Page 107 of What Remains of Grace

Emmie leaned her elbows on the table, scowling at the sketches he’d made. Floor plans, rough numbers, and a couple of ideas circled so hard the pen had nearly torn the paper.

“The lawyer said the court is going to look at contributions, right?” she said. “That was the word? Contributions?”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Jenna’s, specifically. Financial, sweat equity, all of it.”

He flipped to the next page in his notebook where he’d scribbled his own notes.

“They’re going to care that she’s the one who’s been overseeing everything since Grace died. They’re going to care that Troy hasn’t paid into the mortgage or the business expenses for what, eight months? More?”

“Try two years,” Emmie muttered.

“Well,” Cole said, “legally, they’ll probably focus on the last stretch since he left. But yeah. That.”

“And you said there’s some kind of court case?” she asked. “Like . . . precedent?”

He couldn’t help the tiny smile. Emmie had picked up the attorney’s vocabulary like it was a new sport.

“Yeah,” he said. “Your lawyer mentioned it to Jenna. In cases where one co-owner walked away, the other stayed and did all the work, including renovations and repairs, and increased the property’s value. Judges have reduced the walk-away person’s share because, essentially, they’re trying to cash in on work they didn’t do.”

“Which is exactly what he’s doing,” Emmie said.

“Exactly,” Cole agreed. “The big thing is: we document. Every invoice. Every scope. Every contractor check she’s signed. Every material purchase. All the work we’ve done here and at the house since he left.”

He flipped another page, showing the rough list he’d started: new roof, electrical updates, structural repairs, ADA bathroom, kitchen upgrades, exterior paint. The list ran halfway down the sheet.

“Ballpark,” he said, “we’re sitting on over a hundred grand in renovations Jenna’s already poured in. Maybe more. She’s too exhausted to add it all up yet, but I’ve got most of the numbers from the scopes.”

Something in her expression shifted.

“She really bet everything on this place, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Cole said quietly. “She did.”

Emmie looked at the page, eyes dark. “So that counts?”

“It can,” Cole said. “The lawyer can argue that this work was necessary, that it preserved and increased the value of the property. And that it was funded and managed by Jenna, not Troy. So, when they’re calculating what he’s actually entitled to, that has to be factored in.”

“So maybe we don’t need the full one-ninety,” Emmie said slowly. “Maybe we just need the difference.”

“Exactly,” Cole said. “If renovations plus unpaid mortgage plus taxes and business costs get credited on Jenna’s side of the ledger, it shrinks what we have to come up with in cash to make him go away.”

Emmie stared at the numbers for a moment, her jaw working.

“Okay,” she said finally. “So, we’re not raising a whole quarter of the value. We’re basically … filling a gap.”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Still a big gap. But smaller than it could’ve been.”

“And we do that how?” she asked. “Car washes? Bake sales? Sell my soul? Because I doubt the judge will take what is in my Sims account, and I’m currently failing at becoming YouTube’s next Jenna Marbles.”

“Look around,” Cole said. She did.

Rows of glass bakery cases gleaming even after closing. The chalkboard menu. The framed article from some food blogger who had once called Grace “the beating heart of Athens Street.” Photos of girls’ soccer teams, charity fun runs, and church groups, all with The Blue Cypress banner somewhere in the background.

“This place is the town’s kitchen,” Cole said. “It always has been. People celebrate here. They grieve here. They gossip here.”

“I’m aware,” Emmie said dryly. “Half the old ladies in the women’s club have diagnosed me with at least three different fictional boyfriends.”

“They care,” he continued. “This isn’t just a building to them. It’s history. Tradition. Comfort. The lawyer kept talking about ‘market value.’ That’s fine. Necessary. But there’s another kind of value you can’t put in a spreadsheet.”