Chapter 30
Thirty
Alaric
Iclose my laptop after finishing my first morning session and sit for a breath, letting the quiet settle.
The teenager I saw today, who has been angry, exhausted, and brittle in the way kids get when life forces them to grow up too fast, finally cracked her shell.
She talked about missing Vancouver, about feeling like Paradise had stolen the life she knew.
Her voice shook even while she tried to sound annoyed.
It was the closest we’ve gotten to honesty.
It should feel like a win.
My phone buzzes once. Then again. The screen lights up like a fuse burning toward something inevitable.
Sera: Can you come? Now.
Sera: Evie called Dylan and Scott here.
Sera: They’re yelling at us.
Josie: She’s in one of her moods.
Sera: Please answer.
A knot forms in my gut.
I call to my administrator from the doorway. “I need to leave. Family emergency.”
She gives me a look that says she’s seen this movie too many times. “Most of Paradise already knows the Dempseys are in another storm cloud. Go.”
I manage a smile, grab my coat off the hook, and walk into the hall. The leadership meeting has already started, and I should be heading toward it. Instead, I type a brief email to the CEO and CMO—clean, organized, detached from the truth.
Me: Family situation has come up. I’ll miss the meeting but will follow up on all action items.
Send.
Outside, I take a steadying breath, unlock my car, and start the engine. The tension sits high across my shoulders, refusing to budge.
As I merge onto the bridge, the lake stretches out on both sides, wide and silver. On good days, that view gives me space to imagine. Today, it just reinforces what I already know. This isn’t one of Evie’s quick tempers. This is the anger that reshapes things.
I pass Paradise Hill—vines dormant, rows perfect, the land steady in its identity. It knows who runs it. It knows its rhythm.
Black Bear hasn’t had rhythm in years. Not since my grandfather died and Evie began playing power games that burned every bridge they’d ever built. Her children scattered. The cousins turned into opportunists. And my sisters are left trying to salvage scraps of something that used to be beautiful.
The closer I get to her property, the clearer the pattern becomes, the one I’ve tried to ignore.
Her midnight call about tank numbers. Her accusations about “missing inventory.” Her abrupt shift from praising Sera and Josie to questioning every choice they make. Her renewed contact with Dylan and Scott.
She’s piecing together a story that benefits one person. Herself.
The long gravel driveway confirms it before I even park.
Every cousin she could weaponize has parked in formation across the front of her house.
Dylan’s truck. Scott’s SUV. Kaitlyn’s Tesla angled like she fled a crime scene.
Matthew’s Jeep with the crooked bumper. Joey’s sedan with the cracked headlight.
A lineup she curated.
I kill the engine, step onto the lawn, and hear shouting before I reach the door.
Inside, the scene is a staged disaster. Sera stands rigid in the sitting room, fury and hurt warring on her face. Dylan looms over her, yelling like he has a right. Scott adds barbed commentary whenever he sees an opening.
And Evie sits on the couch—poised, smoothed, almost serene.
Enjoying the show.
“Stop,” I say from the doorway.
No one stops.
“Enough,” I bellow.
That lands. The room snaps to silence. Evie’s eyes narrow, annoyance flashing across her face.
I motion to Sera. “Kitchen.”
Relief floods her features as she slips past Dylan.
“Josie too.”
She steps out from the hallway, jaw tight, and follows her sister without hesitation.
I face the cousins. “Dining room. All of you.”
They glance at Evie. She gives a single approving nod.
Even with her blessing, they hate being dismissed. Dylan’s jaw grinds. Scott’s chin lifts like he might challenge me. But whatever they see in my face pushes them through the doorway.
When the door clicks shut behind them, the room settles into a colder kind of quiet. Evie doesn’t stand. She crosses one leg over the other, perfectly composed, as if waiting for me to apologize for the interruption.
“What exactly are you trying to accomplish?” I ask.
Her expression softens into something deceptively warm. “I simply asked questions,” she says.
