Before I could ask more, Marcus appeared at the other end of the hallway.
His expression was serious.
“Elaine, Clara needs to speak with you.”
I thanked Ruth and followed him.
Inside the administrative office, Clara had spread several documents across a conference table.
She pointed toward one.
“We’ve identified the preliminary compensation agreement.”
I looked down.
Meridian Lifestyle Partners would receive an advisory fee of one million eight hundred thousand dollars if Crown Peak obtained an approved purchase agreement.
Additional compensation was tied to securing the founder’s consent and minimizing delays.
Madison’s name appeared as the lead adviser.
I stared at the figure.
One million eight hundred thousand dollars.
Daniel had told me Madison’s fee would cover their debts.
He had not told me how much she expected to keep afterward.
Clara continued.
“There is also a financial disclosure identifying Daniel’s potential succession to your trust responsibilities as a material condition.”
“Does Crown Peak realize he has no automatic right to succeed me?”
“We’ve told their lawyers exactly that.”
Marcus crossed his arms.
“They’ve been unusually persistent.”
I examined the documents.
Then I noticed something else.
A separate list contained names of employee council representatives.
Most had been marked as potentially receptive to a financial settlement.
One name, however, appeared beside a handwritten note.
RUTH HALE — STATUS UNKNOWN.
I frowned.
“Why would they be researching Ruth?”
Marcus glanced toward Clara.
“Because any major transaction requires approval from the employee trust under its governing documents.”
“Of course.”
I looked again at the name.
“Has anyone approached her?”
Marcus hesitated.
“We believe someone tried.”
I remembered Ruth’s strange expression in the hallway.
The way she had mentioned a woman who reminded her of someone.
“Find out who,” I said.
That afternoon, Lily came to visit.
She had spent the morning making Christmas decorations with other children in the recreation room.
She climbed onto the sofa beside me and opened a little paper bag.
Inside were three gingerbread cookies.
“One for you, one for me, and one for Bunny.”
I smiled.
“Does Bunny eat gingerbread?”
“Only pretend gingerbread.”
We divided the cookies.
Then she studied my face.
“Grandma, are you mad at Daddy?”
I considered lying.
But children often know when adults are trying to make the truth sound prettier.
“I’m very disappointed in him.”
She hugged her rabbit.
“Mommy says you’re getting old and confused.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you think?”
Lily looked genuinely puzzled.
“I think you remember everything.”
“Not everything, sweetheart.”
“You remembered my birthday.”
“Of course.”
“And you remembered Bunny’s name.”
I smiled.
“That’s important.”
She leaned closer.
“Mommy said if you got really upset at Christmas, Daddy might be able to make some big decisions for you.”
I kept my voice gentle.
“Did she?”
Lily nodded.
“Daddy said he didn’t want to.”
I looked at her.
“Where were they when they talked about this?”
“In the kitchen at home.”
She pulled Bunny closer.
“Mommy thought I was asleep.”
I stroked her hair.
“You never have to worry about those decisions, Lily.”
“But I do worry.”
“Why?”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Because if Daddy can make decisions for you when you’re sad, can Mommy make me go somewhere else when I’m sad?”
The question broke my heart.
I pulled her into my arms.
“No, darling.”
I held her tightly.
“Being sad doesn’t mean someone gets to take away your home.”
She rested her head against my shoulder.
For a long time, we said nothing.
Outside, the wind strengthened.
Snow swept past the windows in thick white ribbons.
My phone vibrated.
It was a message from Marcus.
Weather service has upgraded the storm warning.
The mountain road may close tomorrow.
We should prepare for emergency arrivals.
I looked toward my father’s photograph above the fireplace.
His old rule returned to me.
No one freezing outside.
No one left without shelter.
I typed a response.
** Open the emergency wing and prepare the old dining hall. **
Then another message arrived.
This one was from an unfamiliar number.
Mrs. Caldwell, you should leave Aspen before Christmas Eve.
I stared at the screen.
A second message followed.
** Your daughter-in-law isn’t the only person who knows what is supposed to happen tomorrow. **
