Page 58 of The Distiller's Darling

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Iain and his father had spent the last forty-five minutes going round and round with one another, only to reach the same exact point they’d started: Iain intended to stay put in River Hill, and Cathal Brennan didn’t want to let it happen. Now, they sat across from one another in awkward, stony silence while they waited for the conference call to connect with the rest of the Brennans back in Ireland.

Iain had texted an SOS to Maeve thirty minutes before, but his sister still hadn’t responded. While that was very much in keeping with her personality, now was not the time for her to be indulging in one of her famous silences. He really needed her by his side, presenting a united front on their endeavor.

“What’s this about you selling your shares?” Fionn demanded without so much as a hello the moment the call connected. Next to him was Braden, wearing a sour grimace, and to Iain’s surprise, their mother. He tried to read her expression for some indication of where she fell on the matter, but Colleen Brennan had the finest poker face in six counties.

He dragged his eyes away from her and stared straight into the camera. “Maeve and I are buying a distillery here, and I need the capital for the deal to go through.” He needed them to understand that his mind was made up and there would be no swaying him from this path.

According to the family lawyer, no one could actually block the sales of his shares. His father and brothers knew that too, so the only move they had left was to try and persuade him not to. But persuasion had never been their strong suit. Most of the Brennan men operated more on the bully end of the spectrum.

Knowing his brothers as he did, Iain had already anticipated every point against his plan they could toss his way during this conversation. Opening their own distillery wouldn’t be easy, but Iain was confident he and Maeve could make it successful. After all, there were several other small, artisan outfits operating at a profit all over the U.S. And none of them had the pedigree he and Maeve brought to the table.

Braden leaned in and sneered at the screen. “You’ve had some stupid ideas—”

Iain rolled his eyes and leaned back in a gesture of nonchalance. He was not going to let Braden rile him up. Cutting his older brother off before he could say something that’d make him look like even more of an ass, Iain said, “If you’re trying to sweet talk me into compliance, you’re doing a—”

“Sorry I’m late!” Maeve called out, rushing in through the door. “The bank took forever.” She plopped down on the sofa next to Iain. “What did I miss?”

Iain did a double-take. “The bank?”

Maeve glanced between him, their father, and the laptop screen. “Ah,” she mused. Everyone but she and the Brennan family matriarch wore matching looks of confusion. “I guess you hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

“What part?” their father barked, glaring at his daughter.

Maeve chewed her lip and shot Iain a look he couldn’t quite interpret. If it were anyone else, he might think that was guilt darkening her expression, but he knew his sister better than that. There wasn’t an underhanded bone in her body.

But it wasn’t Maeve who answered. To Iain’s surprise, his mother cleared her throat. “The part where I announce I’m going into business with Iain and Maeve. I funded the distillery.”

“You what?!” Fionn and Braden cried in unison.

And all at once, the two rooms, one on each side of the ocean, both erupted into a wild cacophony of competing voices and gestures.

Eventually, when it became clear no one was going to cede the floor, Iain marched over to the sink and pulled out the bullhorn he’d found in the cupboard underneath it several days ago. He had no clue why Max was keeping it under there, but he wasn’t going to question the man when it was the perfect way to get everyone to shut up and listen to their mother.

He flicked on the switch and raised it to his mouth. “Hey!” he shouted, his voice echoing loudly in the tiny room.

Maeve winced and leaned away while his father covered his ears with both hands.

“What the hell was that for?” Cathal shouted back at his son.

Iain dropped the bullhorn to his side and returned to the couch. He made a dramatic show of setting it down on the cushion next to him, so everyone would know he’d use it again if they got out of hand. He turned back to the screen. “You were saying, Mom?”

She smiled at Iain, and for the first time all afternoon, he thought everything might be okay. “I was saying that I’m investing in your distillery.” Iain glanced at Maeve. Her mouth was split in a devious grin. He’d forgotten how much she looked like their mother, but with the both of them looking like cats who’d just stolen a distillery’s worth of cream, the resemblance was clear.

“For almost two hundred years,” Colleen O’Brien Brennan continued firmly, “the men of this family have made other men richer, while the women have been kept out. At no point have any of you—” she cast a pointed look at each of the men of her family “—sought to rectify that.”

Iain’s father crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, his chin jutting out defensively. “I love you dearly, Colly, but you know as well as I do that tradition matters. Especially in a company like ours.” They’d clearly had this conversation before.

“Yes, I do know that. But everyone on this call also knows that you boys have benefited tremendously from it too, while women like Maeve have been harmed by it.” She looked at Iain. “Son, in your professional opinion, would Brennan’s have taken any flack for making Maeve a shareholder?”

It took Iain a moment to respond. Frankly, he was still in shock. He’d known his mom had a strong feminist streak in her, but he’d never seen her publicly countermand his father, much less state an opposing position about the patriarchal nature of the company’s founding or the way it continued to be run. From the sound of things, however, this wasn’t the first time she’d brought it up with his father. Now, he wondered what other changes she’d been silently working for behind the scenes for all these years. And he couldn’t help but appreciate her pointed reference to his own professional qualifications with her question.

He shook his head. “Maybe twenty years ago, but not now.”

Braden scoffed.

“I’m serious,” Iain continued. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, times are changing. There are women distillers now, famous ones. And female brewmasters who are making a killing in the field. If we’d put Maeve at the forefront of our operations years ago, we would have been trailblazers. Instead, we’ve stagnated and lost ground with younger buyers. We look like a company run by old men, for old men. And newsflash—those old men are dying off. We need new customers.”

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