Ben took his seat behind the desk with a passing glance at his grandparents’ picture. “Yes, in Papua New Guinea. It’s home to them.” Just like the inn was home to him. “Thirty-five years in the field.”
“What about you?” Mr. Graham said. “Where’s home? I think your Granny was hoping the inn would be home for you.”
Had she told him that or was he surmising? Granny had never said anything to Ben but to chase his dreams.
“Mr. Graham, I have a job that I love.” Ben shifted forward, resting his hands on the old desk. “I have to be in Sydney by September first to open a marquee hotel for Viridian Jewel Resorts. The success of their South Pacific expansion begins with the success of the Sydney hotel.”
Mr. Graham blew a low whistle. “That’s quite an achievement. Well done. I suppose a place like that is very different from this tiny little inn.” Mr. Graham set his coffee on the edge of the desk and opened his briefcase. “Where you got your start.”
What was that supposed to mean? Ben studied the older African American who’d been a confidant and friend to his grandparents, especially Granny after Granddaddy died. He trusted him to be his friend and confidant as well. And he had warned Ben about the tree.
But Ben didn’t need a reminder of where he’d come from or where he’d gotten his start.
“I’ll get right to it,” Mr. Graham said. “Your grandparents took out a loan.”
“A loan?” Ben reached for the folder Mr. Graham offered. “I’ve paid bills and looked through the finances. I didn’t see a loan.” When he’d moved Granddaddy to the reservation system, he’d also brought the billing and accounting online. A loan would’ve been in the database.
“Vern and Jean Carter took out a loan with Stan down at Hearts Bend Bank when all the plumbing had to be redone a while back. They remodeled the bathrooms while they were at it and updated the owner’s home.” Mr. Graham pointed at the folder. “It’s all in here.”
Ben flipped through the papers, found the loan. Two hundred thousand dollars. And noticed the date. “Eight years ago?” He looked up at the lawyer. “How has the loan not been paid off?”
“You know how your granny was after your granddaddy died. Grieving, lost. She’d start to do the books, which was never her forte, get up for a cup of coffee, and next thing you know, six days had passed and she’d forgotten all about it.”
“How did she pay any bills?”
“You know folks around here…they’d come by, tell her what was owed, and she’d apologize profusely and write the check.”
“How did she know how much money she had?”
“Stan told her. Every once in a while, he’d have her pay on the loan, keep the interest at bay. Stan gave her extension after extension, but in the end there was nothing he could do about the interest adding up.” Mr. Graham sipped his coffee and motioned for Ben to keep looking at the papers. “Jean didn’t pay anything for two years. The bank is more or less calling the loan. Everything is to be paid by September first.”
All the light in the room faded. “Two hundred grand by September?”
“’Fraid so, son. The inn and all her possessions are part of the trust, which you are now the head of. If Jean just flat-out had a will and died, the loan would be forgiven, but the trust borrowed the money. In simple terms?—”
“The debt is mine.”
“The bank was very lenient with Jean. They served her with a foreclosure notice, but when her health turned, Stan refused to pursue dollars and cents when the sweet woman was on her deathbed.”
On her deathbed. The words painted a picture Ben had never considered. He knew his parents had flown home to be with her, but no one, no one had said anything to him.
“When she went on to glory last month, Stan wanted to give you a few weeks to get settled. But Hearts Bend Bank is now under a big corporate entity, and the higher-ups are putting pressure on them to clean up all their neighborly loans. He has no choice.” His thick Southern drawl filled with sympathy.
Tums—he needed Tums. Opening the center drawer of the desk, Ben grabbed the antacids and popped a couple in his mouth.
He dropped the folder to the desk and moved to the window. Dark clouds collected in the blue sky, and a strong wind batted around the tree branches.
“You could sell,” Mr. Graham said. “Keith Niven tells me the market for this sort of establishment is ripe for picking. Most likely you could sell before the September deadline. Jean had an inspector come and give this place a look-see. I have the report here.”
An inspector? Ben glanced around to Mr. Graham, the swirl of the wind beyond the window now in his chest. “Granny was going to sell the inn?”
He couldn’t imagine it. Where would he stay when he came home? This was still home. Suddenly, all the old memories floated to the surface, and he felt overwhelmed with affection for this place.
Mr. Graham handed over the inspector’s report. It was five pages. New roof, new pool tiles and lining, pool heater, new AC units for the cottages, and in the next year or so, an updated HVAC for the inn. The remaining carpets in Rooms One, Two, and Seven needed to be pulled up, but they covered hardwood, so that was a blessing.
The kitchen appliances were on their last legs, the electrical work would need redoing when the new appliances were installed, and the floor needed to be replaced. The lobby and dining area hardwoods needed to be sanded and polished. The windows were out of code. There were small-ticket items like fixing the door on the storage barn and some loose boards, followed by painting the whole structure. New floors. Thankfully, the plumbing was good to go, as well as the water heaters. Small mercies.
Ben exhaled. This was a lot of work. If he was going to sell, he’d want to get top dollar. His grandparents’ memory deserved it. The money would go a long way to helping his parents’ mission base. But to get top dollar, he’d have to invest some of his personal funds.
