Chapter 28 Ridge #2
She steps out and shuts the door softly behind her. The window is still down, and before she walks off, she leans in.
"And I meant what I said. She deserves to think she earned it on her own. It's better that way."
She taps the window and walks away.
I start the engine and pull away. Indigo Blue disappears in the rearview mirror.
For once in I don’t know how long, nothing is about to break. It's been almost a year since our father's murder, and things are running along pretty much as they were before all of that started.
That’s the strangest part.
I step into the booth across from Keller and shrug out of my coat. No tightness in my chest. No itch under my skin. No sense that the night is winding up to punch back.
Keller is already in our booth when I step into the private booth. He’s leaning back like the world doesn’t have teeth, one ankle crossed over his knee, a glass of something amber catching the lamp glow. He looks up when he sees me, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I’m on time,” I reply, sliding in across from him.
He huffs a laugh and tips his glass in a lazy salute. “That’s the same thing Dad used to say.”
The mention lands and keeps moving. It doesn’t knock the air out of the room anymore. It’s part of the furniture now. Heavy, permanent, not something anyone expects to shift.
I shrug off my coat and drape it on the back of the booth. My phone goes face-down on the table, not because I’m hiding it, but because there’s nothing on it that matters right now. That’s new. I used to live with the screen lit in my peripheral, waiting for a fire to spark.
The fires still exist. They just don’t reach me the same way.
Keller watches me for a beat, like he’s measuring the difference. He doesn’t comment on it. He’s learned when to let things sit.
The bartender materializes at my shoulder without asking.
“Bourbon,” I say.
He nods once and disappears.
Keller leans forward slightly. “You come straight from the office?”
“Port authority meeting ran long,” I say.
“That’s code for someone came in hot, and you had to walk them back through jurisdiction.”
“Pretty much.”
He grins, then sobers, resting his forearms on the table. “How’s it look?”
“Clean,” I say. “Boring, even.”
“Boring is expensive,” Keller says.
“Boring is profitable,” I correct.
He lifts his glass again. “Too boring, then.”
I don’t break out into a grin as my brother does, but I do clink my glass against his when mine arrives. The sound is small, almost swallowed by the music, but it’s a clean note.
Keller takes a sip, then rolls the glass between his fingers.
He’s dressed like he always is when he’s pretending he’s not working.
Crisp shirt, a watch that costs more than most people’s cars, and his hair cut perfectly.
He looks like the kind of man who belongs in rooms where everyone lies politely.
That’s fine. Keller makes a living off polite lies.
“You see Vin today?” Keller asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “He sat in on the last federal follow-up. Mostly paperwork.”
Keller’s brow lifts. “I thought all that was done.”
“It is,” I say. “This was them closing the loop. Making sure their file matches ours before they archive it and move on to something louder.”
“And does it?” he asks.
“It does.”
Keller studies my face, like he’s deciding whether I mean the numbers or the narrative. He lets it go. Keller’s always known which questions are worth asking and which ones cost more than they return.
The bartender drops a bowl of olives and something fried and unnecessary between us, then disappears. Keller grabs one, chews slowly, eyes unfocused like he’s running internal math.
The machine kept moving.
Keller taps his knuckle against the table. “Ports are steady. Lanes are steady. The brothers are bored. We're all here to run Stone Intermodal, but it's running itself.”
"Remember what I said. Boring is good."
He looks at me. “That’s usually when someone does something stupid.”
“Already accounted for,” I say.
Keller smiles, thin and knowing. “That’s why you’re the one in the chair.”
I don’t respond. Not because I disagree, but because I don’t need the reminder. The chair is mine, whether I acknowledge it out loud or not.
Keller’s gaze flicks past me toward the crowd. A laugh breaks out near the bar. A group of tourists, dressed too clean for this place, gather around a blonde in a silver dress like she’s a landmark.
How did they get in here? Probably the tight dress had something to do with it. Keller’s eyes narrow, amused.
Then he clears his throat and shifts the conversation like he always does when a room goes too quiet.
“So,” he says, stretching the word out. “Tell me about this new audit process you’ve got the port managers whining about.”
“It’s not new,” I say. “It’s consistent. That’s what they hate.”
“They hate you,” Keller replies. “But they love the money, so it’s fine.”
“They don’t have to love me,” I say. “They just have to follow procedure.”
Keller laughs like I said something hilarious. “You and your procedure.”
“It keeps us operational, and it keeps everyone getting a paycheck they like.”
“It keeps you sane,” he counters. “Some of us thrive in chaos.”
“You thrive in attention,” I counter.
Keller presses a hand to his chest as if I physically wounded him. “How dare you?”
I take another sip, and for a second, it almost seems like before. Not before Dad died, before the days got sharp and every conversation carried an angle.
I don’t let myself sink into it. Keller leans forward again, elbows on the table now, voice lower.
“You been over to the bunker lately?” he asks.
The question is casual, but his eyes aren’t.
I keep my face steady. “No reason to. It's there if we need it, but I'm grateful not to. If you know what I mean.”
“Mm,” he says, dragging the sound out like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t call me a liar.
He reaches for another olive, then pauses with it between his fingers. “You ever think about what you want?”
I look at him. “What kind of question is that?”
“The kind I’m allowed to ask because I’m your brother,” Keller says. “And because you spend your life deciding what everyone else needs.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
He gives me a look that says it is.
I set my glass down slowly. “I want the company stable, I want the city predictable, and I want boring. That's it.”
“That’s what you do,” Keller says. “Not what you want.”
I hold his gaze.
Keller’s expression shifts again, less teasing now, more careful. “You know I’m not trying to pry. I just—” He exhales. “You’ve been running at full speed since the murder. Since before that. And you finally look like you’re breathing.”
“I am breathing,” I say.
“Good,” he replies, and it’s simple. No joke. No edge.
The quiet stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels earned.
Keller sits back and lifts his glass again, lighter now. “Alright. Enough therapy. Tell me what you’re going to do when the board tries to push back on the new inspection thresholds.”
“I’m going to remind them Stone Intermodal doesn’t answer to their discomfort,” I say.
Keller smiles. “There he is.”
I take the bait, because it’s easier. “And if they still want to fight, they can find a different port.”
“Cold,” Keller says, pleased.
“Correct,” I reply.