Chapter 11
Eleven
The den felt smaller than usual with four grown men crammed around the flatscreen monitor Walter had set up on his desk.
Devon stood closest to the screen, arms crossed, every muscle tense as he watched Emery sit composed and professional across from Sarah Martinez in the family room, one wall away.
The recording had started twenty minutes ago, and so far, Emery was handling herself beautifully. Poised but not stiff, honest but not oversharing, exactly the balance his mother and Riley had coached her toward.
"She's good at this," Bryson murmured from Devon's left. "Natural."
"Better than I'd be," Gabe added quietly from the leather chair behind them. "I'd have stumbled over the first question."
Walter said nothing, but Devon caught his father nodding in approval as Emery explained her authentication methodology, with a passion that lit up her entire face.
On screen, Sarah leaned forward with interest. "So, your work at Stone Bridge involves not just authenticating current vintages, but building documentation for potential collector pieces?"
"Exactly. We're creating comprehensive provenance records for wines that could become investment-quality in the future.
It's about establishing credibility and traceability from the moment a bottle is produced.
" Emery's hands moved as she spoke, her enthusiasm evident.
"That level of documentation is rare in the industry, but it's what serious collectors demand. "
"And your personal relationship with Devon Boone—how do you maintain professional boundaries while working so closely with someone you're dating?"
Devon tensed, but Emery didn't flinch.
"The same way any professional couple does.
We have clear delineations between work and personal time.
If I'm authenticating a wine, my assessment is based solely on research and evidence, not on whose family produced it.
" She smiled slightly. "Devon knows better than to try to influence my professional judgment. I'm particularly good at saying no."
That earned a chuckle from Bryson. "She's got your number, brother."
"Shut up," Devon muttered, but he was smiling.
Sarah nodded, making notes. "Let's talk about your father's situation. Michael Tate is currently under federal investigation for insurance fraud. How do you respond to critics who say questionable ethics run in your family?"
Devon's hands clenched into fists. This was the question they'd all been dreading.
But Emery's expression remained calm, steady.
"My father's situation is a separate legal matter that's still under investigation.
I can't legally comment on ongoing federal proceedings, but I can say that I have complete confidence in his integrity and in the judicial process.
What I can comment on is my own work—I've never compromised my professional standards, and I never will. "
"Damn," Walter breathed. "She's good."
"Riley trained her well," Bryson said with evident pride.
Sarah pressed forward. "But given the appearance of impropriety in your father's case, and the scandal at Pemberton's Auction House, don't you think it's fair for people to question your judgment?"
"I think it's fair for people to question anyone's work based on evidence and results.
" Emery's voice was firm but not defensive.
"What's not fair is conflating my father's investigation with my career, or assuming guilt by association.
I didn't do what Harold Pemberton accused me of doing.
I've never forged documentation or authenticated wines I knew were fraudulent. "
Devon felt pride surge through his chest. This was the first time she'd publicly denied the accusations. The first time she'd stood up and said clearly, definitively, that she was innocent.
"That's a strong statement," Sarah observed.
"It's the truth. I wish I understood why Harold did what he did—why he destroyed my career and reputation. But I know I didn't do what he accused me of, and I'm doing my best to move forward while hoping someday the full story comes to light."
"Perfect," Gabe murmured. "She owned it without making accusations she can't prove."
For several more minutes, the interview continued smoothly.
Sarah asked about Stone Bridge's expansion plans, about Emery's vision for the authentication program, and about how she was settling into the valley.
Emery answered each question with the kind of genuine enthusiasm that would make any viewer want to meet her, work with her, and believe in her.
Devon was just beginning to relax when Sarah's expression changed.
"I want to circle back to your role at Stone Bridge Winery for a moment," Sarah said, her tone shifting to something more pointed. "Specifically, your authentication work on vintage bottles."
"Of course," Emery said, though Devon caught the slight tension that entered her shoulders.
"I received some documentation from a source—documentation that raises questions about your methodology.
" Sarah pulled out a manila folder and extracted several pages.
