Chapter 4 - MOMMY’S TREE
Cole ran harder than he had in years.
The first drops of rain hit the ground before he reached the bottom of the hill.
“Ava!”
She didn’t turn.
Thunder rolled again.
The oak branches moved violently above her.
“Ava!”
This time she looked back.
Her cheeks were wet.
Cole couldn’t tell what was rain and what was tears.
“Stay where you are!”
He reached her seconds later.
“What are you doing?”
Ava pointed at the tree.
“They’re going to cut it.”
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do know.”
“You didn’t know about Jasper.”
The words stopped him.
Ava looked up at him.
“You didn’t know about Mommy’s box.”
Cole couldn’t answer.
“You didn’t know about the flags.”
Another drop of rain rolled down her nose.
“So how do you know?”
Cole sank to his knees in the wet grass.
Because she was right.
Money had taught him that almost any practical problem could be delegated.
A hotel expansion?
Hire executives.
A legal dispute?
Call Sarah.
A broken roof?
Call the estate manager.
A delayed project?
Add resources.
But fatherhood did not work that way.
You could hire help.
You could not outsource knowing your child.
“I don’t,” he admitted.
Ava stared at him.
“What?”
“I don’t know for certain yet.”
Her mouth trembled.
“But I know what I’m going to do.”
“What?”
“I’m going to stay here and fight for it.”
“Until when?”
“Until it’s safe.”
Ava looked toward the oak.
“What if they have papers?”
“Then we get better papers.”
“What if they have lawyers?”
Cole almost smiled.
“We have Sarah.”
A tiny smile appeared.
It vanished quickly.
“What if they have bulldozers?”
“Then the bulldozers stop.”
“How?”
“Because this land belongs to you.”
Ava blinked.
“What?”
“Your mom put it in a trust for you when you were a baby.”
“My tree?”
“Your whole hill.”
She looked around as if seeing it for the first time.
“Mine?”
“Someday.”
“Why?”
Cole swallowed.
“Because your mother wanted you to have something that couldn’t disappear.”
Ava stared at the orange flags.
“She knew?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“She didn’t know this would happen.”
“But she knew I’d miss her?”
Cole’s chest tightened.
“Yes.”
Ava pressed the gold horse necklace against her coat.
“I miss her every day.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Cole flinched.
Ava’s voice remained small.
“You’re always gone.”
There it was.
Not screamed.
Not weaponized.
Just true.
Cole looked toward the wet grass.
“I thought working less around you meant you wouldn’t see me sad.”
“I see you sad.”
He looked up.
“You do?”
“You sit in your car sometimes after you come home.”
Cole stared at her.
“You don’t get out for a long time.”
He had thought she was asleep.
Many nights, he returned from airports after midnight and sat alone in the car because walking into Caroline’s house felt harder than leading a board meeting.
Ava noticed everything.
“I didn’t know you saw.”
“I look from my window.”
Cole’s throat tightened.
Ava asked, “Do you miss Mommy too?”
“Every day.”
“Then why don’t we talk about her?”
Because it hurt.
Because he feared Ava’s tears.
Because he feared his own.
Because he thought a strong father was supposed to move the household forward.
All the things Paige had accused Ava of refusing to do, Cole had secretly demanded of himself too.
“I was scared,” he said.
Ava frowned.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
“That if we talked about her too much, I wouldn’t be able to make you feel better.”
Ava thought about that.
Then said:
“Maybe we can just be sad together.”
Cole lowered his head.
His daughter had just solved something millions of dollars and three years of avoidance had not.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“We can.”
Lightning flashed.
Cole stood quickly.
“We need to get inside.”
Ava hugged the tree.
“Wait.”
“What are you doing?”
“Telling Mommy.”
Cole’s throat closed.
“Telling her what?”
“That we’re keeping her tree.”
Cole looked away toward the valley.
“Tell her I’m sorry too.”
Ava looked up.
“For what?”
“For taking so long to notice.”
She pressed her cheek against the bark.
Then whispered something Cole couldn’t hear.
He didn’t ask.
Some conversations didn’t belong to him.
They reached the house as the rain intensified.
