Page 25 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

My eyes flick to the empty side of the bed, but I don’t linger. I won’t.

This is what I do. I get up. I move. I clear my head. I focus on the numbers. There’s a stack of paperwork I need to go through, accounts to analyze, and budgets to revise.

This hotel, this sinking ship, must be sorted.

I grab a towel from the bathroom, running a hand through my hair as the water hits my skin. The warmth of it contrasts sharply with the cold rush still filling my chest.

I stare at my reflection for a moment, looking for some clarity.

Nothing.

I step out of the shower, the cold air of the apartment wrapping around me as a second skin. The clean lines of the space mock me.

Too quiet, too perfect. It should bring comfort, but all it brings is a sense of displacement. I could normally snap myself out of this, but it feels off.

I go through the motions of getting dressed, pulling on the first button-down shirt I can find. It doesn’t matter what I wear, really.

Nothing feels right.

The desk. I can focus on the hotel’s numbers. The balance sheets. The profit margins. The losses.

It’s always easier to think about things that don’t have a heartbeat, don’t smell of vanilla and pine, and certainly don’t laugh with a damn melody that refuses to be forgotten.

I sit at my desk, pushing aside a stack of papers. My phone buzzes once—an email from the accountant.

I glance at it, but it’s a trivial matter. I toss it aside. My attention shifts to the open folder on the desk.

It’s full of Evie’s emails, including one she sent the day she died. One I never got any answers about.

Ryder, it begins.There are several discrepancies I’ve been noticing, small things that don’t add up. I’ve kept track of them. I plan to speak with you about them in person when you get here. It’s important. We need to address it before it becomes bigger than we can handle.

I stare at the screen, the words almost haunting in their vagueness.

The words are ones she would write. Disjointed, a little scattered, but her tone was always that way. She had a habit of getting lost in her thoughts and rambling off.

But this seems intense.

I reread it, more slowly this time. There are discrepancies. I’d chalked it up to her forgetfulness at the time.

She was getting older, after all. A little off, but nothing too serious. I had no reason to think there was anything more to it.

But now?

Now, something feels wrong.

I lean back in the chair, rubbing my temple. The word discrepancies keeps echoing in my mind.

The email isn’t specific. She never mentioned exactly what was off or what she was referring to. I can’t shake the feeling that I missed something.

Maybe there’s more to this hotel than just a business she’d built up before she passed. Maybe there’s more buried in the numbers. A thread, just waiting to be pulled.

I scroll back through her other emails, looking for anything that stands out. There’s one from a few weeks before her death.

She’s talking about a potential investment deal that had fallen through, but nothing that suggests a major issue.

But what have I missed? What if Evie had found something, something I couldn’t see because I was too focused on keeping everything running, keeping the numbers balanced?

Hmm.