Get your shit together.
“Mr. Saelinger?”
I turn. A younger man is standing next to me. Mid-thirties maybe. He’s a local, judging from his accent and darker skin. He’s holding a folder.
“I’m Patrick Munroe. Marisol said you might be able to help. I’ve got a contract here that doesn’t make sense. The developer wants to lease my beachfront property for a resort expansion. The numbers look too good to be true.”
“Let’s take a look.” I scan the first page. Spot the trap immediately.
I hand the folder back. “Don’t sign this.”
Patrick frowns. “But the payout—”
“The payout’s contingent on occupancy rates you can’t independently audit.” I point to section seven. “Plus there’s a clawback provision here that lets them recoup payments if the resort underperforms. Which means you take all the risk while they keep all the control.”
It’s effective. Ruthless. Exactly the kind of strategy I built my career on.
His expression shifts. “I didn’t see that.”
“You weren’tsupposedto.” I keep my voice even. “That’s how these deals work. Make the upside look appealing while burying the downside in fine print.”
Amara appears at my elbow. “Everything okay?”
Patrick explains. She takes the folder. Reads the same section I flagged.
Her jaw tightens. “Mr. Munroe. If you’d like, I can review this full contract for you. At no cost to you. We’ll make sure you understand exactly what you’re signing before you commit.”
He thanks her, takes her card, and walks away looking relieved.
She turns to me. “You spotted that fast.”
“I’ve structured deals like that before.” The admission comes out easier than I thought it would. “So let’s just say, I know what to look for.”
She arches an eyebrow. “So we’re talking past tense?”
“Yeah.” I meet her eyes. “Past tense.”
Something shifts in her expression. It’s not forgiveness, not quite. More like she’s updating her valuation model based on new data.
It’s not enough, of course.
Nowhere near enough to make up for the damage I caused five years ago.
But it’s something.
We leavethe potluck at eight thirty. I’m heading toward where Keon’s waiting with the SUV when I notice Amara standing near the community center entrance, checking her phone.
“Problem?” I ask.
She looks up from her phone, frustrated. “Rental car won’t start. I’ve called the company but they can’t get a replacement out to me until tomorrow.”
I beckon toward the SUV. “I can give you a ride.”
She hesitates. That familiar wariness crossing her face. Finally she nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
Keon’s waiting with the SUV. Thorne’s already in the passenger seat logging the evening’s event summary.
Amara climbs into the back. I slide in beside her.
