Page 28 of Marked

Marcus’ laugh was warm. “No emergencies today, James. But Mr. Chen here”—his hand moved to my lower back again, steadying me—“needs some clarity about his property situation.”

“Ah, yes! Linda called ahead. Please, come in, come in.” Morrison gestured us through to his office, and I tried not to gawk at the obviously expensive art lining the hallway. Was that an actual Monet? “I had Sarah’s file pulled as soon as she called.”

I stumbled slightly at my mother’s name. Marcus’ hand tightened on my back, and my scar tingled in response.

The office itself was exactly what you’d expect from someone who handled old money—leather chairs that had been worn to butter-softness, an oak desk that had probably witnessed a century of life-changing decisions, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with law books that looked both well used and expensive.

But it was the photos that caught my eye. Mixed in with the expected diplomas and professional achievements were familiar buildings—Stone Industries properties, I realized. Lots of them. Including what looked like construction photos of that fancy café we’d just left.

“Please, sit.” Morrison gestured to the leather chairs facing his desk. “Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, not wanting to risk spilling anything on what was probably priceless antique furniture. “Thank you. About your fee—”

Morrison’s eyes flicked to Marcus—so quickly I almost missed it—before he smiled warmly. “No charge for a consultation, Mr. Chen. Especially not for property questions. Now, what seems to be the concern?”

The way he said it made me wonder if he already knew exactly what the concern was. Something about his too-ready smile, the thick folder already sitting on his desk…

I shifted in my chair, uncomfortably aware of Marcus’ presence beside me. He’d positioned himself close enough that our arms almost touched, and my scar was doing that warm pulsing thing again.

“It’s about the cottage,” I started, then paused, unsure how to explain my situation to someone who probably owned several vacation homes. “I inherited it from my mother, and I was planning to sell it. But when I went to see the real estate agent today, Linda said there were… complications?”

Morrison nodded, opening the suspiciously ready folder. “Ah, yes. The Chen cottage. Lovely property, been in your mother’s possession for…” He consulted a document, though something told me he knew exactly how long. “Just over twenty years.”

“Right.” I tried not to fidget under his grandfatherly gaze. “The thing is, I can’t really stay in Cedar Grove. I have plans—had plans—to move. Find a job. Start my life, you know?”

“Perfectly understandable.” Morrison’s tone was sympathetic, but his eyes kept darting to Marcus. “However, there are certain provisions in the inheritance documents that need to be addressed first.”

I swallowed hard. “Linda mentioned something about a clause?”

“Yes.” He pulled out a thick document, turning it so I could see. “It’s quite standard for properties of this… nature. Before you can take full possession—including the right to sell—you must establish residency for a minimum of six months.”

“Six months?” My voice cracked. Marcus shifted beside me, his arm now touching mine. The contact sent warmth spreading through my body, which was not helpful for maintaining professional composure. “But that’s… I mean, I can’t…”

“The provision ensures that heirs understand the property’s unique qualities,” Morrison continued smoothly. “These old houses, they have… character. History. It’s important for owners to truly appreciate what they’re taking on.”

Or giving up, I thought, noting how the lawyer’s eyes kept meeting Marcus’ in what was definitely not random coincidence.

“Can I see the clause?” I asked, proud of how steady my voice was.

“Of course.” Morrison turned several pages, pointing to a paragraph of dense legal text. “As you can see here, the requirement is quite clear. Six months minimum residency, starting from your first night in the property.”

I leaned forward to read, very aware of Marcus doing the same. His cologne wrapped around me, making it hard to focus on the words.

“‘The inheritor must establish primary residency at the property for no less than six (6) calendar months before gaining full rights of ownership, including but not limited to the right of sale or transfer,’” I read aloud. “That’s… that’s actually real? This isn’t some small-town joke?”

Morrison’s smile was gentle. “I assure you, Mr. Chen, it’s quite real. Your mother was very specific about these terms when she set up the inheritance.”

“Mom did this?” Something cold settled in my stomach. “But why would she…?”

“Sarah was always very particular about the cottage,” Morrison said, and there was something in his voice—like he knew her, really knew her. “She wanted to ensure it would be… properly appreciated.”

I glanced at Marcus, caught him watching me with that intense expression again. “Did you know about this?”

“I knew the cottage had special provisions,” he said carefully. “Most properties in Cedar Grove do.”

“Right.” I slumped back in my chair. “Because nothing in this town can just be normal.”

Morrison cleared his throat. “The six months don’t have to be continuous, strictly speaking. Though interruptions would extend the overall timeline…”

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