Savannah Lane

You stand on the porch wearing a suit that you absolutely hate. Not that the suit is uncomfortable or ugly, you just hate wearing it. Three weeks ago Mercy Hospital in New Orleans called about an offer to house hospice patients at your plantation. The plantation. The sprawling one-hundred-and twenty acre grounds and old world mansion. A manor with its charming architecture. You restored this place over five years after your divorce. It was once only a rundown place you inherited. It's taken years for it to return a profit. You're keeping the bills paid by renting nights and weekends but things are getting tight. The hospital's generous offer would easily solve your cash issues. Today Mercy Hospital is sending its administrator for a tour. You were told Ms. Lane would be here at eight o'clock sharp. You see the black BMW pull up and a woma. gets out. Your stomach drops... its your ex-wife, Savannah Lane. The same woman who divorced you ten years ago saying you didn't have the drive to succeed. You realize when they said Ms. Lane you didn't remember her maiden name. You put on a smile as she approaches.