Page 67 of The Wexley Inn
“What are we talking about in terms of exposure?”
“Roughly $350,000 if the loan were called at the current balance. Less if the property sells quickly, more if it doesn’t, or if delays cause more deterioration. But Thomas, you’d be personally liable for?—”
“I understand what I’d be liable for.” His voice was steady, even though his gut was churning.
$350,000. It was more than he had in liquid assets, but his business was solid. His properties were paid off. His reputation would support additional credit if needed. He could cover it. It would hurt. He might require selling assets he’d planned to leave to Emma, but he could do it.
“Draft the paperwork, Gerald. I’ll co-sign her loan.”
“Thomas…” Gerald leaned forward, his expression pleading. “Think about this carefully. You’re betting everything - your business, your savings, your financial security, Emma’s future - on a project you don’t even control, on an uncertain timeline, in support of somebody you’ve known for what, a few months? Look, I understand you’re…whatever…involved with Isabella, but mixing personal feelings with finances this significant?—”
“I’m not mixing anything. This is good business. The inn is sound, the renovation is top quality, and the only risk is this bureaucratic harassment from a developer with a grudge. Once we get past Grayson’s complaints, the project will succeed.”
“But if it doesn’t?—”
“It will.” Thomas stood, the decision made. “Draft the paperwork. I’ll come by tomorrow morning to sign it.”
Gerald watched him with an expression that looked like a mixture of admiration and concern. “And you’re sure about this?”
“Totally.” Thomas met his old friend’s eyes. “Need anything else from me?”
“Just your sanity,” Gerald muttered, “but apparently you’ve already lost that.”
CHAPTER 17
Thomas met Robert Henderson in the club’s nearly empty dining room, where the Thursday morning breakfast crowd had thinned to just a few retired members lingering over coffee and newspapers. Robert, a seventy-two-year-old with silver hair, was a retired architect who had chaired the Architectural Review Board for fifteen years, showing a mix of expertise and stubborn integrity. Thomas respected Robert. He had also known Thomas’s father and encouraged him to pursue architecture in college. He even hired Thomas for his first major restoration project when Thomas was just twenty-five and trying to build his business. So their relationship went beyond professional courtesy. Robert was as close to a mentor as Thomas had found after his father died.
“Morning, Thomas.” Robert’s voice remained just as strong despite his age, carrying the crisp diction of someone who’d grown up in Charleston. “You sounded urgent on the phone. Problems with Wexley Inn?”
Thomas slid into the booth across from him, waving off the server who approached with coffee. “I’m just going to get to the point. Grayson Williams is filing anonymous complaints about the inn’s permits. All kinds of crap. Historical accuracy concerns, safety questions, environmental stuff - all conveniently vague enough but technically requiring formal review.”
Robert’s expression darkened. “That son of a gun… That man has done more to damage this island’s architectural character than any developer in fifty years, building all these commercial monstrosities. Every historic property he gets his hands on is demolished for some horrible building.”
“Well, the complaints are designed to delay opening past the holiday, trigger loan performance clauses, and force Isabella to sell at whatever price he offers. It’s pure harassment. We both know it.”
“You’re probably right.” Robert took a sip of his coffee. “But complaints are legally filed, Thomas. The board has to review them. I can’t just dismiss them because we know Grayson’s motivations.”
“I’m not asking you to dismiss them.” Thomas leaned forward, his voice low. “I’m asking that the review be conducted fairly and quickly. Isabella Montgomery has done everything right. She’s hired the best experts. She’s followed every guideline and exceeded all the preservation standards at every turn. This project deserves a fair shake, not to be destroyed by somebody who sees historic buildings as nothing more than obstacles to profit.”
Robert studied him for a long moment, his sharp blue eyes missing nothing. “You’re vouching for the project personally?”
“Yep. Completely. I’ve documented every decision and every modification, even every material choice. I’ll stake my whole reputation on the quality and accuracy of this restoration.”
“You’re already staking your reputation.” Robert’s tone was gentle. “Bill Patterson called me yesterday, said you’re signing a letter of assurance. That puts you in a vulnerable position if anything goes wrong.”
“Nothing will go wrong. The work is solid.”
“Well, the work may be solid, but you’re putting a lot on the line for a client, Thomas. Or is she more than a client at this point?”
Thomas met his eyes. “She’s not just a client.”
Understanding crossed over Robert’s weathered face. He looked concerned. “I see. Does she know you’re doing this? Making all these guarantees, putting your reputation and finances at risk to protect her project?”
“She knows I’m helping navigate the complaints.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Thomas didn’t answer.
