Chapter Eleven
Thorne
The smell of bourbon lingers in my nearly empty glass, mixing with the late afternoon shadows stretching across the grim evidence laid out before us.
I stare at the satellite images spread across my library table.
Neck-deep in my father's sins, I'm tempted to break my one-drink rule.
With aerial photos of contaminated groundwater and EPA bribes staring back at me, a second and third drink are looking damn appealing.
“The dump site’s groundwater contamination extends at least half a mile from the original facility,” Sebastian says, tracing his finger along a blue line representing the water table. “And based on test results I received yesterday, it’s been leaching slowly for years.”
Madison slides another satellite image toward him, this one marked with handwritten notes in careful script.
At first glance, a fourteen-year-old’s presence at the table doesn’t make sense, but it’s her evidence we’re reviewing. Plus, the little blackmailer has a helluva memory.
“It also looks like an Inspector Williams has been receiving payments since the purchase of the land,” Rosalia says, tapping a spreadsheet showing the timeline.
"Smaller amounts in cash, but the larger payouts were disguised as consulting fees through a contractor account.
Your father kept it legitimate-looking enough to avoid immediate scrutiny, but Madison's evidence shows the pattern.”
My brother’s wife is sharp as hell. Former librarian turned bookstore owner, she has an eye for detail and pattern recognition that’s astounding. I’d underestimated her when she was a tenant for one of Blackstone’s rentals.
I'd underestimated her in other ways too, treating her like a pawn I could move around Sebastian.
"Rosalia." I wait until she looks up. "What I did to you.” I don’t need to say when or what I did. We both can see the elephant sitting on the table between us. “It was—"
"Wrong?" she supplies. "Manipulative? Cruel?"
All of the above. "Yes."
She sets down her pen. "Why are you bringing this up now?"
"Because I never apologized." The words are rusty. Unused. "And you deserve one."
Sebastian's watching us, tension in every line of his body.
Rosalia's expression doesn't soften, but she nods once. "Apology noted." Then she returns to the documents, dismissing me.
It's not forgiveness. But it's acknowledgment. And that’s more than I deserve.
Ivy straightens in her chair, her posture shifting from observer to strategist. “We need to handle this before anyone outside this room connects the dots,” she says, her fingers moving rapidly across the regulatory documents I’d printed out.
She circles three sections with a red pen.
“Thankfully, no one’s noticed the contamination yet, but that’s luck, not design.
One routine well test from any of these properties and the whole ‘Kentucky's Greenest Distillery’ campaign implodes.” She taps the award certificate we received last month. The irony isn’t lost on any of us.
How could my father have been so stupid? So arrogant? He’s always seen the land as his birthright to use as he sees fit. But, he had to know his house of cards would collapse sooner or later.
Sebastian runs a hand roughly down his face. “I’ve built our entire brand around Kentucky heritage, family legacy, and environmental stewardship. This will destroy all our goodwill.”
Lillianna catches his gaze from across the table. “You could take the brunt of it, you know. Spin it as discovering the contamination yourself during an internal audit. Be proactive about the cleanup.”
“Take the hit on our stock in the short term to preserve the long-term brand integrity,” I finish her thought. “It’s not a bad strategy.”
"It won't work," Sebastian says, meeting my eyes. "Because I’ve hired a crew. On Monday, they’ll begin to install the containment barriers and monitoring wells."
"The hell you will,” I growl.
"We've already sat on this for two weeks, Thorne. The new tests came back. It’s spreading. Slowly, but it is. I'm not letting it get worse while we debate legal strategy."
"You do that, and we can't claim we just discovered it. This timeline exposes everything!”
"I know." No hesitation, no waver in my brother. "But I'm not going to risk poisoning my neighbors for better optics."
I rub my temple where a headache's forming. Sebastian's doing the right thing. I know that. But the right thing isn't the right move.
We stare at each other. The set of his jaw tells me everything. He's made up his mind, and nothing I say will change it. When he’s drawn that moral line, he doesn't cross it. It's admirable.
And it's probably going to cost us.
“This crew you picked out.” I set down my glass carefully, fighting the urge to throw it. “Have them all sign NDAs—comprehensive ones. They can't talk about what they find, when we hired them, any of it. Standard confidentiality for proprietary distillery operations."