“Questions designed to ignite a fight,” I point out. “And you picked the most combustible people you could find to ask them.”
“Sera and Josie are not ready,” she replies with certainty, as if saying it makes it fact.
“They’ve done everything you asked. Every certification. Every audit. Every outdated tradition you insisted on keeping. And now, you undermine them in front of the people who most want to see them fail. Why?”
Her mouth tightens. “Don’t speak to me like I’m some kind of villain.”
I take a step closer. “You were watching them tear each other apart. You didn’t stop it. You didn’t redirect. You didn’t calm the room. You sat there and enjoyed it. What would you call that?”
Annoyance flares in her eyes.
“Did you know Dylan wants to scrap all the vines and plant marijuana?” I continue. “You know about Scott’s debts. You know Kaitlyn has zero interest in the vineyard and every interest in easy money. These aren’t protectors. They’re opportunists. And you invited them here.”
“They wouldn’t actually—”
“They would,” I say quietly. “And they will. The moment you’re not here to stop them. And one day, you won’t be.”
Her posture stiffens.
“You built something beautiful,” I add. “But you’re turning it into a battlefield because losing control scares you more than losing the vineyard.”
For a split second, I see it. Fear. Not for the vineyard. For the power slipping through her fingers. Then the mask returns.
I’m finished. “I’m not staying for whatever this next round is.” I turn.
Behind me, she calls my name, but I don’t respond. That tone has dictated enough of my life.
In the dining room, the cousins hover with restless energy, waiting for direction like attack dogs denied a target.
“We’re done,” I say. “All of you need to leave.”
Scott bristles. “Evie said—”
“Evie staged a spectacle,” I cut in. “You performed. It’s over.”
Dylan steps forward, shoulders squared. “We have a right to know what’s going on at the vineyard.”
“You have a right to stay in your lane,” I reply. “And interrogating the only people doing the work isn’t it.”
He opens his mouth again, then closes it. I sweep a look across each of them.
“Go home. Don’t come back unless Sera or Josie asks you to.”
Kaitlyn arches an eyebrow as she passes me. “She’s going to lose it when she realizes you shut down the show.”
“She’ll adjust,” I say.
Kaitlyn snorts—half amusement, half warning—and disappears out the front door.
I allow myself one breath before heading to the kitchen.
Sera sits at the table, gripping her mug tightly. Josie is at the sink, arms rigid, shoulders high, staring into the drain.
They both look up when I enter.
“You okay?” I ask.
Sera exhales shakily. “Now, I am.”
Josie pushes off the counter, crossing her arms. “She called them here. She wound them up. And she sat there like it was a spectator sport.”
“It had nothing to do with your work,” I say.
“Then what did we do wrong?” Sera asks.
“Nothing,” I reply. “This is about her losing control, not you losing capability.”
Josie’s jaw flexes. She grips the back of a chair, her knuckles white. “She’s going to do it again.”
“Probably,” I admit. “But next time, walk away before she gets traction. Don’t give her an audience. She hates silence. Use that.”
Sera huffs a tired laugh. “Hard to walk away when she summons a mob.”
“She won’t get that chance again,” I say. “I made it impossible.”
They share a look…exhausted but steadier.
“I need to get back to the hospital,” I tell them. “You two good here?”
Josie lifts her chin. “We are.”
Sera gives a small, weary smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Always,” I say, squeezing her shoulder on my way out.
Outside, the gravel sparkles in the sun, the cousins’ taillights fading around the bend. Evie’s house looms behind me, a perfect shell for all the chaos it contains.
I rest a hand on the roof of my car, letting the cool metal bleed some heat from my skin. Today drew a line I’m finally willing to acknowledge. This family will always test the limits. But I don’t have to let those limits replace mine.
I slide into the driver’s seat, text my administrator that I’m on the way back, and pull onto the road. The house disappears between the trees, shrinking with every turn.
I don’t look back.
I have work waiting that doesn’t demand I bleed for it—and that solves real problems, not manufactured ones.