Page 43 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

The conference room door creaked open, and Wheeler appeared like a ghost summoned by our fears. The overhead lights cast strange shadows across his face, making his smile look even more predatory than usual. My mother’s antique clock on the wall ticked loudly in the sudden silence, marking each precious second slipping away.

“Working late?” His loafers squeaked against the polished floor as he approached. “Dedication. I like that. Makes it almost a shame...”

“What do you want?” Hunter moved closer, and I caught the subtle scent of his aftershave mingled with coffee—familiar now, comforting.

Wheeler held up a thick manila envelope, its edges worn as if frequently handled. “Just delivering some light reading. Thought Ms. Horton might be interested in these old newspaper articles about her mother.”

My heart stuttered. The room suddenly felt too warm, too small. “What about my mother?”

“Oh, just some interesting connections.” Wheeler tapped the envelope against his palm, each soft pat like a countdown. “To certain development deals, suspicious property transfers...” He shrugged, suit jacket pulling tight across his shoulders. “Amazing what a creative reporter can piece together. Would be tragic if these reached the press, tarnishing her memory.”

I stood so quickly my chair slammed against the wall. “Don’t you dare—”

“Amelia.” Hunter’s hand caught mine, his steady pulse against my wrist anchoring me. “He’s bluffing.”

“Am I?” Wheeler’s smile widened, reminding me of shark documentaries I couldn’t watch as a child. “Maybe ask your father about the Miller property acquisition. The one right before his... unfortunate accident.”

The implication hit like a physical blow. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, suddenly too bright. They weren’t just threatening my mother’s reputation—they were trying to tie her to Mr. Miller’s death.

“Get out.” Hunter’s voice was deadly quiet, carrying the weight of his loss.

“Just trying to help.” Wheeler set the envelope on the table with exaggerated care. “Midnight, Ms. Horton. Sign over Pine Haven, or these go public. Oh, and that demolition order?Just insurance. Wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents during your little festival.”

After he left, my legs gave out. Hunter caught me, easing me into a chair that still held warmth from my body. Under the harsh lights, the envelope seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.

“He’s lying,” Claire said fiercely, her laptop screen casting blue shadows across her face. “About your mother, about everything.”

“Doesn’t matter if he’s lying.” I stared at the envelope, imagining headlines, whispers, and my mother’s name dragged through the mud. “The damage to her reputation...”

“Hey.” Hunter kneeled before me, taking my hands in his. His hazel eyes caught the light. Flecks of gold were visible this close. “Look at me.”

I met his gaze reluctantly, finding strength in the quiet conviction there.

“Your mother left those letters for a reason,” he said softly, thumbs tracing gentle circles on my palms. “She knew this might happen. Knew they might try to use her against you.”

“But—”

“No buts.” The circles continued grounding me. “We have until midnight. That’s plenty of time to find what we need in her letters, turn their own game against them.”

“He’s right,” Claire added. Her keyboard clicked rapidly, the sound oddly comforting. “And I think I know where to start. That Miller property Wheeler mentioned? It’s not in any official records. But look at this.”

She turned her laptop, showing a satellite image from fifteen years ago. Where Crystal Ridge’s premier resort now stood, there used to be a smaller property, its shadow falling across familiar slopes.

“The Miller Lodge,” I breathed, memories surfacing like bubbles. “I remember Mom talking about it. Said it was a shame when it burned down...”

Hunter’s hands tightened on mine. “My father’s property. The one he refused to sell.”

“They ruled the fire accidental,” Claire read from an old news article. “But the insurance investigator who ruled it... Guess who he was related to?”

“Wheeler,” Hunter and I said together.

Hope flickered within me. “So if we can prove the connection...”

“We can show their pattern,” Hunter finished. “Your mother wasn’t involved in anything illegal. She was gathering evidence.”

I stood, new determination flowing through me. “We need to read those letters. Now.”

“I’ll help,” Claire offered, but I shook my head.

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