"Of course. Ivy's already drafted them," Sebastian says.
Ivy nods. “And we’ll file permits for drainage improvements and environmental upgrades, which is exactly what the crew is doing.
The paperwork provides legitimate cover and audit protection.
" She taps her pen on the papers. "But I need to be clear.
This doesn't solve your fundamental problem.
Your father bought contaminated land four years ago, on the cheap.
If anyone investigates the purchase, that timeline exposes everything.
What this strategy does is separate you all from him.
If the contamination is discovered, we have documentation showing Sebastian was already remediating when it came to light, not that you've been hiding it for years. "
Sebastian shifts in his chair. "Are we required to report this to the EPA?"
Ivy straightens, her pen pausing mid-notation.
"That depends on the contamination levels and how they're classified under federal and state law.
I need to review the test results against CERCLA thresholds and Kentucky environmental regulations.
" She meets his eyes. "If we're legally required to report and don't, that's another crime on top of your father's.
If the levels are below mandatory reporting thresholds.
.." She pauses. "Then remediation without disclosure is legally defensible. Risky, but defensible."
"How risky?" I ask.
"If the EPA later determines you should have reported immediately, there will be penalties. Possibly significant ones. But if you're actively remediating and can show you started the moment you confirmed the extent of the problem, that's mitigating. You're not ignoring it, you're fixing it."
Sebastian nods slowly. "Check the thresholds. I need to know where we actually stand."
"I'll have an answer by tomorrow," Ivy promises.
I return my attention to the EPA files. "We should keep Inspector Williams on the payroll."
Ivy's eyes narrow. "You're suggesting we continue bribing him?"
"I'm suggesting we keep him comfortable." I lean back in my chair. "Williams knows everything—the contamination, the bribes, the four-year timeline. He’s got a lot on us. Keeping him happy protects the family."
Lillianna shakes her head. Sebastian presses his lips into a thin line. Of course, they’re going to fight me on this. Which is why they need me here.
But it's Ivy who speaks. "Every payment you make to Williams from this point forward isn't your father's crime. It's yours."
"It's a continuation of—"
"No." She cuts me off. "Your father bribed an EPA inspector. That's already done. If you continue those payments, you're actively participating in ongoing public corruption. That's a separate federal charge with separate prison time. You're not cleaning up his mess, Thorne. You're making your own."
Sebastian leans forward. "I won't commit new crimes to cover up old ones. We deal with what Dad did, but I'm not becoming him."
"And neither are you," Ivy adds, her gaze locked on mine.
Most days I believe I already have.
I look between them. At my brother's moral certainty, Ivy's legal precision. "Williams is a legitimate threat."
“But Williams is as exposed as you are,” Ivy counters. “It’s mutual assured destruction. If he tries to leverage that, we have legal options. But we don't commit new federal crimes to prevent a hypothetical threat.”
I disagree, but fighting against everyone at this table isn't going to get me anywhere.
After a long moment, I nod once. "We'll try it your way."
For now.
“I’d like that in writing,” Ivy says with the hint of a smile. “Thorne Blackstone agreeing to do things my way is a rare enough event that it should be documented.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. Damn if her confidence isn't attractive, even when she's telling me I'm wrong. "Don't push it, counselor."
She bites her bottom lip. The same way she did on the train when I asked if I could kiss her. Heat coils low in my gut.
The library door opens and I drag my gaze from her to Patricia, who announces, “Mrs. Blackstone is here.”
The room freezes. My mother. Fuck.
I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. So she still has no idea that Madison is living here. About the blackmail. About any of it.
“Show her in,” I tell Patricia, meeting my siblings’ eyes with a silent message: Follow my lead.
“Your mom?” Madison’s voice cracks to a high-pitched panic.
“It’ll be fine,” I lie, gathering the incriminating documents into a folder as the distinctive click of my mother’s heels sounds in the hallway.
Catherine Blackstone enters the library with the practiced grace of someone who’s spent decades as Kentucky bourbon royalty.
At fifty-nine, she’s still striking with black hair pulled into a perfect chignon, tailored dress, and pearls at her throat.
Her eyes scan the room, landing first on Sebastian and Rosalia, then Lillianna, me, and finally on Ivy and Madison.
Her spine straightens. “Why is she here?”