I move into his bathroom and pick up the two dirty towels.
“Your bed is done, the comforter is fresh, and I replaced your towels. Anything else?”
“I’m great. Thank you.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then decides against it.
I leave before the conversation can go anywhere else because mornings in the Captain’s Room are getting too comfortable.
“Have a great day,” I offer.
“You too.”
A stack of mail sits on the counter. Gran usually gets to it first, but she’s still in the bungalow this morning. I flip through the envelopes while I finish my coffee. There are a few coupons for the deli, a flyer for the Fourth of July festival, a notice from the electric company that says our bill is up-to-date, and a heavy cream envelope with an embossed return address in the corner. The logo is a gold palm tree inside a circle with the name underneath in thin capital letters.
COASTAL HERITAGE HOLDINGS, LLC.
Miami, Florida
I tear it open.
Dear Mrs. Winslow,
Coastal Heritage Holdings is pleased to present an exclusive acquisition offer for the property located on Seaside Drive, Coconut Beach, FL. After a comprehensive market evaluation, we believe your property represents a unique opportunity for development, and we are prepared to offer a competitive purchase price of $1.2 million for the land and existing structures.
We understand that selling a family property is a major decision. Our team specializes in working with legacy property owners to ensure a smooth and respectful transition. We would welcome the opportunity to discuss this offer at your earliest convenience.
Please contact our acquisitions team at the number below.
Warm regards,
Darren Calder
Director of Acquisitions, Coastal Heritage Holdings, LLC
I read it twice.
One-point-two million for ten acres of beachfront property on Coconut Beach Island is a joke. That doesn’t even account for the value of the three-story building with eight rooms, a storage shed, and bungalow. The offer is a slap in the face, one that is less than what the lot alone would appraise for in the current market. The letter is designed to seem generous to someone who’s desperate, and the fact that they sent it means they’ve done their homework. The tax records would show we’re behind. Anyone in the industry would know that we’re bleeding out right now.
Legacy property owners.The phrase makes me want to act irrational. That’s corporate speak for old people they think they can push around.
The worst part is, I can’t let Gran see this letter. She doesn’t understand real estate valuations. She’d see1.2 milliondollarsand think we won the lottery. She’d call Birdie and Lucille, and they’d pop champagne and tell her she’s set for the rest of her life. By the time I explained that the number was a fraction of what this property was actually worth, she’d have already called the number at the bottom of the page.
This makes me sick.
Gran loves this place, but she’s seventy-two, and the bills scare her even if she pretends they don’t. A check with that many zeros would feel like relief, and I can’t blame anyone for that. But this building is our family’s legacy, the last place we were all a family together, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. They’ll bulldoze it in a blink and build something to compete with the Grand Palm, but smaller and more exclusive.
I grab the letter and am tempted to rip it into a million shreds. This place isn’t for sale. Not for 1.2 million, not for a billion.
The stairs creak, and Carter walks down in neon-green running shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He slows at the counter and reads me like a book. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect.” I fold the letter in half, then shove it in a drawer. “Going for another run?”
“Yeah. It’s too nice of a day to waste. Have a lot on my mind.” He gives me a look, like he can tell I’m lying, but doesn’t push it.
I keep my expression neutral until the door closes behind him. The second he’s gone, I pull the letter out and read it a third time. They included a direct phone number and an email, which means they’ll probably start calling. Eventually, a person in anice suit shows up at your door with a revised offer and a smile that says,We can do this the easy way or the hard way.
For a second, I wonder if Carter is that person, sent here to spy on me.
He does give off those corporate vibes. However, he said he was from New York, not Miami.
