Chapter 9
Nine
The morning sun beat down on the vineyard rows, already warming the October air to an uncomfortable degree.
Devon walked between the vines with Bryson on his left and Gabe on his right, the dry earth crunching beneath their boots as they moved deeper into the property where conversation wouldn't carry back to the main house—or the guesthouse.
Gabe had been reluctant to leave the production facility when they'd shown up asking him to go for a walk. Now, he moved with the kind of tension that suggested he knew exactly what this conversation was about.
From the moment Gabe had been hired, he’d been a quiet, reflective man. Reserved. He kept his head down and worked hard. He asked questions when he didn’t understand something or needed clarification. He gave his opinion, though often reluctantly, and through the gentle nudging of Sean Callahan.
God, Devon missed that man.
For the first two years Gabe worked at Stone Bridge Winery, he’d carried the weight of his family’s history like it was a brick tied to his ankle. As if the past was a snake hidden under the tall grass, just waiting for a stray foot to land close enough to strike without too much effort.
The secrets and folk tales that had built Stone Bridge did come out on occasion, but faded into the background quickly, like the fog burned off with the rising of the morning sun.
And soon enough, Gabe learned that the shadows lurking in dark corners couldn’t hurt him.
He wasn’t his grandfather, and that didn’t have to be his legacy.
Gabe stuffed his hands in his pockets as he listened and nodded in response to Bryson.
“Winston cornered you at the funeral," Devon said finally, cutting through the small talk about soil moisture levels and irrigation schedules. "We saw it. Looked heated and looked damned uncomfortable.”
Gabe's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "It was nothing."
"Didn't look like nothing," Bryson said. "You looked ready to throw a punch at a cemetery.” He shifted his weight, angling his body toward Gabe’s in unwavering support. “We were ready to jump into action if necessary.”
"Winston has that effect on people,” Gabe said.
Devon stopped walking, forcing the other two to halt as well. "We're not trying to pry. We're worried about you. Whatever Winston said, it clearly upset you."
For a long moment, Gabe said nothing. He stared out at the vineyard, his expression carefully blank, a look he’d perfected over the years, but Devon could see the war playing out behind his eyes.
Finally, his shoulders sagged slightly. "Someone sent Winston a photo," Gabe said quietly.
"Of my mother and David. Together, when they were young. Not the same one I have but similar. Showed them hanging out, looking close. Arms draped around each other. They appeared intimate.”
Devon exchanged a glance with Bryson. "Who sent it?"
"Anonymous. Came with a note saying the sender knows who the third heir is." Gabe's voice was tight. "Winston thought I sent it. Thought I was making some kind of play for the Callaway inheritance."
"Jesus," Bryson breathed.
"He accused me of playing games. Said there was no way I could be David's son, that I was delusional if I thought I had any claim to the Callaway legacy.
" Gabe's hands curled into fists. "Told me that on the off chance we were actually related, he'd do whatever was necessary to make sure I got nothing.
" The bitterness in his voice cut through the morning air like a blade.
Devon understood where the bitterness had been born from. The story was long and complicated. But it had nothing to do with Gabe and everything to do with Winston holding a grudge on behalf of men who’d been dead for decades.
But Winston—much to his father’s dismay—had idolized his grandfather. They exchanged letters while his granddad was in prison prior to his death. His grandpa had painted a glorified picture of what happened all those years ago when his muscle—Cote Maxwell—murdered his brother in cold blood.
However, there was more to that story. EJ Callaway, who cooked the books for his brother Jasper, was also in a relationship with Cote’s sister, Annabelle.
But Annabelle went missing. Her body was found three weeks later.
She’d been beaten and raped. Cote went crazy, knowing in his heart that EJ had killed his sister.
So, Cote turned a gun on EJ, shooting him twice in chest at point blank range.
Sources say, Cote didn’t bat an eye. That he had no remorse.
Just set his gun down, walked into a bar, and ordered a drink as if nothing happened.
For more than a decade, no one could prove that EJ had been the one to murder Annabelle until new forensic and DNA evidence had been introduced, proving EJ had committed the crime.
