The legal proceedings did not move as quickly as I wanted.
That was one of the hardest things to accept.
I'd spent years solving problems with my hands.
When something failed, I could inspect it.
Test the connections.
Find the damaged part.
Replace it.
Then see whether the system worked.
But what Dad had done couldn't be repaired that way.
There were court dates.
Requests for documents.
Financial examinations.
Statements from witnesses.
Questions about transactions that had happened years earlier.
And every time I thought we understood the whole story, another record showed that something else needed to be examined.
I began dividing my time between South Carolina and Tucson.
I had a life waiting for me in Arizona.
Work didn't stop because my father had been arrested.
Customers still needed equipment repaired.
Contracts still had deadlines.
Teresa was understanding.
She helped me arrange my schedule when I needed to travel.
But I didn't want to leave everything to other people.
I had worked too hard to build my career.
My family had already taken too much of my childhood.
I wasn't going to let the investigation take over every part of my adulthood too.
Some days, I worked in Tucson and barely thought about Ohio.
Other days, a message from Grace arrived while I was checking a control panel.
I would see Dad's name on my screen.
And suddenly, I was eleven again.
Standing beside the minivan.
Trying to understand why an empty seat wasn't available to me.
I hated how quickly old memories could return.
One afternoon, Teresa found me sitting at my workbench with a report open on my phone.
She looked at the screen.
"More from the attorney?"
I nodded.
She pulled up a stool.
"Anything urgent?"
"Not today."
She looked around the workshop.
"Then put it away for an hour."
I sighed.
"I need to keep up."
"You will."
She pointed toward the equipment I'd been testing.
"But you can't do two jobs properly at once."
I looked at the panel.
She was right.
I put the phone down.
For the next hour, I worked.
I checked connections.
Recorded readings.
Replaced a faulty component.
When the system finally operated correctly, I felt my shoulders relax.
It wasn't a major achievement.
Just an ordinary repair.
But ordinary work had helped save me before.
It was helping again.
The next time I returned to South Carolina, Grace had more financial findings.
I met her in the same office where she'd first shown me the missing-person filing.
I remembered how frightened I'd been that day.
Now the room felt familiar.
There were still stacks of documents.
Still too many questions.
But I no longer felt as though every new discovery might knock me off my feet.
Grace explained that investigators had identified substantial improper transfers from the trust.
Some money had gone toward personal expenses.
Some had been used to cover debts.
Other funds had been diverted into investments that failed.
The exact financial consequences were still being evaluated.
I looked through the records.
The amounts were difficult to comprehend.
I had grown up believing our family was comfortable but not wealthy.
Dad worked for an insurance company.
Mom worked at the dental practice.
They paid bills.
Bought groceries.
Complained about rising prices.
Yet Dad had been moving large sums through accounts connected to the Blue Heron.
I looked at Grace.
"How did nobody notice?"
She considered the question.
"Some people noticed pieces of it."
I thought about Grandma.
Her letters.
The questions she'd asked.
The accounting records that didn't match.
Mrs. Bennett had noticed things too.
Scott had eventually discovered documents.
Natalie had found evidence.
The truth hadn't been invisible.
It had simply been easier for everyone to accept Dad's explanations until the contradictions became impossible to ignore.
I looked at the statement again.
"Can we get the money back?"
Grace spoke carefully.
"Some assets may be recoverable."
I waited.
"Others may not be."
I nodded.
She explained that financial recovery depended on what remained, where it had gone, and what legal claims could be pursued.
I listened.
I wanted to understand.
But I also wanted something simpler.
I wanted the money returned to the place Grandpa had intended it to stay.
I wanted the inn protected.
I wanted the years Dad had spent treating my inheritance as his own to have consequences.
And part of me wanted him to understand what it had been like for me.
That part was harder to admit.
I had told myself I didn't want revenge.
Most days, I didn't.
But sometimes, when I read a vacation invoice dated from the year I stayed home alone, I wanted Dad to feel exactly what I had felt.
