Chapter 17
Seventeen
Kingston
Zach didn’t set the fire at Tarryn’s cottage.
He didn’t tinker with the tractor. We’ve already ruled that out, yet his absence weighs heavier by the day.
If he’s not guilty, then where the hell is he?
And for that matter, where the hell is Max?
He’s checked out, offering nothing and avoiding everyone since Zach left.
Whatever he’s hiding, it’s pulling him away from the family.
That’s what gnaws at me—the silence. It isn’t just a cousin skipping town. It feels deliberate. Like Zach knows something. Or worse, like someone made sure he couldn’t come back.
Last night at family dinner, my siblings asked if Cal, the investigator, had found anything on him.
But I haven’t heard from him. Not yet. It’s been nearly six months since Zach disappeared, and the longer this drags on, the more we swing between clinging to hope that he’s safe and fearing we’re blind to something darker.
It’s Monday morning, so I decide to start the week with a call to check in with Cal. After I hang up, I’m more concerned than ever. This news needs to be discussed in person. Neither Ryker nor Beckett works on Mondays, though I don’t know about Greyson. I send a text to my siblings.
Me: I spoke to Cal. Can we meet at the house around lunchtime?
Tarryn: You found something?
Beckett: I’ll be there.
Ryker: Yes! Save me from the wedding planning.
I try to go back to work, but my thoughts keep circling. I won’t be able to focus on anything else until this is out in the open. Soon, I’m counting the moments until I can head out to the helicopter.
When I land across the lake at the estate, everyone’s already gathered in Mom’s kitchen.
Tarryn’s at the counter, pouring hot water over tea leaves.
Ryker slouches at the table, arms folded, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep.
Beckett stands near the window, jaw set in that surgeon’s way, always dissecting, always calculating.
“I checked in with Cal this morning,” I say without preamble. “He found a new order—another fifty-gallon tank of vinegar, billed to Zach. It was delivered last week to a warehouse south of Black Bear.”
The room goes still.
Ryker bolts upright. “That’s impossible. You said last night that Zach hasn’t touched his accounts since he ran.”
“Exactly,” I answer. “But now he has. Which means he’s still moving pieces from the shadows or someone’s using his name.”
Beckett cuts in. “And whichever it is, the optics are catastrophic. Everyone already knows block fourteen was poisoned. Evelyn made sure of that when she went to the papers after Zach tainted our shared water source. We’re bleeding money just to fix that mess with the Dempseys, and now, this surfaces? ”
Ryker slams his palm on the table. “Don’t twist it, Beckett. We caught him once. He bolted. But since then? The fires, the tractor, the broken lines—that’s not him. He doesn’t have the reach. Someone else is pulling strings.”
“Then why are orders still showing up under his name?” Beckett fires back. “That doesn’t clear him. It makes him complicit—or careless. Either way, it stains us.”
Ryker rounds on him. “Don’t write him off like he’s some career criminal. He grew up with us. He’s family.”
Tarryn shakes her head. “But he’s been angry since Dad named me heir. You know that as well as I do.”
“Angry, yes,” Ryker says. “But not stupid. Zach’s not leading this. He’s being used.”
“He sabotaged block fourteen with vinegar,” Beckett cuts in. “He was caught red-handed. That wasn’t Max, and that wasn’t some faceless outsider. That was Zach.”
“One act doesn’t make him the mastermind behind every single thing that’s happened since,” Ryker counters. “Don’t lay all of this at his feet just because it’s easy.”
“I’m doing it because it fits,” Beckett snaps.
“Or because it’s convenient,” I point out.
“Listen to yourselves. We already know Zach poisoned block fourteen. That’s fact.
But Cal turning up a new order in his name tells me two things.
He’s either still in play, or someone’s using him as cover.
And that should scare us more than what he’s already done. ”
Tarryn sets the teapot down too hard, liquid sloshing over the rim. “This isn’t about who yells loudest. Dad’s watching every move I make, deciding if I can really take over. One slip, one sign I can’t handle this, and he’ll clamp down tighter. He’ll never step back.”
Her voice falters just for a breath before she stiffens again. “I can’t afford another fire, another broken piece of machinery, the loss of any more vines, or another question mark. If this trail leads back to Zach—or to someone framing him—it reflects on all of us. We have to figure this out.”
“It already reflects on us,” Beckett says grimly. “Distributors are whispering. Evelyn’s circling like a hawk. If she smells blood in the water, she won’t stop at compensation. She’ll gut us.”
Ryker paces now, restless energy radiating off him. “And maybe that’s the whole game. Someone’s pushing us to tear each other apart. And congratulations, Kingston, you’re helping them.”
The words land like a blow. His eyes burn with betrayal, like I’ve crossed a line somehow by providing information.
“I’m not helping anyone,” I bite back. “Other than trying to help us. I’m making sure we’re not blindsided again.
We can’t sit here hoping Zach comes back with an apology tied up in a bow.
We need to find him. The sabotage isn’t stopping. We either face it, or it destroys us.”
Ryker scoffs. “No, you’re ready to sell him out. That’s what this is. You go ahead, play detective with your PI. But don’t ask me to stand here while you burn the family from the inside out. That’s what Evelyn did to the Dempseys. I thought we were better than that.”
He storms out, the screen door slamming so hard the frame rattles.
For a moment, my chest tightens. My mind searches for something solid and lands on Elise.
Even as that confuses me, I know she would tell me I’m doing the right thing.
Or maybe she’d see through my bravado and remind me how much hanging everything on Zach costs.
But whether he’s pulling the strings or just a pawn, we can’t deny he’s been involved.
Beckett doesn’t move from the window. His voice is quiet, cutting. “Kingston, if you’re wrong about Zach, you’ll do more damage than any saboteur ever could.”
Then he leaves too.
Doubt sizzles through me. Maybe I just chose suspicion over loyalty, control over trust. Zach is family. He’s been beside us through more than most. If I’m wrong, if he’s branded with guilt he doesn’t deserve, I’ll carry that stain.
But what’s worse—risking that stain or letting us stumble blind into whatever garbage Zach might be caught up in? I shove the guilt aside, bury it under resolve. Better to be the one they blame now than the one who failed them later.
The silence is thick, suffocating. Only Tarryn remains, her shoulders rigid as she stares at the cooling teapot.
“Don’t make me the bad guy,” I say.
She exhales, steady but tired. “You think I don’t get it? I knew you’d take the step I can’t. But if Dad sees me leaning on you, he’ll think I’m not ready.”
“You’re ready,” I tell her. “This isn’t about you failing. It’s about doing whatever it takes to protect all of us. I’m convinced Zach isn’t in this alone. We need to find out.”
Her throat works as she swallows with the faintest of nods. She doesn’t thank me. She doesn’t need to.
I leave her in the kitchen and step outside.
A breeze stirs the vines, leaves rattling against each other like whispered judgments, reminding me how easy it looks out here—tidy, predictable, controlled.
In truth, though, we’re anything but.
The facts about Zach, whatever they are, won’t stay buried forever. If he’s guilty, we’ll face it. If he’s innocent, we’ll clear him. Either way, we have to figure this out.