I watched a server set down a fresh tray of drinks, the ice melting quickly in the autumn heat.
We walked down the crushed gravel path toward the sun-drenched lawn, leaving Diane to her guests.
Andrew stood near the rose garden, surrounded by his uncles and a few local developers he had invited from Charleston. He wore a sharp navy blazer, but his silk cuffs were damp with sweat, and he adjusted them with quick, nervous jerks of his wrists.
“We are finalizing the deed on the north acreage by the end of the month,” Andrew said, his rapid-fire words carrying easily over the garden wall. “It is a prime acquisition. I told the brokers we would not settle for anything less than the full title.”
Uncle Ray, a retired surveyor who knew the value of coastal land, squinted at him through his gold-rimmed spectacles. “That is a massive commitment, Andrew. I heard the soil quality on that ridge requires extensive drainage work before you can even plant.”
“A mere detail,” Andrew said, tossing his head back with a loud, booming laugh that sounded entirely hollow. “The holding company we established has more than enough liquidity to cover the infrastructure. We are playing in a different league now, Uncle.”
I paused near a marble bench, my ivory handbag tucked under my arm.
Andrew did not see me. He was too busy explaining the features of his new black sports car, which sat parked in the gravel driveway. He had bragged to the family that he bought it to celebrate the acquisition, never mentioning the three-thousand-dollar monthly lease payment that was already five days overdue.
“What about the secondary financing?” Ray asked, his voice low as he leaned in. “I thought you were looking for a local partner to share the liability.”
