Chapter 1: The Door She Feared
“Claire, please. Just let me explain.””
Olivia stood between me and the hallway, her champagne glass trembling slightly in her hand.
Behind her, twenty-four guests watched us.
My mother, Margaret, was the only person who seemed to understand that this was no longer about an embarrassing Christmas misunderstanding.
She knew what was behind that office door.
And judging by the expression on her face, she was terrified I would find it.
I held up the folded deed.
“Move, Olivia.””
“Not until you listen.””
“You've had plenty of time to explain. You told twenty-four people that you bought my house. You invited them here.
You decorated my Christmas tree. What exactly am I supposed to listen to?””
Olivia glanced at the guests.
“Could everyone give us a minute?””
A man in a navy sweater shifted uncomfortably.
“Actually, Olivia, I think we should probably leave.””
“No,” Olivia snapped.
“Nobody is leaving.””
The sharpness in her voice surprised even her.
My mother hurried toward the guests, forcing a smile.
“I'm so sorry about this. It's a family matter. Please, everyone, enjoy your drinks while we sort things out.””
A woman wearing a pearl necklace picked up her coat.
“Margaret, I think we've already enjoyed enough.””
I recognized her as Susan Miller, one of my mother's longtime friends.
Susan had spent the previous ten minutes telling everyone how lucky Olivia was to have inherited such a beautiful property.
Inherited.
I nearly laughed.
The lodge had cost me $680,000.
I had purchased it three years earlier after spending six years saving money from my job as a senior project manager in Boston. Every Christmas bonus, every promotion, every weekend I had worked instead of traveling had gone toward that property.
There had been no inheritance.
There had been no family contribution.
There had only been me.
And now my sister was standing in my living room pretending otherwise.
“Everyone can stay,” I said.
“I have nothing to hide.””
Olivia's eyes narrowed.
“Claire, you're making this worse.””
“Worse for whom?””
She didn't answer.
I took another step toward the hallway.
This time she moved aside, but her fingers caught my sleeve.
“Don't go into the office.””
I looked down at her hand.
“Let go.””
“Please.””
That word sounded wrong coming from Olivia.
My sister had never been particularly good at asking for anything. She usually announced what she wanted and waited for everyone else to rearrange their lives around it.
When we were children, she took my bedroom because hers was smaller.
When we were teenagers, she borrowed my car and returned it with an empty gas tank.
When we became adults, she borrowed money, missed repayment dates, and accused me of being selfish whenever I asked about it.
But she had never begged.
Not once.
I pulled my sleeve free.
Then I opened the office door.
The room smelled of fresh coffee and the cedarwood candles I kept on my desk.
Everything looked almost normal.
My leather chair sat behind the desk. The bookshelves were organized. The framed photograph of my late grandfather stood beside the window.
But there were things that didn't belong.
My desk drawers were open.
Several folders lay scattered across the carpet.
My locked filing cabinet had been moved away from the wall.
And someone had placed a small portable scanner on my desk.
I stepped inside.
“Who touched my things?””
Nobody answered.
I turned toward the doorway.
Olivia stood there with her arms wrapped around herself.
My mother was directly behind her.
“Mom?””
Margaret swallowed.
“Claire, I can explain.””
“Why is my filing cabinet open?””
“I was looking for something.””
“What?””
Her eyes moved toward the desk.
“A document.””
I stared at her.
“Which document?””
She didn't respond.
I walked over to the filing cabinet. The bottom drawer was still locked, but the upper drawer had been forced open.
Inside were my property insurance records, maintenance receipts, and a folder containing copies of the original purchase agreement.
Someone had gone through everything.
Then I noticed the paper on the floor.
It was a printed copy of my property deed.
Except it wasn't the original.
My name was still there, but someone had highlighted the ownership section and written a note in red ink.
*TRANSFER PENDING.*
I picked it up.
“What's this?””
Olivia stepped forward.
“Give me that.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
“Because it's private.””
“It's my property.””
“Claire, stop acting like you're the only person who matters!””
Her voice cracked through the room.
For a moment, the Christmas music playing in the living room seemed absurdly cheerful.
I lowered the paper.
“Then tell me what you were looking for.””
Olivia looked at our mother.
That small movement told me everything.
They had planned this together.
My mother finally stepped inside and closed the door.
“Your sister has been having some financial difficulties,” she said.
I let out a short breath.
“That's not exactly breaking news.””
“She needs help.””
“Then she should have asked.””
“She did ask.””
“No. She demanded that I let her use the lodge. I said she could visit for Christmas, not move in and pretend she owned it.””
Olivia shook her head.
“You never listen.””
“I listened when you said you wanted to stay here for a few days. I listened when you asked to bring your friends. I even listened when you said you needed somewhere quiet to get away from your problems.””
I pointed toward the living room.
“But I never agreed to give you my house.””
My mother pressed her lips together.
“Claire, this is bigger than you understand.””
I looked at the open filing cabinet again.
“Then make me understand.””
She hesitated.
Finally, she said, “Your father made arrangements before he died.””
My stomach tightened.
Dad had been gone for eight years.
He had left my mother their house, his retirement savings, and a modest life insurance policy. Olivia and I had received equal portions of what remained.
There had never been any mention of the lodge.
“What arrangements?””
My mother looked toward the hallway.
“Not here.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently, this is exactly where everyone wants to discuss my property.””
Olivia approached the desk.
“Dad wanted me to have something.””
I went completely still.
“What?””
“He promised.””
“When?””
“Before he died.””
“That's interesting. Because Dad died five years before I bought this place.””
Olivia's expression changed.
“He knew you would eventually buy it.””
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.””
“He told Mom.””
My mother closed her eyes.
“Olivia.””
I turned toward her.
“Did Dad actually say that?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My father's.
I hadn't seen his handwriting in years.
My fingers went cold.
“Where did you get that?””
Margaret placed the envelope on the desk.
“Your father gave it to me shortly before he died.””
I looked at the date printed in the corner.
Eight years earlier.
Then I noticed something else.
The envelope had already been opened.
And beneath my name, in smaller handwriting, were five words.
*Only give this to Claire.*
I looked up.
My mother couldn't meet my eyes.
“Why didn't you give it to me?””
Her lips trembled.
May you like
Before she could answer, Olivia whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Because if you read what Dad wrote, you'll understand why the lodge was supposed to be mine.””
