21. Finn

Ihave spent the better part of the night going through Harveys riddle again and again. The whir of my good old VCR fills the room. I watch the tape again, relishing in how scrubby I looked when I was ten years old. On the screen, Caeleb, Silas, Harvey, and I are a band of fearless explorers, kings in our domain. This is from before we each went off, determined to know more about the bigger world. Who knew wed eventually wind up back here in this sleepy town?

A smile rises to my lips as I watch Harvey pour a bucket of ice water on Silass head. The grainy footage can barely contain the energy, the sheer force of life that we embodied. As he runs from Silas—who is mouthing curses that he has no business knowing at that age—Harvey signals to me, the recorder in my hand. I go after him. I was always the closest to him. We go to the vineyards, sit down on the damp ground, and he passes me a few plump grapes, aching with sweetness.

Im going to run away from here, yknow? he tells me, biting down on the flesh of a grape.

Where will you go? I ask, not believing him for a second.

Dunno, he admits with a shrug. Anywhere where there isnt so much … he doesnt say the words but looks pointedly at the mansion looming in the distance.

I do know. Mr. and Mrs. Martin are likely in the middle of one of their very physical altercations. Harveys face becomes stony. Ill never marry. Itll be the death of me if I do.

The screen blanks out.

I sigh and rise. The crystal tumbler feels cold, almost biting against my palm as I lift it, the golden liquid catching the last slivers of light sneaking through the blinds. I tilt the glass, watching the whiskey coat its sides, a slow dance of amber and shadow. The scent hits me first—oak, a hint of vanilla, the faintest whisper of smoke. Its like stepping into an old, familiar room.

I settle deeper into the armchair, the leather creaking softly beneath me. The room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow against the walls. I take a sip, the whiskey smooth and fiery as it slides down my throat.

My eyes drift to the window, where the night presses against the glass, a canvas of ink and starlight. I stand, moving with a purposeful ease. The glass rests lightly in my hand. I walk to the fireplace, the flames reflecting in the whiskey. I toss another log into the fire, sparks flying, crackling fiercely as they join the blaze. The heat washes over me.

Returning to the armchair, I take another sip and lean back, letting the chair envelop me as I think of everything Harvey used to tell me.

Then, it hits me. Harvey had a hideout. None of us knew about it, save that it existed, somewhere in the mansion. As if on cue, my phone rings. Its Caeleb.

I answer immediately.

Finn? His voice crackles through, tense, hurried. I straighten up, senses sharpening. Somethings come up.

Whats happened?

He sighs, a sound heavy with the nights wear. The vineyards, Finn. Emily and I … we were compromised. Theres more to this than we thought.

What do you mean, compromised? I ask, though I can hazard a pretty solid guess.

I think someone took our picture.

Caeleb, my man, why the hell were you doing it out in the open?

We just?—

Didnt think it through?

Caelebs silence confirms my suspicions. I sigh. Okay, well get to the bottom of this, but I have news too. Can you come over?

An hour later, the knock comes. Caeleb steps in, the night clinging to his shoulders like dew. Without words, I pour two glasses of whiskey.

He takes a seat, accepting the glass. His eyes, tired with worry, rest on mine.

Whats going on, Finn?

I tap my glass lightly. I went back to the riddle, I begin, watching his expression sharpen. Dug deeper into the mansions floor planning, the structure, everything I could think of, but all the while, the meat of it was in an old tape.

Caeleb leans in, interest piqued despite the exhaustion lining his face.

A clue, I continue, tied directly to Harveys letter to Emily. Theres a secret room in the mansion.

For a moment, silence wraps around us, thick and palpable.

A secret room? Disbelief and curiosity mingle in his voice. Weve known that mansion since we were kids, long before Emily was born. How could there be a secret room?

I set my glass down with a clink. Remember how Harveys parents used to fight all the time?

Caeleb nods quietly. I remember. I wonder if Emily would?—

Perish the thought, I interrupt him sharply. We shouldnt tell Emily about Harveys past when shes already so vulnerable. Give it some time. Now, coming back to the topic—Harvey once mentioned hed find a secret room to hide in. Maybe this is it. We have to find out where it is.

