Chapter 6 - THE PROPERTY ISABEL WANTED FOR HERSELF
The proposed buyer of Harbor House was called North Atlantic Heritage Partners.
I'd never heard of it.
Rebecca had.
She asked a forensic accountant to examine the ownership structure, and within forty-eight hours, we discovered why Isabel had been so interested in my mother's property.
North Atlantic Heritage Partners was controlled through several investment entities.
One of its principal investors was Isabel Hart.
I stared at the report.
“She was planning to buy my house?”
“Her company was proposing to acquire it,” Rebecca explained. “The transaction still required lawful authorization, but the paperwork suggests she expected it to happen.”
At the price Isabel had proposed, Harbor House would have been sold for substantially less than its independently appraised value.
And the acquisition was scheduled to occur shortly after the Aspen financing closed.
I thought about Isabel walking through our Connecticut home, praising my mother's antiques and asking about the Rhode Island coastline.
She hadn't been making conversation.
She'd been evaluating an asset.
Then Rebecca showed me another document.
An internal presentation described Harbor House as a strategic development opportunity that could be acquired through a combination of negotiated purchase and debt restructuring.
The phrase sounded harmless until I understood what it meant.
If Ward Hospitality encountered financial trouble, Isabel's companies might try to exploit the resulting pressure to acquire valuable assets at a discount.
Including property they were attempting to connect to the financing through my disputed guarantee.
I felt sick.
“Did Julian know?”
“We don't have enough evidence to answer that yet.”
I nodded.
I was learning to distinguish what I suspected from what I could prove.
But the emotional truth was already clear.
My husband had brought a woman into our marriage who was involved in a business strategy targeting the home my mother left me.
That evening, Julian appeared at Harbor House.
He hadn't called first.
I opened the door but didn't invite him inside.
“Where's Harrison?”
“Taking his afternoon nap.”
“I want to see him.”
“We'll arrange that. But you can't arrive without notice and assume everything happens on your schedule.”
Julian looked exhausted.
His coat was wrinkled, and dark circles had formed beneath his eyes.
For a second, I remembered the man who stayed awake beside me during Harrison's first fever.
Then I remembered Christmas morning.
“Isabel's company is trying to buy Harbor House,” I said.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I watched carefully.
“North Atlantic Heritage Partners. She's an investor.”
Julian stared.
“She told me the buyer was an independent development group.”
“Then she lied to you.”
He ran one hand over his face.
“I didn't know.”
“Julian, you need to stop using that sentence as though it erases what you approved.”
He looked at me.
For once, he didn't argue.
Then he said:
“There's something else you should know.”
I waited.
“Isabel has a security interest in some of my Ward Hospitality shares.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“Enough to gain significant leverage if I default on the financing.”
I stared at him.
May you like
Julian had mortgaged his professional future while using my property as part of a transaction I never approved.
And now the woman he'd spent Christmas with was positioned to benefit if his business failed.
