"I've brought plenty. " over Martha's chicken casserole served on dusty china they'd washed in the kitchen sink. Davis shared more about Riverdale's history and current challenges. The conversation was casual, but Ethan sensed both Davis and Martha were measuring him, assessing whether he was someone they could trust with whatever knowledge they possessed about Thomas Blackwell and his mansion. As the evening wore on, Noah began to fade, the excitement of the day catching up with him. Ethan sent him upstairs to get ready for bed in the tower room, which they'd made habitable with fresh sheets and a thorough cleaning.
Once Noah was out of earshot, Davis leaned forward. "Reed will be back," he said quietly. "And he won't take no for an answer easily. Monarchs invested too much in their development plans to let this property slip away. " "Why is this house so important to them? " Ethan asked. "There's plenty of land around here. " Martha and Davis exchanged a glance, a silent communication between old friends who shared a burden of knowledge.
"Sometimes," Martha said carefully, "when a man disappears, he leaves questions behind, and sometimes the answers to those questions are worth more than the property they're hidden in. " Davis nodded. Thomas Blackwell and William Grant built this town together. Then something went wrong between them. Whatever happened in 197, it changed Riverdale forever. And Reed, Ethan pressed.
What's his connection? Alexander Reed is William Grant's adopted son, Davis revealed. Took his mother's maiden name after college, but he's a Grant through and through. He's been searching for something in this house for 20 years. Something he believes Thomas took from his father.
The key seemed to grow heavier in Ethan's pocket. Whatever secrets it unlocked, they were clearly worth a great deal to more than one party. After their guests left, Ethan climbed the stairs to the tower room to check on Noah. The boy was already asleep, his baseball glove tucked beside his pillow, his face peaceful in the glow of a small nightlight they'd brought from Chicago. The circular room with its windows looking out in all directions seemed to embrace the sleeping child, as if the house itself had decided to protect its youngest inhabitant.
Standing in the doorway, Ethan felt the weight of the day's discoveries. This wasn't just an inheritance. It was a mystery spanning decades involving powerful interests and buried truths. Whatever Thomas Blackwell had hidden in these walls, finding it might bring more danger than reward. But looking at his sleeping son, Ethan knew they couldn't simply walk away.
After months of setbacks and disappointments, Noah had found something to believe in, a mystery to solve, an adventure to experience, a home to claim. How could Ethan take that away from him? Besides, there was something about this house that called to the craftsman in Ethan, the part of him that recognized and respected quality work. The mansion hadn't been built as a showpiece, but as a legacy, something meant to stand for generations. In a world where everything seemed disposable, that kind of commitment to permanence deserved respect.
Ethan gently closed Noah's door and descended the grand staircase, his hand trailing along the polished banister. In the library, he spread out the papers from Reed's folder on a table and began reading the property assessment. The list of deficiencies was daunting. Electrical issues, plumbing problems, structural concerns in the West Wing, a roof that needed complete replacement. The estimated repair costs ran to 175,000, far more than Ethan could ever hope to afford.
Reed's offer of 120,000 seemed increasingly reasonable in the face of such numbers. Yet something felt wrong about the assessment. The foundation issues described didn't match what Ethan had observed in his own inspection. The electrical system, while outdated, wasn't nearly as hazardous as the report claimed. It was as if Reed's experts had deliberately exaggerated every problem to make restoration seem impossible.