Clara shot to her feet, heat rising up her neck to nearly explode in her head. “Mr. Long does not own this bookshop.” Or at least Clara hoped not. “And I can’t believe you’d represent someone who is trying to take it from us.”
“Stephen is a friend of mine. He knows of my connection with you and your mother, so he thought I’d be the best one to approach you about coming to some sort of agreement.”
“Agreement?”
He gestured for Clara to sit, and after a slight hesitation, she complied, although her body remained rigid.
“I’m working with Mr. Long on your behalf, Clara.” He unfolded the paper. “Hoping to ensure some sort of financial benefit for you and your mother. With her medical diagnosis, the bills and expectations of future expenses must be significant.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. Low blow. She’d not validate him. “We’re not discussing my mother’s health, Uncle Julian.”
“But if it’s uncovered that Granny Sadie never officially purchased this building, rightful ownership would resort to Mr. Long, and there’s a possibility back rent could come due.”
“Back rent.” Clara’s jaw dropped. “For what? A hundred years?”
“No one wants a big scene. Mr. Long wishes to ensure you can leave the shop with something, so he’s willing to offer an out-of-court settlement, seeing as you had no way of knowing Granny Sadie never purchased this building. Here is what he is offering you.”
He placed the paper on the desk. Written on it was such a low amount that Clara laughed before she could stop herself. She knew quite well the value of property located near Biltmore Village. Mr. Long and Julian knew too, which was probably the entire reason all this started. The offer wasn’t even half what Blackwell’s was worth. She stifled the urge to rip the paper in half. Her uncle had been waiting for an opportunity to take Blackwell’s since her father’s death.
“Can you prove Sadie didn’t own it?” Clara pushed the paper back at him.
“Now see here—”
“I don’t know what you and Mr. Long have in mind, but I can assure you, I’ll pick through every part of this bookshop and travel wherever I need to go to find proof you are wrong.”
“I’m giving you a chance.” He stood, a sneer beneath his infernal mustache. “If Mr. Long can prove that Sadie Blackwell never owned the property, and you’re not willing to take a generous offer for property that’s not even yours, then the amount you’d have to procure for back payments would be substantial.” His brow rose with threatening slowness. “And you own a bookshop, my dear, not a gold vault.”
Clara pressed her palms against the desk and stood, refusing to give way to her wobbling knees. “You may leave now.”
“I know this is all new for you, so I’ll give you another chance to come to your senses.” He pushed the paper back toward her. “Mr. Long and I will be talking to Judge Linden in two weeks, at which time we will make a formal complaint. This amount would allow you and your mother to start over without court costs and the real chance of losing everything you love.”
A darkness hovered over his words, seeping through her with a chill. Clara held his gaze, daring him to offer another threat. She would not cow to him, the villain.
He lowered his eyes first and backed toward the door. “It’s the best choice for everyone.”
“Everyone?” Her question drew his attention back to her face. “And what exactly do you get out of all this?”
He didn’t answer, but with a tip of his head exited the room. If she knew her uncle Julian and his past at all, she’d wager he was charging Mr. Long much more than a usual lawyer’s fee.
She stared at the closed door, her forced breaths pulsing her chest to keep the tears at bay.
How could this have happened? And how could her own uncle be part of the shadow falling over Blackwell’s? Traitor.
She slipped back into her chair and buried her face in her hands. First Dad and now this? God, what are You doing? Don’t You care about me and my mom?
Her gaze drifted over the myriad papers on her desk to land on Sadie’s Bible, the cover bending up at two ends and pages crinkled with use. Clara slid the book closer and opened it to the first page. A handwritten message was there…no, wait, it was a set of verses. The reference marked the bottom of the script. Isaiah 43:1–3.
But now thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob, and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour.
The middle part had been underlined. By Sadie? Or Sadie’s mother, Evelyn? The passage was followed by a short note. Help me to walk with courage. You know my real name.
Walk with courage?
“I am the Lord thy God…thy Savior,” Clara muttered, rereading the verse. Savior? Yes, she knew Christ saved. She had responded to His call on her heart when she was ten. But the reference in this verse hinted toward saving even through other things too. Suffering. Pain. Fear.
“Like losing my livelihood, Lord? Will You save me from that?”
“Or bring you through it stronger…” The thought pressed through her like a whisper to her soul. Her breath shivered out. “But Lord, if it has to hurt, I don’t know if I want to be stronger.”
Her life hadn’t been filled with loss like Sadie’s. Yes, she’d put her dreams on hold to care for her parents, but she loved them. She wanted to care for them.
