Page 9 of Marrying the Nanny

“I didn’t know, either,” Trystan said with a grim frown.

“Your mom didn’t tell you they were getting married?” Logan sounded surprised.

“When I talk to Mom, we don’t talk about him.” Trystan spoke with a detachment Reid understood and embraced.

“You talk to my mom, though. You knew he had a kid?” Logan looked between them.

“Glenda checks in sometimes. I knew there was a baby.” Trystan cut a confounded frown toward the infant.

“Mom heard they’d had a girl,” Reid said. “She mentioned it when I was here at Christmas.”

“None of you were talking to your father?” Emma sent incredulous looks to each of them.

Reid watched Logan’s expression close up. He sensed Trystan stiffen beside him while his own chest solidified into a thick, unbreakable mass. He refused to feel guilty about the cold war. Wilf had reaped what he had sown.

Emma looked to Harpreet, shaking her head in disbelief. “They don’t want her.”

Put like that, it made them sound like soulless pricks, but Wilf hadn’t won any Father of the Year awards. Context was everything.

Harpreet frowned with concern as she glanced from man to man.

As she started to speak, there was a knock at the door. The man who entered was wiry and fit. He wore a mint-green polo shirt and tan pants, had spiky hair and a thin goatee.

“Hi. George Lam. Wilf’s accountant. Sorry I’m late. Construction on the highway.” He made the rounds to shake everyone’s hand, then took a seat and began digging papers out of his briefcase.

“We’ve been talking custody.” Dennis caught him up with a nod to the baby. “Given Storm is entitled to a share in the estate, it sounds as though whatever the men get for the sale of Raven’s Cove would provide for Emma to stay on and assist with caregiving. Does that help at all with the guardianship issue? Because Emma seems very attached.”

George held up his hand. “The value of Raven’s Cove should be clarified. It’s not as easy as selling and using the baby’s portion to support her.”

Of course it wasn’t. A pall of bitter, outraged humor settled into the pit of Reid’s gut. He braced himself as George handed out stapled pages.

“Last quarter’s financials for Raven’s Cove.” George’s pained smile was the kind that asked you nicely to drop your shorts and bend over, but still expected you to do it. “Wilf took a sizable loan for upgrades last year, mortgaging heavily against the equity. Tiffany encouraged him to shift from rustic fishing trips to a more upscale clientele. Executive packages and ecotourism.”

Biting back a blue streak of dread-filled curses, Reid flipped to the summary. The fine details of how and why weren’t as important as the big ol’ smear of red ink across the balance sheet.

“How did this happen?” Reid demanded.

“He took all the operating capital out of the marina,” Logan said with disbelief, flicking pages. “That’s insane.”

“These income projections are bull.” Trystan threw down his packet in a flutter of disgust. “No one is paying twenty grand for a week of whale watching. Not on leaky tubs that smell of diesel and fish guts. Not when they can get the whole family to an all-inclusive in Mexico for half that.”

“Were there some bad years?” Reid set down his pages as though they were radioactive. “How is it possible the lodge and fishing tours are running at such a loss?” Reid sent George his darkest, nut-pinching glare, letting him know where he felt the responsibility for such a disaster resided.

“Shorter fishing seasons and tighter limits have had an impact. That’s climate change and collapsing salmon runs. It’s also the reason for the shift to high-end clientele. Other loans were consolidated and”—again, George offered the smile that promised he was lubing up, but it was still going to sting like hell—“I believe he gave money to each of you? For school, and in your case”—he nodded at Trystan—“the production company you started.”

The chain came off Reid’s mental bicycle.

“That was ten years ago,” Trystan said with disbelief.

“He went into hock for that?” Shock blanked Logan’s face.

“And for Glenda’s divorce settlement.” George’s shrug asked if they thought the money had been left by the tooth fairy. “There were other big investments. The airstrip, an overhaul of the water treatment plant, more amenities in the village. Now this expansion.”

“A minute ago, it was an upgrade.” Trystan snatched up the pages again. “So it’s not a coat of paint and reshingling a few roofs?”

“New guide boats and a luxury lodging with six first-class units and a fine-dining restaurant,” George provided.

“Fine dining,” Logan repeated. “Who the hell is paying for fancy dinners—No. How is anyone going out for dinner on an island that has ferry service twice a week in the middle of the night?”

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