Page 66 of The Wexley Inn
They expressed concerns about “deviation from approved historical preservation standards” without specifying the nature of those deviations. They questioned whether “modern commercial kitchen equipment complies with historical character requirements” without identifying the specific requirements. They also raised the issue of “potential environmental impact from increased wastewater volume” without providing any supporting data regarding the actual impact.
Vague enough that they would be very hard to disprove, but specific enough to trigger mandatory review processes - and anonymous enough that there was no one to confront and no way to address concerns directly.
“This has Grayson Williams written all over it,” Thomas said flatly.
“I can’t comment on who filed anonymous complaints.” Bill’s tone was neutral, but his expression said everything.
“Bill, we both know who benefits from delaying The Wexley Inn opening, and we both know who’s been trying to get that property for years. The complaints are anonymous, but the motivation isn’t.”
Bill ran his hand through his thinning hair, a gesture Thomas easily recognized from countless committee meetings where Bill was caught between regulations and common sense. “What do you want me to tell you, Thomas? The complaints meet the technical requirements for review. They raise legitimate questions. Even if we both suspect the motivation is less than pure, I can’t just ignore them because we think we know who filed them.”
“I’m not asking you to ignore them,” Thomas said, sitting down across from Bill’s desk. “I’m asking what it would take to expedite the review process, to address them quickly without months of hearings that serve no purpose except harassment.”
Bill was quiet for a moment, staring at his computer screen. When he spoke, his voice was lower and more careful. “Independent expert verification would help. Updated safety certifications, environmental impact assessment from a licensed engineer, all of which take time and money. And you know as well as I do that even without documentation, the formal hearing process has minimum time frames built in. We’re looking at six weeks minimum, more than likely two to three months.”
“Or?” Thomas heard the agitation in Bill’s voice.
“Or,” Bill looked up, meeting Thomas’s eyes directly, “a letter of assurance from a recognized island historical expert—someone whose professional reputation the review board trusts implicitly, someone who could personally vouch for the project’s adherence to preservation standards and safety requirements. It would carry significant weight with the board and could potentially allow us to expedite the review considerably.”
Understanding settled in Thomas’s stomach. “You’re talking about me.”
“If you were willing to formally vouch for the historical accuracy and the safety of the renovation - stake your professional reputation on it - that would address most of the concerns. It wouldn’t eliminate a hearing entirely, but it could shorten the process to just a few weeks instead of months.”
“And what if something goes wrong? If there are problems down the line that the complaints were supposedly warning about?”
Bill’s expression was sympathetic, but firm. “Well, then your reputation is on the line, along with the property owner’s. You’d be personally vouching for the work, Thomas. It’s not a decision to make lightly. If legitimate issues do come up later - like structural problems, environmental damage - well, you’d be implicated as the expert who told everyone it was fine. You could be looking at legal problems if it got bad enough.”
Thomas thought about the inn, about the months of work, about every decision documented and every modification approved. He thought about Isabella’s voice when she had called him yesterday, the fear beneath her composed exterior. He thought about Grayson Williams and his smug certainty that he could destroy this project using bureaucratic harassment.
“Draft the letter,” Thomas said. “I’ll sign it. But draft it today. I’ll come back this afternoon to sign it.”
Bill looked at him for a long moment. “You sure are putting a lot on the line for a client.”
“She’s not just a client.” The words came out more revealing than Thomas meant, but he didn’t take them back.
Something changed in Bill’s expression, an understanding. “All right. I’ll have it ready by two o’clock.”
Gerald Stewart looked uncomfortable when Thomas asked for a private meeting. They had known each other even longer than Thomas had known Bill. Gerald’s father and Thomas’s father had been friends. They fished together and sat on the church board before the Old Island Church was destroyed by the hurricane of ’89. Thomas and Gerald grew up swimming in the same creeks, dating girls from the same high school, and building their businesses in parallel as they both settled into adult lives on the island they loved.
But now Gerald sat behind his polished desk in the corner office with its view of the marina, his ruddy face creased with concern, his banker’s caution warring with decades of friendship.
“Thomas, I cannot discuss a client’s financial details. You know that. There are privacy regulations and fiduciary responsibility.”
“Gerald, we both know Grayson Williams is trying to sabotage Isabella’s project. All those anonymous complaints to the county are designed to trigger concerns about loan viability, and I need to know what her actual exposure is so I can help her get through this without destroying her financially.”
Gerald was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the desk.
“The renovation loan has milestone-based funding with strict timeline requirements,” Gerald finally said, keeping his voice low. “If the inn doesn’t open by December 31st, doesn’t start generating actual revenue as projected, then technically the bank has the right to call the loan entirely or significantly change the terms. I mean, we’re talking about interest rate hikes that could make the project completely unviable. Isabella’s personal guarantee covers any shortfall between the property value and the outstanding loan amount.”
Thomas felt like ice was coursing through his veins. “Which means if Grayson succeeds in delaying the opening past the deadline, she doesn’t just lose her business, she loses everything. Her retirement savings, her investment, and maybe her personal assets.”
“Well, that’s the worst-case scenario, but yes,” Gerald said, looking pained. “Thomas, I like Isabella a lot. She’s smart, though. She’s doing everything right. But the bank has obligations to our investors, our regulatory oversight, and if a property faces community opposition, if there are questions about permit compliance or anything else, if the timeline slips significantly…well, we have to protect our position.”
“What would it take to waive those timeline requirements, to give her more flexibility if the delays happen through no fault of her own?”
Gerald’s expression shifted. “A co-signer with sufficient assets and established local ties. Somebody that the bank trusts to ensure the project will be completed, even with setbacks. Somebody whose own reputation and financial stability would also be at stake.”
The implication was clear. Thomas felt the trap closing. Saw exactly where this was headed, but Isabella’s terrified voice on the phone—I’d lose everything—echoed in his mind.
