Page 99 of Bourbon and Secrets

“You got a minute?”I ask as I plow through Ace’s kitchen.

Both he and Grant have their coffee cups halfway to their lips, not expecting me this early. Julep greets Kit on her leash at my side. “Sit.”

She listens and looks up for her reward. I dig into my pocket for a dime-sized cookie. “You saw the article, I’m guessing?” Ace asks, leaning against the counter.

I look at Grant, who passes me the phone. On the screen is a picture of the three of us as school-aged boys. I remember this from the 75th Anniversary of Foxx Bourbon. It was one of the biggest celebrations we’d ever seen in Fiasco at the time. The headline of the article reads:100 years of Bourbon & The Secret to it All.

I look up at my oldest brother and he looks pleased. When I scroll down, in italics is exactly what I said to Murray that day, and right at this moment it feels especially true:...what ends up in those barrels is called ‘the heart’ for a reason. It mightbe the Kentucky water, the thriving culture of bourbon, but I believe what makes Foxx Bourbon the best bourbon is the pride poured into those barrels and the respect the Foxx family has for it. As they celebrate 100 years of bourbon, one of the most distinguished brands keeps the heart while evolving as palates and audiences change.

The timing of those words couldn’t be more perfect. I put the unmarked bottle on the counter. “Grant, grab three glasses.” But he’s already sliding them across the marble. I take note of the viscosity of this batch—deeper browns this time has it looking more like a double barrel bourbon than the single barrel it initially had been. We’ve been making specific blends for important moments in our life ever since I can remember. It was one of the things that helped us keep track of what years we liked more than others.

“There was nothing significant about this batch. It was a typical mash bill: 71% corn, 16% rye, and 12% barley. Aged her in barrels in our rickhouse for four years.” I look between the two of them before I confess what I’ve been doing. “Then infused with thyme and peaches for two and a half weeks.”

Grant smiles to himself as he noses it.

Ace holds up the glass in the light to see the color before he smells it, tossing a glance my way. “Peach?”

I give him a stiff nod as my younger brother smiles around his sip.

Ace shakes his head. “I’ll give it to you and Grant, you assholes both really take shit literally, don’t you?”

Grant says, “It has a great palate.”

I chime in with my thoughts. “You can drink it on the rocks, chilled neat, mix it, whatever. But it opens up potential for a new audience.” I nod to my glass. “You want to see Foxx brand in more glasses, then we need to appeal to the crowd that doesn’ttypically like bourbon. This doesn’t need to take away from our roots or stifle the true bourbon market, but it has potential.”

Ace takes another sip. “I don’t hate it. Might want to try it with a higher percentage of rye instead of corn. The rye could add that layer of spice to balance the sweet.” He shrugs one shoulder before he says, “See what keeps the flavor profile best.”

Most of our blends were higher percentages of corn. It made our mash sweeter. The sugars ate into the oak from the barrels and the temperatures that fluctuated during the aging process is what Ace always said was what made our tasting profiles the most robust. We didn’t agree on everything, or even that logic, but this feedback from him feels like a win; one of the biggest of my career to hear the approval of my older brother.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. You’re the one who’s going to have to tell Griz that you want to put fruit in his bourbon. And I want a front-row seat to that shitshow.”

“Did someone say shitshow?” Hadley says, waltzing in.

Ace barks out a laugh. “I forgot that was your calling card.”

She hisses at him like a damn cat.

Grant and I share an amused look as Ace says, “Your maturity level never ceases to amaze me, Hadley.”

She tips her head back and looks at the ceiling, laughing to herself. “Too easy.” Then she focuses on Ace. “But I’m not here for you.” Shifting her attention to me, she says, “I stopped by your house to give you that architect’s information and Maggie was sitting on your porch. She said she needed to talk with you. Figured you’d be here.” Looking down at the bottle on the table, she raises her eyebrows, wordlessly asking how it went. She knew I was going to pitch this today.

I give her a half smile and a wink of success.

“Good. When you’re ready, I’ll take a case. I think it’s an instant kitty winner.”

Ace exhales, “Fucking hell.”

“Anyway,” Hadley says, striding out the way she came. “She’s out in the stables with Griz.”

“Thanks, Hads,” I call out.

I shift a glance at Grant, curious for his two cents. I want to ensure I’m making the right call here before I put it anything into motion. “Grant.” I nod toward the hall. “I need a second.”

His brow furrows, but he doesn’t question it. Once we have some privacy, I say, “A hypothetical for you.”

Grant crosses his arms. “Alright,” he grunts out. The grumpy bastard. “Hypothetical,” he says on an exhale.

I mimic his stance, crossing my arms. “If someone was trying to build a criminal case, but obtaining search or surveillance warrants could alert the person of interest and jeopardize it, what would you do?”

---