Page 50 of A Vintage of Regret
But under the warmth of it, Riley felt the secret in her chest like a stone — heavy, unmoving, impossible to set down. BecauseErin trusted her now. And when the truth about the money came out, that trust might be the first casualty.
Erin swiped at her eyes, managing a shaky smile. “At least now we can all just… focus on grieving Dad. No more drama. No more fights.”
Riley forced a nod, her throat tightening.
While Erin was clinging to the hope for peace, Riley knew the undercurrent running beneath their family was anything but calm. Secrets didn’t stay buried in Stone Bridge—they had a way of surfacing when you least wanted them to. And when this one came up for air, she wasn’t sure who would still be standing beside her.
Bryson’s father’s home office smelled faintly of tobacco and old books, even though his dad hadn’t smoked in decades. The big oak desk occupied half the room, its surface a mess of neatly stacked ledgers, printouts, and an open laptop Mason had brought from home. Sunlight slanted in through the tall window, catching in the dust motes that swirled lazily in the air.
Bryson leaned against the doorframe, mug of coffee in hand. “You planning on building a fortress with all that paper, Dad?”
Walter glanced up from his reading glasses. “If it keeps you out of my office, maybe.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
From where he sat at the desk, Mason smirked. “I think Bryson’s just trying to keep you too busy to notice that Riley’s moved into his wing of the house.”
Bryson narrowed his eyes. “She’s not?—”
“Oh, she’s taken up residence,” Walter cut in, clearly enjoying himself now. “And I gotta say, it’s been a long timesince I’ve seen you looking this happy over a houseguest.” His father smiled a little too widely. “Can’t imagine why.”
Bryson ignored them both and crossed the room, setting his coffee down next to the laptop. “What have you found?”
The teasing faded quickly, replaced by a thick, tense quiet. Mason tapped the ledger in front of him. “Here’s the problem. We have checks from the revitalization fund ledger, signed by Grant. Not a big deal. Only, some aren’t logged in the right place. Or the amounts don’t match. Or some are cashed or deposited into an account with a routing number that traces back to a small credit union in Modesto.”
Bryson frowned. “Modesto? That’s a hell of a drive for someone who lives here.”
Walter shifted through another stack. “It’s the same routing number on every suspicious transaction. And whoever did it, covered their tracks well enough that it looks like the money was moved into a legitimate vendor account before being transferred again, only the money is still missing.”
“And it’s damning news for Grant,” Mason said flatly. “From where I’m sitting, if I took this to my wife right now, Grant’s gonna have to answer for every cent.”
Bryson rubbed the back of his neck, trying to push away the instinct to defend Riley’s brother. “It doesn’t make sense. Grant’s not broke—far from it. He’s got the business, the house, the image. What the hell would be the motive?”
“I borrowed money to start this winery when I was twenty-two because my father wanted to teach me the value of a dollar. And we don’t know all there is to know about Grant and his finances. Just because his business appears to be solvent doesn’t mean it is. He’s expanding, but we don’t know what that looks like on the inside.” Walter rubbed his temples. “And there’s greed. That doesn’t always make sense.”
“Okay, all of that is logical, except Grant’s never been greedy, except maybe on the football field,” Bryson said. “I can’t even say the man’s thirsty for attention. He’s a little arrogant. Kind of a dick, but that’s pretty much reserved for me. He’s got a great wife, who loves him and is amazing. Two beautiful kids. And no one to tell him he needs to borrow money to expand a business, like Grandpa did to you.”
“Maybe he started gambling, because we’re all missing something, and, you know, we’re not the ones wearing the badge.” Mason leaned back, arms crossed. “Sandy’s going to want to see this, herself. But I can tell you right now, she’s gonna push to bring Grant in for questioning, and we can’t stand in her way.”
Bryson’s head came up. “Questioning? Already?”
“I know my wife,” Mason said. “The amount taken isn’t pocket change. We’re talking felony-level theft from a community fund. If it wasn’t him, someone went out of their way to make it look like him. Not to mention, he’s got to know these numbers don’t add up.” Mason waved a hand. “Too many questions with too many dollars missing. We’ve got to call my wife, now.”
Walter took off his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Let me talk to him first. I’ve known Grant his whole life?—”
“No.” Mason’s tone was firm. “Not only will that give him, or someone else, time to come up with a story, or to cover their tracks, this is a police matter now. If we start tipping people off before we’ve got them in the room, we risk losing any chance of getting the truth. You know that.”
Bryson glanced between them, the knot in his gut tightening. He didn’t want to imagine the look on Riley’s face when she found out her brother was being questioned for stealing from the town fund. And he sure as hell didn’t want to picture what it would do to her to know the evidence was this strong.
Walter exhaled heavily and pushed back from the desk. “All right. Call the chief.”
Mason picked up his phone, his expression grim as he dialed. “This isn’t gonna be pretty,” he said, stepping onto the patio.
Bryson moved to the window, staring out at the vineyards rolling away in orderly rows. Nothing about this felt right—not the numbers, not the lack of motive, not the way Grant fit into it. But the evidence was staring them in the face, and now there was no turning back. He shifted toward the desk, jaw set. “This just sucks. Riley doesn’t need to deal with this on top of her father’s death.”
“Hopefully it’s something that can be cleared up easily,” his dad said.
Hope was an endangered commodity these days.
Ten
