frenzy by the morning wind. But it’s the man behind her who catches my eye.
Tall. Sharp-angled. He’s wearing a Burberry trench over what looks like tailored cashmere, with sleeves pushed just so to reveal a gold watch that probably costs more than my college tuition.
He doesn’t smile. Instead, he scans the room with shockingly gray eyes, lingering on the money, on Richard, and finally, on me.
I glance at my sister. She’s already staring back, chewing at the inside of her cheek as if she’s waiting for something.
It takes me half a second to realize she’s waiting for my approval.
So this is the boyfriend.
“Wow,” I mouth at her.
She visibly relaxes.
“More daughters, Mr. Grant?” one of the developers half-jokes, reminding me that they’re still in the room.
Richard is visibly flustered by the arrival. “This is June, she’s Eleanor’s?—”
But June’s eyes have already dropped to the bundles of banknotes. Her mouth parts in shock. “You found it?”
I nod once, almost disbelieving it myself. “Yeah.”
“You actually found it.” A smile flashes across her face, wide and incredulous and full of the kind of joy I haven’t seen from her in weeks.
I want to throw my arms around her, but before I can move, the man with her is already stepping forward. He reaches into his coat to pull out a sleek black folder—June’s investment pack. He lays it neatly on the table.
“Richard Grant?” He pushes the folder over to my stepfather. “My name is Ashton Parker. I’m here to make you an offer on the Shack. It’s my intention to invest privately and immediately.”
My gaze immediately shifts to June, the memory of our last conversation still fresh in my mind. She hadn’t wanted to ask him for money, so what had changed since then? Except she’s not looking at me, too focused on the proceedings to pay me any attention.
“Listen, buddy.” Richard doesn’t even bother reaching for the folder. “I don’t know what these girls told you, but I can assure you that Holloway’s Lobster Shack isn’t the investment you seem to think it is.”
Never in my life have I seen anyone so thoroughly undermine a man like Richard Grant the way Ashton does with a mere disappointed once-over.
“June Holloway happens to be the proprietor of one of the most successful galleries in the Cape. I have every faith that this proposal”—he taps the investment pack for emphasis— “is more than worthy of my investment. If you’d bothered to read it, you’d find that the model doesn’t just revive the business.
It reinvents it. We’re talking about a sustainable, community-centered restaurant that gives back to local nonprofits, sources exclusively from island fishermen, and provides huge opportunities for the local trade economy. ”
One of the developers leans forward, curious.
Richard scoffs. “And what happens when tourist season ends and the idealism dries up?”
June doesn’t back down. “Then we build something that lasts year-round. Subscription boxes. Branded merch. Partnerships with the ferry. You really think we haven’t thought this through?”
“This is ridiculous.” Richard throws his hands in the air, flushed with frustration.
But I don’t let him get away with blowing us off. “You can’t ignore this, Richard. It’s a good proposal, and we have the starting capital to make it work.”
“It doesn’t matter what ideas you two come up with. The decision has already been made, so unless you have power of attorney, what you say in here or whom you convince to lend you money”—he gestures dismissively toward Ashton— “doesn’t matter.”
And that’s when the door swings open again.
We all turn.
Sophie stands there, framed in the sunlight, hair pulled back, eyes unreadable. She closes the door behind her with a soft click and says, “Actually…that’s what I came to talk about.”