"These appear to be authentication records for vintage wines in Stone Bridge's collection.
The source claims you're fabricating provenance, making up historical details to inflate the value of ordinary bottles. "
The blood drained from Emery's face. "What? That's—can I see those?"
Sarah handed over the pages, and even on the monitor, Devon could see Emery's hands trembling as she reviewed them.
"These aren't mine," Emery said, her voice shaking. “I mean, they are, but this documentation has been altered. I never—"
"But they have your signature," Sarah pointed out. "Your initials on each page. Your authentication stamp."
"Then someone forged them, because I didn't create these." Emery looked up, her expression stricken. "This is exactly what happened at Pemberton's. Someone created false documents with my signature to make it look like I approved fraudulent—"
Devon was already moving. He burst through the door into the family room with Bryson and Gabe right behind him, all three of them clearly startling both Emery and Sarah.
"Stop the recording," Devon said, his voice tight with fury. "Stop it right now."
"Devon—" Emery started.
"Those documents are fake," Gabe said, already reaching for the pages in Emery's hands. "Let me see them."
Sarah looked between them, clearly thrown by the sudden interruption. "Gentlemen, we're in the middle of—"
"I know exactly what you're in the middle of, and it's character assassination based on fraudulent documents." Devon's voice was stern. "We need to see those papers. Now."
Walter appeared in the doorway—his expression carved from stone. "Sarah, I'm going to have to ask you to pause the recording. This is a serious accusation, and we need time to review the evidence before proceeding."
Gabe was already examining the pages, his expression growing darker with each one he reviewed.
"These are forgeries. The formatting is wrong.
The authentication codes are outdated because we changed our system three weeks ago.
Emery couldn't have created these recently because we're not using this template anymore. "
"How do you know?" Sarah asked.
"Because I'm Operations Manager. I oversee all documentation protocols." Gabe looked up, his jaw tight. "And I have copies of the actual authentication records Emery's been working on. They're in my office. Give me five minutes."
He was already heading for the door.
"Devon," Walter said quietly. "Call Sandy."
Devon pulled out his phone, his hands steadier than he felt.
This was it—proof that someone was actively sabotaging Emery, creating false evidence to destroy her credibility.
But who? He pulled up Sandy’s contact information and tapped her personal phone number, knowing she was probably off-duty, or about to be.
Sandy answered on the second ring. "Kane."
"We need you at the main house. Now. Someone just tried to sabotage Emery during an interview with forged authentication documents."
"On my way." The line went dead.
In the family room, Brea had appeared with Riley, both women flanking Emery like protective guards.
Emery looked pale, shaken, her hands still trembling as she stared at the forged documents.
“The night of the break-in,” Emery whispered.
“I was working on these.” She glanced up, catching Devon’s gaze.
So, that’s what the intruder was doing.
"Who gave you these?" Devon asked Sarah, keeping his voice level with effort.
"A source. Someone who claimed to have insider knowledge about authentication fraud at Stone Bridge Winery.” Sarah pulled out her phone. "I have the email chain if you want to see it."
"Please." Walter stepped forward
Sarah pulled up her email and scrolled to a thread with several messages. Devon leaned in to read, and his stomach dropped as he stared at the source's name.
“Gabriel Maxwell is your source?” Devon blinked, scrolling through the conversation, reading the words, but not really comprehending them.
“That’s what the email says.”
“What emails from me?” Gabe asked as he stepped through the doorway.
Devon held out the phone.
"That's not from me," Gabe said, tucking several folders under his arm. "I never sent those emails."
"But it has your name," Sarah said, confusion evident. "Your email address—gmaxwell.stonebridgewinery@."
"That's not my email," Gabe said flatly. "My work email is gmaxwell@. I don’t have a Gmail account. My wife does, but that’s in her name. Someone must have created a fake account using my name."
He spread the folders on the coffee table, pulling out authentication records with Emery's actual signature and comparing them to the forged documents. Even to Devon's untrained eye, the differences were noticeable—different paper stock, different formatting, subtle variations in the signature.