Sarah met them on the back porch.
“You’re both soaked.”
“We’re okay.”
“I have news.”
Cole handed Ava to Ruth, who wrapped a blanket around her.
“What?”
Sarah’s expression was grim.
“Evan Mercer emptied one of the estate management accounts this morning.”
“How much?”
“Six hundred and forty thousand.”
Cole swore under his breath.
“Where is he?”
“Unknown.”
“The sheriff?”
“Looking.”
Cole glanced at Paige.
She stood in the foyer beside her luggage.
Apparently someone had packed it.
“Did you know?” he asked.
Paige’s face was rigid.
“About what?”
“Evan stole six hundred forty thousand dollars.”
For the first time all day, her reaction looked genuine.
“What?”
Sarah watched her carefully.
Cole stepped closer.
“You were in my office with him.”
“He said he was helping process the sale.”
“The forged sale.”
“I did not forge your signature.”
“Then why were you holding my token?”
Paige hesitated.
“Evan told me you had already approved everything.”
“And you believed him?”
“You were in Tokyo.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Paige rubbed both hands across her face.
“He said you wanted the land sold before the wedding because you didn’t want Ava blaming me.”
Cole stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“It did then.”
“Because you wanted to believe it.”
Paige looked toward Ava.
The child stood beside Ruth.
Wrapped in a blanket.
Watching.
Paige lowered her voice.
“Can we talk privately?”
Cole shook his head.
“No more secrets in this house.”
Paige looked humiliated.
Then she spoke.
“Evan told me the land was worth around seven million.”
Cole frowned.
“You sold for four point two.”
“He said the difference was because Vane Ridge would assume environmental and access costs.”
Sarah said, “That’s nonsense.”
“I know that now.”
Cole studied Paige.
“What did he promise you?”
Paige’s silence answered.
“How much?”
“Cole—”
“How much?”
“One hundred thousand.”
“For what?”
“A consulting fee.”
Cole laughed bitterly.
“You sold my daughter’s property at a discount and expected to be personally paid.”
“I thought it was legal.”
“You knew it was dishonest.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Ava suddenly spoke.
“Yes, it is.”
Everyone turned.
Paige stared at her.
Ava clutched the blanket.
“You knew it was mine.”
Paige’s expression shifted.
“Ava—”
“You knew Mommy’s necklace was mine too.”
“Ava, adults make complicated decisions.”
“You gave it to Madison.”
Madison stood near the staircase.
Her eyes filled again.
“Don’t use me,” she told her mother.
Paige blinked.
“What?”
“You keep using me as an excuse.”
“I was trying to make you feel welcome.”
“With stolen stuff?”
“Madison.”
“You said Ava had enough.”
Cole looked sharply at Paige.
Madison wiped her eyes.
“You said she had a billionaire dad, so losing a few old things wouldn’t hurt her.”
Ava went very still.
Cole’s face hardened.
Paige whispered, “That was taken out of context.”
“There is no context that makes that sentence acceptable.”
Then Madison reached into her coat pocket.
“I found this in Mom’s desk.”
She handed Cole a small brass key.
Paige’s face changed instantly.
“Madison.”
“Don’t.”
“What does it open?” Cole asked.
Madison looked toward the old carriage house.
“Mom rented a storage unit in Leesburg.”
Cole stared at her.
“She kept the key in an envelope with a list of things from this house.”
Paige lunged for the key.
Sarah stepped between them.
“Do not.”
Cole looked down at the brass tag.
Unit 318.
Ava whispered:
“Mommy’s things?”
Madison nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
Two hours later, Cole stood inside storage unit 318.
His breath left him.
Caroline’s riding trophies sat in boxes.
Her silver frame.
Her books.
A lamp from her reading room.
Ava’s baby quilt.
Boxes of family photographs.
An antique mirror that had hung in Caroline’s grandmother’s house.
And against the back wall—
Caroline’s saddle.
Cole touched the worn leather.
A white envelope was taped beneath it.
His name was written across the front.
COLE.
He recognized the handwriting immediately.
May you like
Caroline’s.
Three years after her death, he was holding a letter from his wife that he had never seen.
