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"Before we discuss the assets, Joseph left a letter. He asked me to read it in the presence of you both." Arthur cleared his throat. He looked down at the handwritten page.

Emma’s stomach plummeted. She closed her eyes. The thought of hearing Joe's words right now, sitting across from the woman who had broken his heart, felt like a punishment.

"My dearest girls," Arthur read, his voice softening.

Emma heard a sharp intake of breath from across the table. She opened her eyes. Victoria was staring at Arthur, her fingers digging hard into the upholstery of her chair, anchoring herself in place.

"If Arthur is reading this, my heart finally gave out," the letter continued. "I am sorry to leave you. I lived a full life, but my greatest regret remains the silence between this house and New York. Victoria. You were a child when the tragedy took your mother. I do not blame you for the distance. I blame the circumstances that kept us apart. But you are my blood. You have always had a home here, even if you never knew it."

Emma felt a tear slip down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away. The unconditional forgiveness in Joe's words was numbing. He had never stopped waiting for her.

"Emma," Arthur read, shifting his gaze briefly to her. "You arrived on my doorstep angry at the world. You gave this old building its soul back. You kept the ovens warm. You took care of a stubborn man when he did not deserve it. You are the granddaughter I gained."

Emma pressed her lips together, fighting the sob rising in her throat. She stared blindly at the wood grain of the table.

"I cannot undo the past," Arthur concluded, reading the final lines. "But I can secure the future. I leave The Amber House to both of you. Protect it. Or let it go. But do it together. With love, Joe."

Silence descended on the breakfast room. The rain tapped gently against the glass. Emma wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. She didn't understand. She looked at Arthur, confusion cutting through her grief.

"What does he mean, to both of us?" Emma asked, her voice cracking.

Arthur set the letter down. He picked up the legal document, returning to his clinical demeanor.

"The deed to the property, the surrounding land, and the business assets of The Amber House are hereby transferred into a joint tenancy," Arthur explained. He looked over the rim of his glasses. "Joseph has left the estate to Victoria Sterling and Emma Hayes in equal shares. Fifty percent each."

The words hung in the room.

A violent tremor ran through her hands before she could pin them to her sides. Fifty percent. She wasn't an employee. She wasn't a charity case being evicted. Joe had given her half of her home. The sheer magnitude of the gift sent a wave of dizzying relief through her system.

"Excuse me?"

Victoria's voice shattered the moment. It was sharp, incredulous, and absolutely with no sentimentality.

Arthur turned to her. "The estate is split evenly, Ms. Sterling. You are co-owners."

Victoria stood up. The movement was sudden, jarring the table. She paced toward the window, her back turned to the room. She ran a hand over her immaculate hair, a gesture that betrayed her mounting frustration.

"That's absurd," Victoria said. Her voice was quiet and with no warmth in it. She turned slowly to face Arthur, resting both palms flat on the back of her chair. "You're talking about a man I haven't seen in over twenty years. A stranger cannot bind me to a rural business venture against my will, Mr. Finch. Draft the disclaimer or tell me how much it costs to dissolve it."

Emma flinched. A stranger. Victoria couldn't even say his name. The sorrow Emma had felt moments ago evaporated, replaced by a fierce, territorial rage.

"The will is legally binding," Arthur replied calmly. "You are free to decline the inheritance, of course. If you refuse your share, the entirety of the estate defaults to Ms. Hayes."

Victoria stopped pacing. Her eyes narrowed, calculating the angles. Emma watched the gears turning in her head. A woman like Victoria Sterling did not walk away from assets. She liquidated them.

"I am not refusing the inheritance," Victoria said, every trace of warmth draining from her voice. She walked back to the table, resting her hands on the back of her chair. She looked directly at Arthur, ignoring Emma entirely. "But I have a firm to run in Manhattan. I have zero interest in operating a hospitality venue. The logical step is to appraise the property, list it on the market, and divide the proceeds."

Emma’s hands slammed onto the oak table.

"No."

Victoria slowly turned her head. Her dark eyes locked onto Emma. The temperature in the room plummeted. The vulnerability they had shared in the dark was gone, buried under layers of hostility.

"I beg your pardon?" Victoria asked softly.

"You heard me," Emma said, pushing her chair back and standing up. She refused to cower. She met Victoria's gaze head-on. "You don't get to walk in here after thirty years and put a For Sale sign on the lawn. This is a functioning business. It is my home. I am not selling."

Victoria tilted her head. A patronizing smirk curved her lips. It was the expression of a predator dealing with an annoying obstacle.