Chapter 6
Six
The production facility felt different on Friday afternoon—quieter, more contemplative, as if the building itself was holding its breath before the weekend.
Emery sat across from Gabe in his glass-walled office, surrounded by ledgers documenting decades of Stone Bridge's history.
She'd been cross-referencing storage conditions with vintage years, building the kind of provenance documentation that serious collectors demanded.
Emery looked up, surprised by the compliment. "That's what provenance is, really. Not just facts and figures, but the narrative of how something came to be. Why it matters."
"Is that what drew you to this work originally? The storytelling?"
The question was casual, but something in Gabe's tone suggested genuine curiosity. Emery set down her pen, considering how much to reveal.
"My parents used to take my sister and me to museums every weekend when we were kids," she said finally.
"Not the big flashy exhibits—the archives. The storage rooms where they kept things not currently on display." She smiled at the memories filling her brain. How she’d hold her sister’s hand and skip through the massive hallway, listening to the heels of her patent leather shoes echo against the walls, while her father would smile that massive grin and remind them that history and art were bound together like the stars and the moon.
"My mom would point to some dusty artifact, and then my dad would ask us to imagine its story.
Who made it? Who owned it? How did it survive? "
"Your parents sound wonderful."
"They are." The words came out fierce, protective, as if the last two years hadn’t put a rift in their relationship. “They chose us. My sister and me. When they looked at the two of us, they said it was love at first sight. They built our family from intention, not accident. But adoption isn’t always easy, and there were some bumps in the road.”
Gabe went very still, his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. "That's... Quite the story.”
"It was. My mom talks about it sometimes—the bureaucracy, the home visits, the constant evaluations.
But she says choosing us was the easiest decision she ever made.
Everything else was just paperwork." Emery felt her throat tighten.
"She always told us that biology doesn't make a family.
Showing up every day does. Loving someone even when it's hard does. "
"Your mom sounds like a wise woman."
"She is. Which makes the article about my father so much worse.
" Emery hadn't meant to say it, but the words tumbled out anyway.
"Because if he did what they say he did—if he really accepted bribes, which he denies, but things are so oddly quiet about it all—then what does that say about the man who taught me about integrity? "
Gabe's expression shifted, something complicated passing across his features.
His hand trembled slightly as he set down his mug, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something—something important—but he sighed instead.
"You don't know that he did anything wrong," Gabe said. “Especially since he’s telling you he didn’t.”
“He denies it, but he’s also telling me not to go defending him or making waves.
To let the wheels of justice work, whatever the heck that means.
” Emery’s chest tightened, as it did every time she allowed herself to think about her dad and the situation.
"And that's the worst part. Not knowing. Not being able to ask more questions because he won't talk about it until it’s all cleared up.”
Gabe was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. "Sometimes, parents keep secrets to protect us. Even when the protection hurts more than the truth would."
There was weight in those words, layers of meaning Emery couldn't quite decipher. She watched Gabe struggle with something internal, saw his jaw clench and release.
"Gabe? Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He shook his head as if clearing cobwebs. "Sorry. Your story just... it resonated."
"Because of your grandfather?"
"Partly." Gabe stood abruptly and moved to the window overlooking the production floor.
"My father spent his entire life trying to be the opposite of his dad.
Honest, ethical, almost painfully rule-following.
But he never talked about what it was like—watching his own father get arrested, seeing his mother ostracized.
He kept all that pain locked away, trying to protect me from it. "
"Did it work?"
"No. Because secrets don't protect—they just fester." Gabe turned back to face her. "When I was ten, some kid at school called my grandfather a murderer. I had no idea what he was talking about. Had to learn my family's history from gossip and old newspaper articles."
"God, Gabe. I'm so sorry."
"The point is, I understand what it's like to love someone and simultaneously wonder if you ever really knew them." His voice was gentle but firm. "But whatever your father did or didn't do—that's his burden, not yours. Just like my grandfather's crimes aren't mine to carry."
Emery felt something crack open in her chest. "How do you stand it? Coming back here, where everyone knows?"
"Because the people who matter see past the history to who I actually am.
" Gabe returned to his chair, his expression earnest. "And because I decided that I get to write my own story, not live in the shadow of someone else's mistakes, even though some days that’s harder than the ground during a drought.”
She leaned back, resting her hands in her lap. “Devon told me there was a third heir named in the Callaway will.”
Gabe coughed, pounding the center of his chest. “That’s a strange segue.”
She chuckled. “Yeah. Maybe a little. But I was just thinking about how no matter what happens with my dad, it doesn’t change who I am.
Or the fact that I know he loves me with all his heart.
Sometimes, I think knowing I was adopted my entire life made me feel more loved because my parents went out of their way to find me.
They specifically chose me over lots of other cute babies. ”
“That’s a beautiful way of looking at forming a family.” Gabe leaned forward. “I might ask you to tell Olivia that when she’s ready. I’m not sure she could handle another miscarriage.”
“I’m happy to share my story with your wife,” Emery said. “But as a woman, I can also understand wanting to carry your own child. So, take it from me, if she wants to try again, that might be something you need to support her in.”
“I want kids just as much as she does. I just can’t stand to see her in so much pain.”
“She needs to get through it, and you seem to be doing all the right things.” She reached out and took his hand.
He squeezed and then pulled away. “I have to ask, why did you bring up the third heir?”
“I had a friend who didn’t learn she was adopted until middle school.
It messed with her identity,” Emery said.
“I didn’t know David well, but it seems cruel to not only toss that out there in a will but put a time frame on how long his family has to find the child.
Which brings up the question, would Winston and Callie even do that? ”
Gabe's eyebrows rose. “That’s an interesting observation, and I suppose it’s possible they wouldn’t, but their mom, she’s a different person altogether. I suspect she’d honor David’s wishes.”
Emery picked up her pencil and tapped it against the desk.
Her mind splintered off into a million different directions, but one had her heart racing.
She wasn’t sure if she should bring it up.
However, as much as she wanted to bury her head in the sand over what had been happening to her, she was grateful she knew what people were saying behind her back.
“I probably should leave this alone, but I feel like someone would say something.”
“About what?”
"David left you something in his will, and this town loves a good piece of gossip.” Emery felt herself flushing. "I'm sorry, this is none of my business."
"It's okay." Gabe's smile was rueful. “I did hear a couple of people in the coffee shop speculating about what David might have left me and then moved right into the who-third-heir thing. This town was built on gossip.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If I had heard it yesterday, I probably would’ve taken a personal day today.
But I had a long conversation with Devon, Bryson, and Mason last night.
Whatever David's reasons for leaving me my grandfather's guns, it doesn't change my life. I have a career I love, a wife I adore. I don't need or want any piece of the Callaway legacy—not that its mine to claim, because that’s absurd.”
“But what if you did have a claim to it?”
“Honestly, I’d probably want it less.” Gabe's conviction was absolute. "Winston and Callie are David's children. That's their inheritance, their legacy to build or squander. I have no interest in complicating that. Just like you felt loved and cherished your entire childhood, so did I.”
The finality in his voice settled something in Emery's mind. Whatever secrets the Callaway family held, Gabe wanted no part of them.
"Speaking of the guns," Emery said, shifting to safer ground. "Have you decided what to do with them?"
Gabe's expression darkened. "That's been keeping me up at night. I don't want them, but I'm terrified they'll end up in the wrong hands, and I don’t want anyone, myself included, profiting off what my granddad did.”
"What about donating them to a museum? The local historical society?"
“Devon mentioned that I should talk to you about that,” Gabe said.