Chapter 27 - The Blueprint of Memories
Later that evening, the heavy oak doors of the master suite swung open as Willow walked in, carrying a basket of folded laundry. She stopped short when she saw Josiah standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the misty night, the leather portfolio resting open on the coffee table.
"You're brooding," Willow observed, setting the laundry basket down on the plush armchair. She walked up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his back. "And when you brood, the entire East Wing feels like it's bracing for an earthquake. What’s wrong?"
Josiah turned in her embrace, his large hands coming up to cup her face, his dark eyes filled with a heavy, unexpressed emotion. "We need to take a trip downtown tomorrow."
Willow raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Downtown? Are we raiding a high-end bakery, or are you finally admitting you want Marcelo’s garlic bread for dinner instead of whatever fancy French cuisine the private chef cooked?"
"Marcelo's," Josiah said quietly. "Specifically, the bistro."
Her smile faltered slightly as she saw the serious set of his jaw. "Josiah, what happened?"
He led her over to the coffee table and gestured down at the legal documents. Within minutes, Willow was reading through the impending municipal notices and historical preservation clauses. Her blue eyes widened as the realization set in.
"They want to tear it down," she whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of the official government seal. "The bistro... they want to turn it into a parking garage or a corporate office tower."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Josiah replied, his voice hardening with absolute resolve. "I spent years buying up legitimate commercial real estate across this state, but I overlooked the municipal zoning classifications for that specific block. Rostov’s old cronies tried to use it as a silent leverage point, keeping the historical status tied up in red tape."
"They're trying to erase where we started," Willow said softly, a fierce spark igniting in her blue eyes. She looked up at her husband, her expression mirroring the exact defiance she had shown him a decade ago on that shattered glass floor. "Well, they picked the wrong family to mess with. What’s our move, Mr. Mercer?"
May you like
Josiah let out a low, rumbling chuckle, pulling her tightly against his chest. "Our move, Ms. Vance, is to buy the entire city block, establish a permanent historical trust, and make sure Marcelo never has to worry about a single zoning permit for the rest of his life."
"Now that," Willow smiled, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him fiercely, "is the kind of logistics I can get behind."
