The knock on Maeve Higgins's office door came at 7:58 a.m., two minutes early. She closed the small wall safe and spun the dial, the combination 18-97-24 still humming in her mind like a warning. The room smelled of old paper and the faint citrus of the lemon oil she’d used to polish her desk the night before, a task that had kept her hands busy while her thoughts churned.
"Come in."
Julian Thorne entered first, his silver hair slicked back, a linen blazer the color of oatmeal draped over his shoulders. David Chen followed, a leather folder tucked under one arm, his shirt so crisp it looked starched into submission.
"Good morning, Maeve." Julian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "I trust you slept well after yesterday’s celebrations."
"Like a stone." She gestured toward the two wooden chairs facing her desk. "Please, sit."
David nodded once and took the chair on the left, flipping open his folder without preamble. Julian remained standing for a moment, surveying the office as if he already owned it, before settling into the other chair with the ease of a man accustomed to getting his way.
"I’ll come straight to the point," Julian said. "The Thorne family is prepared to make a formal offer to purchase the back acreage from the Gardens. Five acres. We’re offering eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
"The board has reviewed the preliminary terms," David added, sliding a document across the desk. "It’s a generous price, well above the county’s assessed value. The funds would eliminate the Gardens’ operating deficit for the next three years and cover the repairs to the greenhouse roof."
Maeve did not touch the paper. She kept her hands folded in her lap, feeling the worn cotton of her khakis under her fingertips. "The back acreage isn’t part of the public gardens, but it’s still held in trust. The Thorne family donated that land in 1924. It came with conditions."
"Largely symbolic conditions," David said. "The language in the original trust is vague. It references ‘the betterment of the community’ and ‘the enjoyment of future generations.’ A luxury condominium development with green space and a walking trail to the river could easily satisfy both."
"The board sees this as an opportunity to secure the institution my great-grand-aunt built." Julian leaned forward, his voice dropping into something meant to sound earnest. "We’re trying to save the Gardens, Maeve. Not strip them."
Maeve felt the pulse in her throat. The word *great-grand-aunt* sat in the air like a false note. She thought of Eleanor Vance, the imposter, and Henry, the brother who’d locked the real Elspeth away in a Baltimore asylum. Julian had no idea what he was invoking. But she couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not without a plan.
"I understand the urgency," she said, keeping her voice level. "But before the board makes any decision, I’d like to see the original 1924 trust document and the deed of gift. The full versions, not the abstracts."
David’s brow furrowed. "Those are stored at the county archives in Woodstock. It’ll take time to pull them."
"Then let’s take the time."
Julian’s smile tightened. "Surely the existing records are sufficient. We’ve already had our legal team—"
"I’m not questioning your team’s competence," Maeve said. "I’m acting on my own fiduciary duty as director. If we’re going to consider selling a piece of the Gardens, I need to know exactly what we’re legally bound to. There may be restrictions no one remembers."
"A week," David said, glancing at Julian. "We can give you a week to review the documents. But the board’s next meeting is May fourteenth. If you find nothing, we’ll expect a vote."
"A week is fair." Maeve stood, signaling the conversation was over. "I’ll drive down to Woodstock myself and pull the files."
Julian rose, smoothing the front of his blazer. "You’ve always been thorough, Maeve. It’s one of the qualities I admire most about you." He paused at the door, one hand on the frame. "Just remember that thoroughness can also lead to delay, and delay helps no one."
"Delay sometimes prevents mistakes."
He left without another word. David gathered his folder, gave her a curt nod, and followed.
The moment the door clicked shut, Maeve exhaled. She waited until she heard their footsteps recede down the hallway before picking up her phone and dialing Leo’s extension. He answered on the second ring.
"Yeah?"
"Leo, I need you to cover the morning watering schedule for the next day or two. I’m taking the Subaru down to Woodstock."
"Woodstock?" His voice brightened with curiosity. "What’s in Woodstock?"
"County archives. Some old documents I need to review."
There was a pause on the line. "That’s weird."
"What’s weird?"
"I saw David Chen’s car parked outside the archives building when I drove to work this morning. Around seven-thirty. The blue Tesla with the vanity plate." Leo’s tone was casual, as if he’d remarked on the weather. "He was walking up the front steps with a briefcase. I figured he was just doing lawyer stuff."
Maeve’s hand tightened on the receiver. She stared at the safe, at the cold metal dial that held eleven letters and a truth that threatened to upend everything.
"When you say you saw him, Leo—was he going inside, or coming out?"
"Going inside. Why?"
"Just curious," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. "I’ll call you when I’m on the road."
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