It was personal, which made it more dangerous.
I looked through the window first.
A man I didn’t recognize. 50-something, expensive suit. Two other men flanking him like bodyguards.
I didn’t open the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Gable. I’m David Sterling. I believe we need to talk.”
My heart hammered. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I think you do. I’m James’s business partner. We have significant investments at stake.”
“James has no authority to make business arrangements involving my property.”
Sterling smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps we’re talking past each other. May I come in just for a moment. I promise I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Everything in me screamed to refuse.
But I needed to see him. Needed to understand what James was really dealing with.
I opened the door 6 inches. Kept the chain lock engaged.
His smile widened. “Smart woman. Your brother was smart, too. Stubborn but smart.”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“To make you an offer, a generous one. $1.8 million for the lodge. Cash. You walk away clean, set for life. James’s debt gets forgiven. Everyone wins.”
“And if I refuse?”
His expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. Something cold.
“Then we proceed through other channels. James signed papers, Mrs. Gable. Powers of attorney. Transfer agreements. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“James had no power of attorney to sign.”
“He believed he did. That’s all that matters in court. By the time you prove otherwise, if you can, the property will be tied up in litigation for years. Legal fees will eat whatever you have left. You’ll die broken, alone, fighting a battle you can’t win.”
I met his gaze. “Get off my property.”
“Think about it. I’ll give you 48 hours.” He handed me a business card through the gap. “After that, things get complicated.”
They left. I watched through the window as their black SUV disappeared down the drive.
Then I called 911.
“I need to report a threat,” I told the dispatcher. “A man named David Sterling just came to my home and threatened me.”
The deputy who responded was young, earnest, took notes carefully as I explained, but his expression told me what I needed to know.
“Ma’am, he didn’t technically threaten you. He made you a business offer. Even the part about litigation—that’s not illegal to mention. He said things would get complicated if you refused. That’s vague, not specific enough for a restraining order.”
The deputy looked genuinely sorry. “My advice? Don’t meet with him alone. Get a lawyer. Document everything.”
After he left, I sat on the porch, watched the mountains, tried to calm the shaking in my hands.
They were escalating. 48 hours. 2 days to decide.
But I didn’t need 2 days.
I knew my answer.
Now I just needed to survive long enough to see it through.
No Bella. No Sterling.
He looked terrible. Unshaven, dark circles under his eyes. The BMW was parked crooked in the drive like he’d been in too much of a hurry to care.
“Mom,” his voice cracked. “We need to talk. Really talk.”
I let him in, poured coffee, sat across from him at the kitchen table.
“Sterling came here,” I said.
