Angry all over again, I pull away from Nick and turn back to Abel. “It was enviable,” I say. “But so is honesty and your behavior with me was not honest.”
“You’re right,” Abel surprises me by admitting. “And first and foremost you need to know that my actions were mine and mine alone.” He eyes Nick, who is now standing beside me. “Nick did not know what I was doing.” He looks between us now. “But that said, I won’t apologize to either of you. Considering our timeline, I had to make a decision on where I stood in my involvement now, not later. And I’m all in.” He refocuses on me. “And that’s the case for you as well, Faith, which is why I’ve prepared some guarantees for you.”
He reaches in his briefcase and pulls out a folder, and sets one sheet of paper on top of the representation letter, and then creates two more stacks. “Start here,” he says, indicating his offer letter. “I contacted your estate attorney, and without disclosing details, aside from my intent to aid Nick in your protection, I asked him to endorse the protection my agreement offers you. He not only read my representation offer, he scanned it back to me with a handwritten note to you that stamps it with his approval.” He shuffles the papers and shows me the note which reads: Faith – this agreement ensures Abel’s legal obligation to protect your interests and privacy. It’s a sound document.
“Sign the agreement,” Abel says, “and I’m now loyal to you first and Nick second.”
“Questions?” Nick asks, his hands settling back on my leg.
“Not about this,” I say, my hand waving over the rest of the paperwork. “What is the rest of this?”
Abel indicates the second stack of documents, which is actually not a stack, but one form. “Before I explain what this is,” he says, “let me explain why it’s important to you. When someone gives you a lump sum of money for a business interest, they could later claim it was with the promise of something in exchange.”
“Even without a signed document?”
“Yes,” Nick states. “Because a verbal agreement is binding and it would be my word against yours and I have the money to fight you on it.”
“But that can’t happen with this document in place,” Abel interjects, “as it clearly states that the money he’s given you is a gift, and it cannot be treated as leverage against you for any monetary gain. In other words, he can’t claim it was a down payment on the winery, meant to kick in after you inherit. Additionally, the legal verbiage assures that this contract supersedes all others.”
“Meaning,” Nick says, “that nothing can be signed after the fact that voids its content.”
“An important factor since this final document,” Abel says, indicating the last stack of papers, “requires one hell of a thought of trust. This is the dummy document that will be shown to the bank and in court, which gives Nick half ownership of the winery once you inherit.”
This isn’t news to me. Nick warned me this was coming despite not warning me about Abel. I trust Nick. So why, right now, in this moment, are there warning bells going off in my head? Maybe it’s Abel. I don’t know him. Nick sideswiped me with his involvement. That has to be it, but as Nick’s hand comes down on my shoulder and he softly says my name, I still find myself back at the art show, where Nick and I had first connected, replaying a conversation about secrets that I’d had with him there.
“People have secrets, Faith,” Nick says. “It’s part of being human.”
“My mother sure did,” I reply.
His hands find my waist, turning me to face him, intensity radiating off him. “What kind of secrets, Faith?”
“Her kind of secrets,” I reply, not sure why he is suddenly so very intense. “Like you have secrets,” I add, using his nickname, “Tiger.”
“My enemies call me Tiger. You call me Nick.”
“Why do I keep feeling like you’re my enemy?”
“Why are you looking for an enemy?”
I return to the present and ask myself that very question: Why am I looking for an enemy? Am I looking for an enemy? And if so who is it that I don’t trust? Nick? Abel? It has to be Abel. I’ve already established that I trust Nick. And he’s earned that trust. He wouldn’t lie to me. He wouldn’t deceive me. And if he trusts Abel, I trust Abel.
So why am I still so uneasy?
CHAPTER TEN
Nick
Seconds tick by as Faith stares down at the documents Abel has given her, no words, no action, but I sense that wall of hers slamming into place. “Let us have a few minutes,” I order Abel.
“No,” Faith says quickly. “I have questions.”
“As you should,” Abel says. “We can go through every line of the documents one by one.”
“I’ll read them myself,” she says. “These questions are not questions that these documents can answer.” She looks between us. “For starters, I want to verify that we’re all on the same page that I believe us to be on. That being that the bank would not be ordering a property assessment if they didn’t believe it would somehow allow them to stake a claim on the deed. Correct?”
“Correct,” Abel confirms.
“That’s the assumption we’re operating under,” I add. “And while my preferred method of operation is not to assume anything, winning is about being a step ahead of our opposition. Which is also why I called my personal banker today and have him on standby to buy out your note.”
Her eyes go wide. “At what cost to you?”
“Nothing outside of paying for a rushed property assessment of our own.”
“We can’t use the current one?”
“If my bank finds out your bank is questioning the property value and we don’t disclose that, we’re looking at a fraud situation.”
“Right,” she says. “That makes sense.” She moves on. “And if that assessment comes back under the value of the current note?” she asks. “Can we use the revenue the winery produces to justify the new note? I have that well documented.”
“We not only can,” I say, “we will. But set that aside and let’s talk about the worst case scenario: My banker makes an offer and they decline.”
Her brow furrows. “Why would they do that?”
“That’s our question,” Abel says. “What do they know that we don’t beyond any piece of paper.”
Faith gives him a puzzled look. “I don’t follow where you’re going with this.”
“Where’s the money?” I supply. “What makes the winery or something connected to it worth money outside the obvious? Do you have any idea?”
She shakes her head. “None. And by none I meant that I’m a complete zero on this entire premise. That said, if that were true, if there is some hidden treasure, be it literal or not, the bank will fight hard, and that doesn’t bode well for the outcome we’re after. Which brings me to another question.” She picks up the dummy document and focuses on me. “If you present this, and the bank legally claims the winery, are you left with any liability?”
“No,” I say. “I am not.”