Small.
Unimportant.
Excluded.
I didn't like that thought.
But pretending it never occurred to me would have been another kind of dishonesty.
I looked at Grace.
"What happens if there isn't enough money to restore the trust?"
She folded her hands.
"We continue pursuing the available remedies. But I can't promise every dollar will be recovered."
I nodded.
I appreciated her honesty.
I had heard enough promises from people who couldn't keep them.
During the investigation, Scott provided more business records.
His own conduct was examined.
He had signed documents.
Worked with accounts.
And benefited from arrangements that should have raised questions.
Grace explained that cooperation didn't automatically erase responsibility.
I understood.
I didn't hate Scott.
But I didn't trust him simply because he had finally told the truth.
The same was true of Natalie.
She was recovering.
She attended physical therapy.
Some days went well.
Others didn't.
When I visited, she was often exhausted.
She had to work at things she'd once done without thinking.
Walking longer distances.
Moving her injured arm.
Completing ordinary tasks.
I tried not to stare at the burns.
She noticed anyway.
One afternoon, she looked at me.
"You can ask."
I frowned.
"Ask what?"
"Whether they hurt."
I looked down.
"I wasn't going to."
She gave a tired smile.
"They do."
I nodded.
"Some days more than others."
I sat beside her.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at me.
"You're not the one who did this."
I didn't answer.
I thought about Dad.
About the evidence.
About the deliberate fire.
I still struggled to understand how a man could risk his daughter's life to protect himself.
Natalie watched me.
"Have you heard anything new about the case?"
I nodded.
"Grace has more financial records."
She looked away.
"I suppose there's more money missing."
"Yes."
Natalie shut her eyes.
I waited.
Then she asked, "How much did Dad blame on me?"
I took a breath.
"The document Grace showed me tried to make you responsible for the improper transactions."
She nodded.
"I thought so."
I looked at her.
"He prepared it before the fire."
Her eyes filled.
"I know."
I sat quietly.
Natalie looked toward the window.
"I keep thinking about all the times he told me I was his favorite."
My chest tightened.
I didn't know what to say.
She continued.
"I thought that meant he'd always protect me."
I remembered the way Dad used to smile when Natalie entered a room.
The expensive gifts.
The vacations.
The arguments he'd settled in her favor.
I had spent years interpreting those things as love.
Now Natalie was questioning them too.
"Maybe he cared about you in his own way," I said carefully.
She looked at me.
I continued.
"But caring about somebody doesn't excuse what you do to them."
She nodded slowly.
I hadn't meant to defend Dad.
I didn't know what was inside his head.
I couldn't measure how much he'd loved either daughter.
All I could judge was what he'd done.
And what he'd done had hurt us both.
One afternoon, Natalie asked me whether I remembered Grandpa Walter.
I smiled faintly.
"A little."
She looked interested.
"What do you remember?"
"The smell of peppermint."
She laughed softly.
"Me too."
"And his toolbox."
She nodded.
"He let you touch everything."
I smiled.
"He showed me how."
Natalie's expression changed.
"I used to be jealous."
I looked at her.
"Of Grandpa letting me use tools?"
She shrugged carefully.
"He was always interested in what you were doing."
I stared.
I had never imagined Natalie feeling jealous of me.
She'd had so much.
But perhaps that was part of the problem.
She had spent her childhood needing to be the center of every room.
Even Grandpa's attention to me had felt threatening.
I didn't know what to do with that yet.
So I simply listened.
"He was proud of you," she said.
I looked down.
"Mrs. Bennett told me."
Natalie smiled sadly.
"He used to say you'd figure out how everything worked."
I thought about the little birdhouse.
The loose hinge.
Grandpa's hands guiding mine.
"He made me feel capable."
Natalie nodded.
"I know."
We sat quietly.
Then she said, "I wish I'd understood that you weren't trying to take anything from me."
I looked at her.
"I wasn't."
She nodded.
"I know that now."
