Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thorne
I've been at my office at the distillery since six this morning. Easier to review acquisition projections here than at home, and I keep watching the clock waiting for Bill to call her with the “good news.”
My phone sits on the desk, face up. Voss called back this morning with the details. We have an appointment tomorrow at two p.m. FBI field office in Louisville. Special Agent Morgan Rivera is handling Williams's case.
Twenty-four hours from now, I'll walk into that building. What I tell them depends on what Williams has already said. But Voss was clear: we say nothing until we know what cards they're holding.
I texted Ivy the update since I promised to keep her in the loop.
Promised. I hate that fucking word.
I take a sip of coffee—mixed with bourbon. Old office, old habits.
The computer screen in front of me shows a spreadsheet I've been pretending to review for the past hour. Acquisition projections for next quarter. Properties we're considering. Partnerships we're exploring.
All of it is meaningless if I'm in federal prison.
I need to talk to Lillianna about if things go badly tomorrow or after Hartwell’s meeting.
She's always been more reasonable than Sebastian, more willing to see the grey areas.
If I'm going to ask anyone to find a replacement for acquisitions, it'll be her.
Sebastian will be too busy protecting the distillery's reputation to consider expansion.
But Lilly? She'll understand what needs to be done.
I take another drink just as someone knocks on the door. The sound is sharp, impatient. Before I can respond, it opens.
"Seriously?" Lillianna stands in the doorway, taking in the scene. The bottle. My mug. Me. "It's nine in the morning, Thorne."
“What? Some like cream in their coffee, I like bourbon.” I pick up my coffee and take a sip. “What are you doing here?”
She crosses to my desk and drops a folder on it.
"Working. You know, that thing people do at distilleries?
" She taps the folder. "The Fall Harvest Festival is in six weeks.
We're doing a joint event. 3Bs is handling the food vendors and entertainment, Blackstone's providing the bourbon tastings and distillery tours.
I need your signature on the vendor contracts since you're still head of acquisitions. "
I glance at the folder without opening it. "Sounds like you have it under control."
"I do. But I still need your signature." She pauses, studies me. "Also, Sebastian asked me to check on you."
"Bullshit. Sebastian won't even take my calls."
She has the grace to look caught. "Fine. I wanted to check on you. But he's worried, even if he won't admit it."
“He shouldn’t waste his energy. Nor should you.”
She sits in the chair across from me. "But here I am anyway. So talk to me."
My first instinct is to say no. But tomorrow isn't about me, it's about the business, about her and Sebastian. They deserve to know what's coming.
"I have a meeting tomorrow," I say. "With the FBI."
She goes very still. "What?"
I relay the details to her.
"Jesus, Thorne." She leans forward, elbows on her knees. "When were you planning to tell us?"
"I'm telling you now."
"Twenty-four hours before the meeting?" Her voice rises. "What are you going to say to them?"
"I don't know yet. Depends on what Williams has already told them." I tip my mug. “I’m bringing my lawyer, Voss. We won’t say anything until we know if Williams has cooperated. If he's given them my name."
"And if he has?"
"Then I get ahead of it. Tell them what I know about Dad's deals. About the environmental violations."
She's quiet, tapping her nails on the armchair, then stands and paces to the window. "You're drinking bourbon for breakfast in the office you swore you'd never come back to."
“Your point?”
Facing me, she narrows her eyes. "Mom's been calling. Ivy said you left before she woke up."
The mention of Ivy makes my chest tighten. "I'm busy."
"You're spiraling." She moves to stand in front of my desk.
“And before you say I should let you because we don’t need you or some other shit.
We need you. As our brother and at this distillery.
You and Sebastian work because you're in the right positions.
He's the face, the master distiller, the steady hand.
You're the shark in acquisitions, seeing deals no one else can.
Dad put you there to punish you, but you've made it your own. Made it matter.”
I stare at her. “How…”
She can’t know. She was only fourteen, the same age Madison is now, when it happened. Too young to understand or question what was really going on when Dad suddenly announced Sebastian was slated to take over the distillery instead of me.
“That day in the car, something you said snagged my attention, so I snooped through Dad's personal files."
Of course she noticed my slip. And, of course, she looked into it. "Forget tutoring or running the other operations within Blackstone. You should be a detective. You'd make a killing ferreting out secrets."
She laughs, but it fades. “You went to Warren Hartwell, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Was that in Dad’s personal stuff?” I take a sip of my drink, needing to drown old memories.
“No, but he's been calling board members since those photos leaked. Building his case against you. I didn’t know if it was because he wants you out so he’ll have more power or if it was something else.”
I shrug.“Probably both”
"Don't you even care?" Her hands flatten on the desk. "He called me, Thorne. Asked which way I'd vote. He's telling everyone you're unstable. That you're a liability. That we—the family and the shareholders—can't control you."
"He's not wrong."
"He is wrong. And you know it."
I have to appreciate her loyalty, even if it is misplaced.
She returns to the window. "He's trying to push you out. If he gets your twenty percent, he'll have real power in this company."
"Let him have it."
She whirls back. "Are you serious right now?"
"This is me, my life, my mistakes. And it's time to get on with the tragedy of my life."
Lillianna snorts. Actually snorts. "Jesus, Thorne. I don't remember these theatrics and penchant for drama when you were drunk before.”
