Chapter 2 - THE GHOST IN THE OFFICE
The office of Magnolia House was a sanctuary of dark oak and green leather,
a room that smelled of old money and fresh ink.
Behind the desk sat Mr. Henderson,
the manager who had been running this estate for thirty years.
When I walked in,
he stood up so quickly his chair nearly tipped over.
“Ms. Brooks,”
he said,
his voice filled with genuine relief.
“I apologize for the interruption.”
“But the Ashford family... they are making impossible demands.”
“They wanted the 1945 reserve opened for the toast.”
“And they insisted on moving the seating chart at the last minute.”
I walked to the window,
looking out at the ancient oaks draped in Spanish moss.
“I know about the seating chart,
Henderson,”
I said,
my voice devoid of emotion.
“I was the one moved to Table Twelve.”
Henderson’s face went pale,
a shade of white that matched the lilies on the desk.
“They moved you?”
“The owner of the estate?”
“To the service entrance?”
I turned back to him,
a small,
bitter smile touching my lips.
“They don't know,
Henderson.”
“They think I’m just a girl from the rentals.”
“They think my nonprofit work is a hobby.”
He looked down at the documents on his desk,
his hands shaking slightly.
“Your nonprofit,
the Brooks Foundation,
purchased this entire estate six months ago.”
“You saved this landmark from bankruptcy.”
“You are the landlord of every person in that ballroom.”
I sat down in the leather chair,
feeling the power of the truth beneath me.
Six months ago,
I had used the inheritance from my grandmother—a woman the Ashfords never knew existed—to save Magnolia House.
She had been a silent partner in the shipping industry,
a woman who believed that true wealth is never flaunted.
She had left everything to me,
on the condition that I use it to protect the things that matter.
I had kept it a secret from Nathan,
wanting to see if he loved the woman I was,
rather than the zeros in my bank account.
Tonight,
I had my answer.
He didn't love me.
He loved the idea of a wife he could mold into a reflection of his own ego.
“What would you like me to do,
Ms. Brooks?”
Henderson asked.
I looked at the monitor on the wall,
the one showing the live feed of the ballroom.
Nathan was standing by the family table,
looking frantic.
He was checking his phone,
pacing back and forth near the kitchen doors.
Vivian was trying to keep up appearances,
but her eyes were darting around the room like a trapped bird.
“Tell them the ceremony is delayed,”
I said.
May you like
“And tell Nathan Ashford that if he wants to see me,”
“he’ll have to come to Table Twelve.”
