Years Offshore, I Turned Toward Spring Ridge

Chapter 4: The Survey Stakes

Colin met me at the Tideglass field office, a temporary cabin beside the harbor road. Through its windows, I could see our boatyard and the public launch ramp.

He poured coffee into a paper cup and set it in front of me. "It's good that we can talk directly."

"I want the original signature page."

His smile stayed in place. "It's in the closing packet."

"I want to see it now."

"There are confidentiality rules."

"Then show me the clause that prevents the owner of the company from seeing a document with her name on it."

He placed both hands on the table. "We're not here to make this adversarial."

"Then it should be easy to answer."

He looked toward the window. "Willa said you were concerned about the paper trail."

"I'm concerned that someone put my name on an agreement I never saw."

"You received the documents."

"I didn't."

"Willa has a record of sending them."

"She has a record of sending a link."

"Which is what our counsel used."

I pushed the card he had given me back across the table. "Did you witness my signature?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"I can't say without reviewing the file."

"Then review it."

He stood and walked to a cabinet. I kept my hands on the table and watched him open a drawer. He returned with a folder but didn't pass it over.

"The sale documents were prepared from records provided by the company," he said. "Your name was already on the consent form when the packet reached us."

"Who provided the form?"

"Willa."

"Was she told that the form had to be signed by both owners?"

"Yes."

"Was she told my signature was already there?"

He held my gaze. "The form arrived complete."

I had expected a denial. His answer was careful enough to leave room around itself.

"Did you ask her whether I'd signed it?"

"The company certified that the required approvals had been obtained."

"That wasn't my question."

"It's the answer I can give without counsel present."

I rose. "Have counsel call me."

At the door, he said, "Mara, you're trying to protect a business that can't support itself. You may win a procedural argument and still lose the yard."

"Then let's be accurate about what it's worth."

"Accuracy won't make the debts disappear."

"No. But neither will a resort brochure."

His expression tightened. For the first time, I saw the irritation beneath the smile.

"You should ask Willa what she needs," he said.

"I did."

"Ask her again."

That afternoon, I went through the yard with a notebook and measured the equipment Tideglass had listed for removal. The lift was worth more than the company had reported. The repair inventory had been undervalued. The harbor lease had no current appraisal. Each number was small on its own. Together, they made the offer look less like a rescue and more like a bargain.

I also found the storm log Dad had kept in a tin box under the office stairs. The old paper smelled of oil. He'd recorded flood heights, wind speeds, and damage to the public road for nearly twenty years. In the latest pages, Willa had added notes of her own. She'd tracked every waterline, every broken drain, every repair the town had deferred.

The records were better than the town's published flood maps.

A line of red pencil marked a storm surge that had reached the boatyard's back wall. Tideglass's plans showed a new seawall, but the design pushed water toward the public road and the low houses at the foot of Spring Ridge.

I called the engineering office listed on the plan. A clerk confirmed that the drawing was preliminary and had not been reviewed by the town.

I asked her to send me the submission history.

When I got back to the yard, Willa was waiting by the front door. She looked at the notebook in my hand.

"You talked to Colin."

"I did."

"And?"

"He says the consent arrived complete."

"Then it came from the office."

"Did you send it?"

"I sent the packet they asked for."

"Did you see my signature on it?"

She looked toward the workshop. "I thought you'd signed the digital copy."

"I didn't."

"You could have."

"I could have. But I didn't."

She stepped closer. "You want this to be simple. Someone forged your name, someone lied, and you're the one who came back to catch them. But it isn't simple. It's the bank and payroll and the roof leaking over the electrical panel."

"I know."

"No, you don't. You know facts. You don't know what it costs to keep the doors open."

I looked at the storm log tucked under my arm. "Then tell me."

She shook her head and walked away.