I walked toward the main staircase, the scrap of paper burning against my palm.
On the hall table, sitting beside a stack of unopened mail, was a blue leather folder with the gold crest of my grandfather’s estate office.
I reached out and touched the cool leather, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs made me pull my hand back.
By ten o’clock, the ballroom had emptied of guests, leaving only the lingering smell of expensive perfume and the quiet hum of the cleanup crew in the distance.
I walked past the open door of my grandfather’s study and stopped.
Charles Bennett sat behind the massive mahogany desk, his heavy gold wristwatch catching the light as he signed a thick stack of documents.
“A bridge loan, Emma,” my father said, looking up with a boisterous grin that did not reach his eyes. “Six million dollars in short-term capital to finalize the ridge development. In three months, Bennett Development will own this entire valley.”
He adjusted his heavy watch strap, his fingers thick and tanned from his weekend golf games.
“We are on the cusp of something historic,” he said, leaning back in his leather chair. “A simple signature, and the bank releases the funds.”
I watched him slide the papers into a drawer, my finger still circling the signet ring on my pinky.
“Is Grandpa helping with the loan?” I asked.
My father laughed, a loud, hollow sound that echoed off the wood-paneled walls.
“Your grandfather belongs to the old world, sweetheart. We are building the new one. He does not understand the speed of modern development.”
He did not look at me as he locked the drawer with a small silver key.
“Go on up to bed,” he said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. “Your mother and I have details to finalize before the morning.”
