Page 86 of Cherished Lands
Her lips flickered into a fragile smile. "Your father never understood why I preferred the local places." She glanced nervously at the door as the bell jingled. I turned too, but it was just Mrs. Henderson picking up her usual morning order.
"Mom—"
"He wasn't always like this," she cut in, voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe he was, and I just didn't want to see it. But after your grandfather died..." She twisted her wedding ring—that massive diamond that had always seemed more like a shackle than jewelry. "Use it. The evidence I gave you. Use it."
My stomach churned. "But that would destroy Vintage Point. Everything Grandpa built?—"
"Your grandfather built a legacy of quality and community." Her voice hardened. "Your father turned it into something else entirely. Sometimes you have to burn it down to build something better."
"But the workers, the families that depend on?—"
"Will be better off in the long run." She reached across the table, gripping my hand with surprising strength. "Before he takes everything from you too."
The bell jingled again, and Mom startled like a spooked deer. "I should go. He'll notice if I'm gone too long."
She stood, smoothing her sweater with trembling fingers, but paused before turning away. "You found something real with theEvertons. Something worth fighting for." Her smile was sad but determined. "Don't let him destroy that too."
I'd madethree copies of everything in the manila folder Mom had given me. I'd just handed over one copy to Andy at the police station, watching his eyes widen as he flipped through the pages. Another was sitting in my passenger seat as I pulled up to my childhood home, and the final was locked away where even Elliot couldn't find it. Just in case.
My phone vibrated in the cup holder.
ELLIOT
You've been gone awhile. You okay?
TESSA
I'm fine. Just fixing this. Trust me?
ELLIOT
Always, Princess.
I hadn't told him what I was about to do. Couldn't risk him trying to talk me out of it. Or worse, trying to protect me from the fallout.
The massive Georgian-style mansion loomed before me, all pristine white columns and perfectly manicured hedges. It looked exactly the same as it had when Dad had thrown me out—cold, imposing, empty of any real warmth.
The heels of my Tecovas thumped against the marble foyer as Maria, our housekeeper, led me to the dining room. Some things never changed—lunch was always served precisely atnoon, my parents always sat at opposite ends of the mahogany table that could seat twenty.
Dad barely glanced up from his Wall Street Journal. "Theresa. To what do we owe this... intrusion?"
I strode to the center of the table and dropped the thick manila envelope between his cucumber sandwich and crystal water glass. Papers spilled out—bank statements, transfer records, meeting minutes that had nothing to do with wine production.
"Drop the lawsuit." My voice was steady, even as my heart raced. "Call your lawyer. Now."
He flipped through the pages with casual disinterest, but I caught the slight tightening around his eyes. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I'd hate for word of your criminal activity to spread." I met his gaze steadily. "Imagine what the FBI would make of these records."
Mom's water glass froze halfway to her lips.
Dad's laugh was cold. "You wouldn't dare destroy your family's legacy."
"Try me." I planted my hands on the table, leaning forward. "You taught me well, Dad. Use whatever leverage you have. Win at all costs. Right?"
His jaw worked as he stared me down. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away precious seconds.
Finally, he reached for his phone. "Stephen? Drop the injunction. Yes, now." He ended the call with more force than necessary. "Happy?"