It didn’t exonerate Cote. He’d still spent the rest of his life behind bars. However, it certainly changed the way some people viewed what he did.
"But that's not all," Gabe continued. "He wanted the guns back. Said the collection belonged to the Callaways, that David shouldn't have left them to me. Offered to pay for them—a substantial amount."
“How substantial?” Bryson asked.
“Millions.” Gabe ran a hand over his mouth.
“That feels like a payoff,” Devon said.
"Exactly." Gabe started walking again, his pace faster now, agitated. "Which made me think—maybe Winston does believe we could be half-brothers. Maybe that's why he's so desperate to buy me off, to make sure I have no reason to stake a claim."
"Do you want to?" Bryson asked carefully. "Stake a claim if you are related?”
"No. Yes. I don't know." Gabe ran a hand through his hair.
“Just the other day, between talking with Emery and my wife, I'd made peace with not caring.
With letting it be whatever it was and moving on with my life.
But now, Winston's acting like I'm a threat, like there's something to be threatened by, and it's fucking with my head. "
They walked in silence for a moment, the only sounds their footsteps and the distant call of hawks circling overhead.
"There's more," Gabe said. "Winston gave me a warning. About Emery."
Devon went very still. "What kind of warning? Like a threat?”
"He said no one knows the full story about her past. About her father who was going to end up in prison." Gabe's voice was careful now, measured. "Said history was going to repeat itself and take the Boones down with it."
"That's ridiculous," Bryson said immediately. "Emery's father was never charged with anything. The accusations are just that—accusations.”
"I know that." Gabe stopped walking again, turning to face them, his expression tortured. "But Winston was very specific. Very certain. Like he knew something we didn't."
Devon's pulse started to race. Dread coiled in his gut. "What are you saying?"
Gabe was quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with something internal. "The insurance thing. The accusations against Emery's father are about accepting bribes to overlook fraudulent claims." He met Devon's eyes. "I know something about that case."
The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate.
"How?" Devon demanded.
"Because it affected my parents." Gabe's face changed.
His brow furrowed, lines carving deep between his eyes.
He looked down at his feet, shoulders curving inward.
"My father works in insurance fraud investigation.
Has for over thirty years. Two years ago, he was brought in as a consultant on a major federal case. And my mother—she got caught up in it."
"Caught up how?" Bryson's voice was sharp.
"She worked as a senior claims administrator for one of the insurance companies being investigated.
Had been there for twenty-five years, worked her way up from entry-level.
" Gabe's hands shook. "When the feds started building their fraud case, her name came up.
Her signature was on documents that turned out to be fraudulent. "
Devon’s stomach dropped. "She was involved in the fraud?"
"No. She had no knowledge she was signing off on fraudulent claims. But that doesn't matter to federal prosecutors building a case." Gabe's voice cracked. "Her signature was there. Her authorization codes. On paper, she looked complicit."
"Jesus," Bryson inched out the word in a whisper.
"Can you imagine? My father gets brought in to consult on a massive fraud case, and discovers his own wife is about to be implicated as an accessory." Gabe wiped a hand over his face. "She could've faced federal charges. Prison time. All for doing her job without knowing what was really happening."
"How does Michael Tate fit into this?" Devon asked, even if part of him already knew the answer.
"Michael worked for a different insurance company, but he had connections to people caught up in the fraud.
When the investigation started, his name came up, too—the feds thought he'd accepted bribes to overlook fraudulent claims." Gabe took a shaky breath.
"The evidence looked damning. His signature on authorization forms, wire transfers to accounts in his name, a pattern of approving suspicious claims."
"But he didn't do it," Devon said, pieces clicking into place.
"The feds don't think so. At least, not anymore.
But two years ago, when the investigation was just starting, Michael looked guilty as hell.
" Gabe sighed. "That's when my father really got involved.
He's been working with federal prosecutors ever since, helping them build the real case against the actual perpetrators.
And Michael—from what I've overheard, what I've pieced together from phone calls and documents I wasn't supposed to see—he's cooperating with the investigation, too. "
“Was Micheal framed?” Bryson asked.