“Miles pulled the filings. Trevor used a copied signature packet from earlier family documents. The lender accepted it. The guest house is listed as collateral, but because of the parcel structure, the issue could put a cloud over the entire estate if it’s handled incorrectly.”

My hand pressed flat against the desk.

The estate. The main house. Nancy’s gardens. The library. The dining room where my untouched birthday dinner still waited, because I hadn’t yet found the strength to clear it away.

Trevor had put all of it at risk.

Not to save his children. Not for medical bills. Not to keep a roof over anyone’s head.

To keep alive a company that existed mostly as a title on his business cards.