As the workmen shoved the couch near a huge fireplace, she paused in the lobby and eyed the hotel that had once been the most opulent in Portland, a place for dignitaries and town fathers to gather, where decisions were made and the shape of the future had been planned. She gazed upward to the intricate stained-glass windows that rose over the outer doors where they caught the last rays of daylight and cast a pool of amber, rose, and blue on the tile floor in front of the desk.

She swallowed against a lump that closed her throat; this hotel was her legacy. Her birthright. Her future.

Or was it?

There was only one way to find out. She headed for the wide, curved staircase that swept upward to the balcony.

“Hey, you! Lady, we’re closed!” The voice, deep and male, was coming from a big, burly man poised on the top of a high scaffold positioned under the second-floor landing. He was fiddling with the chandelier situated over the lobby desk.

Ignoring him, she started up the carpeted steps.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you!”

She hesitated, her hand trailing on the banister. This wasn’t going to be easy, but the electrician was only a small stumbling block. The first of many. With a determined smile meant to disarm him, she turned and squared her shoulders. “Are you Zachary Danvers?” she asked, knowing full well he wasn’t.

“No, but-”

“Are you related to the Danvers family?”

“What the hell?” Beneath the edge of his hard hat, he scowled at her. “No, of course not, but you can’t go up there!”

“I have a meeting with Zachary Danvers,” she insisted, her voice filled with chilly authority.

“A meeting?” the electrician repeated, obviously not believing her bluff.