That’s when I remembered James had said Bella had investors. Real ones. People putting actual money into their resort scheme.
If I could prove they were soliciting investment for property they didn’t own, that was fraud. Clear. Prosecutable.
I opened my laptop, searched for Pinnacle Ventures and Rebecca Stone.
The results were damning. Four lawsuits in 5 years, each one following the same pattern. Rebecca—Bella—befriended wealthy families, identified valuable assets, convinced them to invest or develop the properties, then disappeared with the capital while the properties went to foreclosure.
The Reeves family in Montana had lost a 2,000-acre cattle ranch. The Millers in Oregon lost a waterfront hotel. The Patterson family in Washington lost three coffee shops and their family home.
Total damages across all cases: $4.8 million.
And she’d never served jail time. Why?
I dug deeper, found the answer in court documents. She’d used shell companies, made the investments look legitimate. By the time families realized what happened, she’d transferred the money offshore and filed bankruptcy under the business name.
She’d learned from each case. Gotten better at hiding the trail.
Now she’d set her sights on our lodge.
I printed everything, added it to the folders, photographed each page, uploaded to three separate cloud accounts. If they destroyed the physical evidence, I’d still have backups.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hello, Mrs. Gable. This is Rick Sanderson. I’m the contractor Dylan Thompson recommended. He said you might need someone for repairs.”
“I didn’t ask for a contractor.”
“I know,” Rick said. “Dylan was worried. He said your son has been making claims. Dylan thought you might need someone local, someone who could document the actual condition of the property in case you need to dispute any false claims about necessary repairs.”
I understood immediately. “You’re offering to be a witness.”
“I’m offering to do a legitimate property assessment for your records. No charge.”
“And if my son’s been lying about the lodge’s condition,” I asked, “why would you do this?”
Rick’s voice softened. “My mother went through something similar. Her second husband tried to have her declared incompetent so he could control her estate. By the time we figured it out, he’d already transferred half her assets. I won’t watch it happen to someone else if I can help.”
“When can you come up?”
“I’m 20 minutes away. If you’re free now.”
“I’ll have coffee ready,” I said.
Rick Sanderson arrived in a white pickup truck with Sanderson and Sons Construction on the side. 50-something, workworn hands, eyes that had seen too much hardship.
He walked the property with me for 3 hours. Checked every system—electrical, plumbing, heating, examined the roof, the foundation, the septic.
“Your brother maintained this place like a cathedral,” Rick said, making notes on his tablet. “The roof was replaced 6 years ago. Should last another 20. Heating system is old but functioning perfectly. He had it serviced annually. Foundation is solid stone. No cracks. Plumbing is copper, original to the 1923 build. Valuable. Actually, people pay premium for this kind of craftsmanship now.”
“So if someone claimed it needed extensive repairs,” I said, “they’d be lying.”
“They’d be lying or trying to justify unnecessary work.” He showed me his notes. “I’ll write this up formally, notarized. If you need it for legal purposes.”
“I’ll need it.”
He nodded. Didn’t ask why. Didn’t need to.
Before he left, Rick handed me his card. On the back, he’d written a phone number.
“If things get dangerous,” he said quietly, “that’s my brother. He’s a sheriff’s deputy in the next county. Not official jurisdiction here, but he knows people. Knows how to handle situations where families turn ugly.”
“You think it will?” I asked.
“I’ve been doing this 30 years,” Rick said. “I’ve seen what desperation does to people. Your son owes money to dangerous people. His wife has a history of fraud. This lodge is worth over a million dollars.” He met my eyes. “They’re not going to give up. And when people like that get desperate, they get dangerous.”
After Rick left, I sat on the porch in the rain. Let the cold soak through Robert’s flannel shirt. Watched the mountains disappear into cloud.
Dangerous.
I’d been thinking of this as a legal battle, a family drama. But Rick was right. This was bigger.
James owed $350,000 to someone named David Sterling. If he couldn’t pay, what would Sterling do?
And Bella—she’d already destroyed four families. What would she do to secure her fifth score?
I thought about the locked office, about James having a key, about him knowing there were documents in the safe.