Despite everything, my lips twitch, lifting in an almost smile. "Maybe because they were lost in my acts and decisions."
"You were always dramatic." She drops into the chair across from me, her expression softening at the memory. "Remember when you turned twenty-one? You got me that fake ID, and we took that group of friends to Keeneland. It was summer, blazing hot, and everyone kept buying you drinks."
"I remember being very drunk."
"You were obliterated. Shots, beers, bourbon—you couldn't say no to anyone." She's smiling now. "And then you bet half your inheritance on a horse."
The memory surfaces, hazy but warm. Everyone tried to stop me, but I'd been so sure the universe owed me a win.
Lillianna shakes her head. “We all stood there with our jaws on the ground while you collected your winnings. You were so drunk you tipped the clerk with a thousand dollars and told him to ‘buy something pretty.’”
I laugh at the memory.
"What would you have done if you'd lost?" Lillianna asks.
My grin fades. "I probably should have lost. That win made me believe I was invincible. That I could take any risk and come out ahead." I turn my mug in my hand. Setting it on my desk, I say, "That wasn't the last risky bet I made."
"But you won most of them. You have good instincts, Thorne. You're good at acquisitions because you spot opportunities others miss. You take calculated risks."
"Williams didn’t work out."
"No," she agrees. “But the idea behind it wasn’t completely wrong."
"The FBI will disagree."
“I meant, I get why you did it. And you can fight them. Don't just roll over and confess to crimes you didn't commit."
"Someone has to pay, Lilly."
"Then let it be Williams. He's the one who took the bribe. He's the one who violated his oath." She stands, taking the bottle from my desk. "Or let it be Dad. He's dead. He can't be hurt by this anymore."
“Even if the government will accept Williams and Dad, the press will want a living Blackstone to pay.”
“Then we lawyer up. We show them that as soon as we discovered the violations, we acted immediately to fix them. We demonstrate good faith." She turns back to me. "We don't hand them a confession because you've decided you're the villain in this story."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it?" She crosses back to the desk. “Don’t get me wrong, you did some shitty things over the years. But you've changed. You’ve also been punishing yourself for three years.” Her voice softens.
"But Thorne, we don't need you to be perfect. We just need you to be honest. To stop shutting us out.”
“I’m trying. I told you about the FBI meeting.”
Her brows rise. “That’s happening tomorrow.”
That’s fair. “I’m trying, Lilly.”
“Try harder, big brother.”
I chuckle. “You sound like Mom.”
Lillianna sighs.“You should cancel that meeting. Wait for them to come to us.”
“I can’t.”
Her eyes widen. “You are infuriating. Why can’t you?”
“Sebastian is actually trying to do good. To make this company something we can be proud of. I won't let Dad's crimes destroy him."
"What about you?"
"I'm already destroyed." The truth of it settles heavier in my stomach than all the bourbon I've drunk since yesterday. I've ruined things between Sebastian and me. I've lost Ivy—or I will, as soon as Bill calls her. "This just makes it official."
“Don’t say that. We can fight this together. All of us. Sebastian, me, even Ivy—”
"Ivy won't be part of this."
Lillianna’s brows furrow. "Why not?"
The answer sticks in my throat. Because when Bill calls her—and he will—she'll find that I broke my promise to her.
"Because I fucked that up too."
"Thorne, what did you do?"
“I broke a promise.”
“So fix it.”
“This one can’t be fixed.”
Lillianna stares at me for a long moment. I can see her warring with herself over whether she should push harder or let it go. Finally, she steps back.
"I'm not giving up on you."
"You should."
"Well, too bad. You don't get to decide that." She heads for the door, then pauses with her hand on the handle. "For what it's worth? You are a good man, Thorne. You've just made some bad decisions. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah." Her hand reaches for the handle. "One can be fixed. The other can't. Figure out which one you are before you throw your life away tomorrow."
She's gone, leaving me alone with my choices.
I sit in the silence, staring at the spreadsheet I'm not reading. I get up to refill my coffee, but stop when my phone buzzes.
My heart flips. It’s from Ivy.
Madison's at a sleepover tonight. Want to forget about everything for a few hours? We could take the bikes out to that burger place. Been craving their jalapeno burger. And maybe seeing you not scowl for once. ??
The tightness in my shoulders eases for the first time since I called Bill Fischer. Just her name on my screen cuts through the bourbon fog and the FBI dread and makes me remember what it feels like to want something instead of dreading everything.
She doesn't know yet. Bill hasn't called her yet. She's still the woman who teases me, who challenges me, who suggests motorcycle rides and greasy burgers instead of five-star restaurants.
She's still mine. For a few more hours, at least.
Give me 30 minutes. I'll meet you at home.
Don't make me wait. I'm already thinking about that burger. And you in leather. Priorities. ??
I can already picture her on that Bonneville, the way she leans into curves with more confidence than caution.
The way she glances over at stoplights, visor up, grinning at me like we're teenagers stealing freedom instead of two people running from our problems. The way her laugh carries over the engine noise when I try to show off.
The weight of her hand when she reaches over to squeeze mine before we gear up.
Pocketing my phone, the weight of it feels different now. Heavier. Like I'm carrying these last few hours with her, knowing they're already slipping away.
Tomorrow I'll face the FBI. Soon, Ivy will leave me.
But today, I'm going to ride motorcycles with the woman I'm falling for and pretend that I'm not about to lose her.