I thought finding another woman in my bed was the worst betrayal I would ever face, but months later, in a forgotten Vermont town, I discovered that someone had been telling an old man he was dying for one reason only—to steal the land beneath his home.
Chapter 3
I told Walter everything that night.
He sat beside the fireplace holding the medical report I had obtained from Caroline’s specialist group. For several minutes he said nothing.
Then his hands began to shake.
“I buried my tools.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“When Monroe told me six months, I started putting things in order. Gave my good tools to neighbors. Sold my truck. Called the funeral home.”
His voice broke.
“I picked my own casket, Rachel.”
I moved beside him.
Walter covered his face.
“I’ve been waking every morning wondering if this was the last one.”
Anger rose in me so sharply that I had to breathe through it.
“He’s going to answer for this.”
Walter looked toward the ceiling, toward generations of Hale family photographs lining the walls.
“They wanted me scared.”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s disappoint them.”
The next morning I called an attorney named David Mercer. Susan had recommended him through a colleague, and fortunately he practiced in Vermont.
David began investigating Cole Development and Dr. Monroe.
What he found was worse than I expected.
Cole Development had quietly purchased four properties around Willow Creek during the previous three years. Their proposed luxury resort required access to the river that bordered Walter’s acreage. Hale Farm was the missing piece.
Several owners had refused to sell.
Two had later changed their minds after sudden health scares.
My skin went cold when David said that.
“We need names.”
“I already have them.”
Then Boston came looking for me.
An envelope arrived addressed in Mark’s handwriting.
Inside were proposed divorce papers and what his attorney described as an unusually favorable settlement.
Mark intended to transfer fifty-one percent ownership of his private consulting company to me.
At first I nearly laughed.
Mark had guarded that company like a jealous father.
Then I saw the liabilities section.
I sent everything to David.
He called before breakfast the next morning.
“Rachel, don’t sign anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“This isn’t a settlement. It’s a grenade.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Explain.”
“Mark’s company is drowning in debt. There are tax problems, pending lawsuits, vendor claims. If ownership transfers before everything collapses, you become the majority owner holding the bag.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why would he do that?”
“To protect himself financially.”
I looked through the window at Hale Farm.
“Could creditors come after this property?”
“Potentially, depending on how things were structured.”
Suddenly Monroe’s conversation returned to me.
She’ll sell eventually.
I called Mark.
He answered cheerfully.
“Rachel. I was wondering when you’d call.”
“Your company is insolvent.”
Silence.
Then he chuckled.
“You’ve been doing homework.”
“You’re trying to transfer your debts to me.”
“I offered you majority ownership.”
“Of a sinking ship.”
His voice hardened.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You want me financially desperate enough to sell this property.”
Another silence.
This one was different.
“You always did think you were smarter than everyone else,” he said.
I almost laughed.
“Mark, I’m a cardiologist. Identifying something rotten isn’t exactly outside my training.”
“Vermont isn’t your world, Rachel.”
“It is now.”
“You think these people are your family? You’re an outsider.”
I looked toward the orchard.
Ethan and Walter were hanging a bird feeder from a low branch.
“They’ve treated me more like family in three months than you did in the last three years.”
“Take the deal.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“You’ll regret making enemies you don’t understand.”
I froze.
“What enemies?”
He said nothing.
That was enough.
“Do you know Richard Cole?”
Mark hung up.
I stared at the phone.
David discovered the connection two days later.
Mark’s consulting company had done financial modeling for a private investment group associated with Cole Development.
The scheme around Hale Farm was larger than one corrupt doctor.
Mark knew about the project.
Whether he knew about Walter’s fraudulent diagnosis was not yet clear.
But he knew enough to understand exactly what would happen if I became financially desperate.
That night I sat with Walter at the kitchen table.
“They expected you to die,” I said.
Walter’s mouth twisted.
“And they expected you to break.”
“Apparently.”
He raised his coffee mug.
“Here’s to disappointing people.”
I clinked my mug against his.
“Repeatedly.”
For years, I had saved patients by remaining calm while everyone around me panicked.
Now I intended to use that skill differently.
We started gathering evidence.
