Page 6 of Lost Love Cove 4
"Yes." Carrie's voice caught as she nodded, her fingernails digging half-moons into her palms. "I know what the cancer did to him. I was on the phone with Lori almost every night back then, hearing how he'd waste away one week, then rally the next. Made it hard to know what he was capable of, even at the end."
"I begged Trevor to leave that house sale to Dick." Ian's voice cracked as his fist came down on his thigh. "Dick was the only one who really understood the labyrinth of Lost Love Cove's deals. It wasn't even ours to sell, as all the land on the cove was Dick’s domain. But Trevor—" He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Trevor's eyes lit up like I hadn't seen since before the cancer when Matt's offer came in. That place had been rotting for three years, windows broken, roof sagging, raccoons living in the walls. Delia's mind had gone in those last years. She'd wander the property in her nightgown, chasing away anyone who tried to help, until the day she passed away."
"She was rich, why didn't she just hire someone?" Oscar piped up from his corner of the sofa, his lanky frame shifting forward as he rubbed absently at the bandage on his leg, eyes bright with curiosity despite the shadows under them.
"Her memory was going by then," Ian answered, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on his knee. "Some days she'd recognize you, call you by name, offer you sweet tea. Other days, she'd grab her shotgun if you stepped on the porch, convinced you were there to steal her mother's silver. The paranoia came in waves—she'd tape her windows shut, change locks weekly, bury cash in coffee cans throughout the property. Even had three different attorneys because she was certain each one was plotting with the others."
“That’s just whacky,” Oscar said.
Ian nodded, his silver-flecked beard catching the dim light as he turned back toward Carrie and Matt. She moved into a more comfortable position, the cushion dipping beneath her weight.
"So Trevor took the sale without Dick's knowledge?" Carrie’s voice lilted with cautious hope, while tiny lines formed between her brows. Something fluttered in her chest—the fragile wings of possibility that her friend's husband might be vindicated after all—and she pressed her palm flat against her thigh to steady herself.
“No. Well, sort of, at first.” Ian’s head bobbed. “It was a slow month for charters, so I was in the office and helped him with it,” Ian confessed.
“Where was Dick?” Matt asked.
"He had taken his girlfriend on a European trip," Ian's voice tightened like a fishing line pulled taut. "They were gallivanting through the vineyards of Tuscany while we were drowning in paperwork. Trevor finally tracked him down at some five-star hotel in Florence, and Dick—lounging by a pool, no doubt—told Trevor to get the process started with Delia's place, promising he'd swoop in to finalize everything when he returned, but Cindy, his assistant, would be able to help."
“So Trevor, with your help, took over the sale of the property,” Carrie prompted.
Ian's gaze drifted to the window before returning to Carrie. "Trevor's assistant, Cindy, managed the initial paperwork for Matt's purchase. Then she went on maternity leave, right when the transaction was at its most critical stage." He rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. "Trevor stepped in and found discrepancies. Small things at first—a missing signature here, adecimal point there." The handcuffs clinked as Ian shifted in his seat. "The sale of Matt’s house closed before Trevor could untangle it all, but those irregularities haunted him. He spent nights poring over twenty years of documents we'd entrusted to Dick since we were barely out of college." Ian's voice cracked. "Trevor assumed I was complicit. I wasn't. When he finally showed me what he'd uncovered..." He shook his head, eyes hollow. "The worst revelation was about Lost Love Cove itself. None of us owned our properties outright. They were all leased land. And with Delia's death, everything had fallen into legal limbo while the courts searched for her heir."
“The heir would be Cheryl Winters?” Matt clarified.
“Yes,” Ian confirmed.
“And you have no idea where she is?” Carrie asked, her brow furrowing.
"No." Ian shook his head, the overhead light catching the silver threads in his disheveled hair. "The last I checked, and that was two months ago, while Erika and I were in that little internet café in Savannah with the peeling wallpaper and burnt coffee, the legal heir still hadn't been found. Delia had no other family members, not even a second cousin twice removed." He rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble making a scratching sound against his calloused palm. Angry red welts showed on his wrist where the handcuffs had been chafing against his sun-spotted skin. "Because Cheryl disappeared at the age of eighteen, vanished like morning mist with her so-called new man, there was no clear, living owner who could be reached. The trust did what trusts do. It continued to issue paperwork, page after monotonous page with tiny print that blurred together. It continued to expect taxes, down to the last penny. It sent notices to general delivery addresses where no one had collected mailin years. It mailed certified letters to stale addresses, envelopes that would sit untouched until they yellowed. When those were not signed for, it filed more papers, an endless bureaucratic cycle feeding on itself."
"The estate could be frozen for up to seven years when they could legally declare Cheryl dead, or decades if someone contested it," Oscar cut in, his voice slicing through the room like a blade. Everyone's heads snapped toward him. His eyes burned with unexpected intensity as he leaned forward, knuckles white against his thigh. "Death certificates without bodies are legal minefields. I've seen families torn apart over less." He caught their stares, and his brows rose at their astonished looks. "What? I deliver to law offices. People talk like you're invisible when you're holding their lunch or waiting for a package to be signed.”
Matt turned back to Ian and frowned. “And the land?”
“Legally, the land remained in the estate’s umbrella,” Ian said. “What we found out with your sale was that Delia liked a long lease structure because she could exert control over use without handing over title. She got to tell us what we could and could not do. Trevor and I just thought it was the Lost Love Cove board that covered what could and couldn’t be done on Cove property.”
“You never once questioned it?” Oscar asked, amazed. “Geez, my mother would’ve been all over that.”
“No,” Ian admitted. “We never had cause to. Dick ensured we never found out what was really going on, and because Delia was a recluse and only came out when she didn’t like something we were doing, Dick got away with the fraud.”
“After the sale of Delia’s house and Trevor and I discovered what was really going on, we held our breaths as we tried to fix itbefore anyone noticed,” Ian admitted and looked at Matt. “I’m so sorry, Matt.”
“Sorry doesn’t help me, Ian.” Matt’s voice was laced with ice.
Carrie felt a thread tie itself to the soggy notices on Trevor’s desk. The Winters estate. The probate language. The reversion in case of no response to the first documents that were sent to Lori, Matt, and even Ian. She thought of Trevor sitting here two summers ago with his pen and his neat notes and his meticulous files.
“Let me get this straight.” Carrie’s eyes bore into Ian’s. “When you and Trevor bought your lots,” she said carefully, “you built and believed you were buying the land outright.”
Ian nodded.
Carrie leaned forward, her brow tight. “But why didn’t Trevor come clean once he realized? Why deceive Matt?”
Ian’s head snapped around to Matt, his eyes narrowing. “When did you find out about the lease?” His voice had gone soft, edged with disbelief.
“When Carrie came to my house with a misdelivered letter letting me know my renovation permits had been frozen and to get to Munroe County to resolve it.” Matt’s mouth was set. “You can say, I found out the hard way.”
Ian exhaled and rubbed his wrists against the cuffs. Red welts stood out on his skin. “I tried to shield you. And Lori. That’s why I pulled the first notices out of your mailbox, Matt. Lori’s too. For two years, I handled the matter myself. I thought if I could buy time, if I could fix it quietly, you wouldn’t have to carry it.”
