Chapter 17: Eleanor Vale Knew the Truth

I stared at the second envelope for several seconds before opening it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper and an old photograph.

The photograph showed my mother standing beside a younger Eleanor Vale.

Behind them was Lighthouse Hill.

On the back, my mother's handwriting read: “The woman who tried to warn me.”

I looked at the attorney.

“How long has she known about the Mercers?”

He folded his hands on the desk.

“Long enough to know they don't forgive people who refuse to play by their rules.”

I unfolded Eleanor's letter.

“Mara, if this reached you, then you walked away from Grant.”

My throat tightened.

“Good.”

One word.

But somehow it carried more comfort than anything Grant had said to me in years.

The letter continued.

“Your mother believed Grant loved you. I never did.”

I stopped reading.

Then I forced myself to continue.

Eleanor explained that the Mercer family had been trying to gain influence over Lighthouse Hill for years.

They couldn't simply take it because my mother's will had placed strict restrictions on the property.

But marriage would have changed everything.

If I became Grant's wife, the Mercers would have had access to financial information, property decisions, and eventually the ability to pressure me into placing the house into a family trust.

My hands went cold.

The cottage agreement wasn't an isolated request.

It was the first step.

“Your mother refused them,” Eleanor wrote. “After that, the Mercers stopped approaching her directly. They waited.”

I thought about Grant's questions over the years.

His casual comments about how impractical the house was.

His suggestions that I let his family's lawyers handle the property.

His insistence that marriage meant there should be no difference between what belonged to me and what belonged to him.

It had all sounded like love when I wanted to believe in it.

Now it sounded like preparation.

Then I reached the last paragraph.

“There is one thing you must understand. Sloane is not the person controlling this.”

I frowned.

“Then who is?”

The attorney didn't answer.

I read the next line.

“Her role is to keep Grant emotionally distracted while the older members of the family handle the real business.”

My pulse quickened.

The sapphire bracelet.

The penthouse.

The constant protection.

The endless emergencies.

Maybe Sloane wasn't the mastermind.

Maybe she was the distraction.

I looked up.

“Who are the older members?”

The attorney sighed.

“Grant's father. His uncle. And the family trustee.”

I stared at him.

“The trustee?”

He nodded.

“Your mother believed the trustee had been waiting for your marriage to Grant before making his move.”

A terrible realization settled over me.

The wedding hadn't just been a wedding.

It had been a deadline.

And I had canceled it less than twelve hours before they reached it.

My phone suddenly vibrated on the desk.

An unknown number.

I answered cautiously.

A man's voice came through.

“Ms. Bennett, we need to discuss Lighthouse Hill.”

I sat perfectly still.

“Who is this?”

He didn't answer immediately.

Then he said, “Someone who knows what the Mercers are planning to do next.”

The call ended.

I looked at the attorney.

Neither of us spoke.

Then my phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a photograph.

Lighthouse Hill.

Taken that morning.

And standing outside my locked gate was Grant.