I didn't tell her it was all right.
But I appreciated hearing her say it.
The criminal proceedings continued.
There were hearings I attended.
Others I didn't.
Sometimes Grace advised me that my presence wasn't necessary.
Other times, I simply couldn't bear to see Dad.
I felt guilty about that at first.
I had been raised to believe children owed their parents loyalty.
Even when parents made mistakes.
Even when they were unfair.
But I wasn't responsible for sitting in every courtroom just to prove I cared.
Dad had made his decisions.
The legal process would examine them whether I watched every minute or not.
My role was to tell the truth when needed.
To preserve documents.
To protect my interests.
And to continue living.
That last part was surprisingly difficult.
During one trip to South Carolina, I visited the Blue Heron alone.
Mrs. Bennett met me on the porch.
The damaged section was still closed.
Workers had begun assessing what would need to be repaired.
I stood beside the railing.
The ocean stretched out beyond the sand.
For a long time, I watched the water.
Mrs. Bennett came outside carrying two cups of tea.
She handed me one.
"Thinking about your grandfather?"
I nodded.
"Among other things."
She leaned against the railing.
"He would have been upset by all this."
I looked at her.
"Do you think he knew Dad might do something like this?"
She considered the question.
"I don't know."
I nodded.
"Rose worried about David's decisions. Walter had concerns of his own over the years."
I looked toward the building.
I remembered Grandpa's letter.
He'd written about Dad's idea of success.
How he'd always wanted more.
How Grandpa had tried to teach him that money wasn't everything.
I hadn't paid much attention to those lines at first.
Now they felt important.
"Do you think Grandpa made a mistake leaving Dad in charge?"
Mrs. Bennett sighed.
"He trusted his son."
I looked at her.
"That was the mistake."
She didn't argue.
We stood quietly.
After a while, I asked about the condition of the inn.
Mrs. Bennett explained what had been damaged.
Some areas needed extensive work.
Others could be restored.
The old porch remained.
The original sign had survived.
I looked at the wooden railings.
I remembered Grandpa writing that he hoped I'd help him repair the porch someday.
I smiled sadly.
"He really thought I'd come here."
Mrs. Bennett nodded.
"He did."
I took a sip of tea.
For years, I'd imagined the Blue Heron as a place my family had enjoyed without me.
Now I was beginning to see it differently.
It had been Grandpa's project.
A building he'd worked on.
A place he'd wanted to pass along.
Dad had used it badly.
But that didn't mean the property itself had to remain a reminder of what he'd done.
I looked toward the older section.
The windows were still dark from the fire.
There would be a lot of work.
A lot of decisions.
I knew nothing about running an inn.
At least, not yet.
But I knew how to work with people who understood things I didn't.
I had learned that in Tucson.
Nobody built a business entirely alone.
I finished my tea.
Mrs. Bennett looked at me.
"Will you sell it?"
I considered the question.
I could understand why she asked.
A developer had wanted the property.
Dad had tried to arrange a sale.
The building needed repairs.
And I already had a life two thousand miles away.
Selling might have been simpler.
But I looked at Grandpa's old sign.
Then at the ocean.
"I don't know exactly what I'll do yet."
Mrs. Bennett nodded.
I continued.
"But I don't want Dad's decisions to be the last thing this place is remembered for."
She looked at me.
For a moment, her eyes filled.
Then she smiled.
"I think Walter would be glad to hear that."
I looked back at the building.
I didn't know what the legal outcome would be.
I didn't know how much money could be recovered.
I didn't know whether my relationship with Natalie would survive the difficult conversations still ahead.
But I was beginning to understand something.
The trust could be damaged financially.
The building could be damaged by fire.
My family could damage the memories connected to it.
Still, there were things Dad hadn't managed to destroy.
Grandpa's intention.
Grandma's evidence.
The truth.
And my right to decide what came next.
I left the Blue Heron that afternoon with no final plan.
Only a growing sense that I didn't want the place to disappear.
