Chapter 12 - Opening the Doors
The Caroline Blackthorn Center opened eighteen months after Grandpa's death.
The foyer looked different.
Same chandeliers.
Different people.
Children ran across floors where Victoria once hosted investors.
Music came from the west wing.
The library doors stayed open.
Always.
That rule was mine.
No room full of books should intimidate a child.
A twelve-year-old named Maya played my mother's piano during the opening ceremony.
She had never touched a piano six months earlier.
Now she played badly.
Beautifully badly.
Grandpa would have complained about tempo.
Mom would have loved every second.
I stood beside Grant.
“Thirty-seven million,” he whispered.
“What?”
“That developer offered thirty-seven million.”
“I know.”
“We're idiots.”
“Probably.”
He smiled.
Then Maya missed three notes in a row and kept going.
I cried.
May you like
Maybe we weren't idiots.
Maybe some assets become more valuable when you stop pricing them.