Well, well, Caeleb breathes. I guess Im not getting any sleep tonight.

This is what we need to tell Emily on a priority basis, I say crisply. I can call her tomorrow morning. Maybe we could go over and figure this out together.

I dont think shell be too eager to see me after what just went down, Caeleb replies, his tone edged with discomfort. She was pretty quick to bolt.

Caelebs had a tough past, I think to myself. Hes baring his heart to this girl, and obviously, while shes in it, shes got her own issues. Im worried about both of them. I shift on my feet. Listen, dont let her immediate response get to you. Her fight-or-flight instincts were on alert, what do you expect when someones taking your picture without your consent?

She never lets me explain, Caeleb replies brusquely. I really like the girl, but shes a runner.

Maybe thats because shes never known any better, I point out to him. I pat his arm gently. The guest bedroom is empty.

Caeleb doesnt need further invitation. He nods and slinks off toward the northern part of my home. Ill see you in the morning. Coffees on me.

I smile as I resume my position on the couch. Ive got a lot of research left to do. I have no idea when exhaustion gets the better of me, but eventually, I pass out on the couch itself.

The first hint of consciousness comes not from the light creeping through the curtains, nor the sureshot backache that will follow, but from a scent. Rich, bold, the unmistakable aroma of strong coffee fills the room like a promise made tangible. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim light, and I sit up, drawn by the lure of that promise.

I shuffle into the kitchen, finding Caeleb already there. Hes standing by the counter, a coffee pot in hand, pouring the dark, steaming liquid into two mugs.

Morning, I murmur, voice still heavy with sleep.

Morning, he replies, a smile in his voice. He hands me a mug, the ceramic warm against my palms, the steam curling up like whispers. I bring it to my lips. The drink bursts with flavor, deep and complex, with hints of chocolate and a touch of bitterness that accentuates its richness.

Damn, Caeleb, I say, after a moment, savoring another sip. This is incredible. I cant believe you made this with whatever I have in this kitchen.

He grins, leaning against the counter with his own mug.

You know, I say, as the warmth from the coffee seeps into my bones, I think this might just be the best drink to exist.

Caeleb raises his mug in a mock salute. To the best drink to exist, then.

We finish our mugs, the last drops as satisfying as the first, and I know that no matter what the day brings, its started in the best possible way.

Ready to tackle the day? Caeleb asks, rinsing his mug.

I glance at the empty cup, already missing the warmth but filled with a newfound energy. With coffee like that? I can take on the world.

The first order of business is to call Emily. She answers pretty quickly and says shes fine with Caeleb and me coming over. Caeleb still looks mutinous, but he doesnt protest. I call Silas next. Hes free too—God bless Sundays—so we meet up with Silas in town and drive to the mansion from there.

Emily greets us, arms laden with the promise of caffeine, while the air is thick with the aroma of freshly baked biscuits. They sit, crumbly and golden, on the platter, their hearts generously drenched in sweet, sticky honey, still warm from the ovens embrace. I cant help but tease, Youre giving Caeleb a run for his money here. My words fetch a storm of mock indignation from Caeleb, his glares as richly brewed as the coffee in our hands. Laughter follows, smoothing over our arrival like the honey in those biscuits. Once the greetings dissolve into the warm kitchen air, we migrate to the living room.

I give Emily all the details, and just as were debating where on earth Harveys secret room could be, theres another entry. Flora, looking like shes just woken up from a very bad dream.

Emily rises to greet her sister immediately, concern coating her features. Flo?—

I have news from the farm, says Flora abruptly. She sits down and immediately finishes two biscuits in four mouthfuls. Its not good.

My heart sinks. From the look on Emilys face, shes not thrilled either.

Hit us with it, Flora. Whats the storm brewing over our heads? I venture, half-hoping for a trivial squall.

She sighs heavily and reaches for the mug of coffee Emily extends her way. The vineyard, she starts, her voice tinged with annoyance, has turned into a soap opera. Paychecks are missing, and whispers of a strike are in the air.

Caeleb raises an eyebrow, pushing off from his casual lean. Paychecks?

Emily interjects. Uncle Clevens helped with those. We made sure they went out. This makes no sense.

Flora nods, grim. Thats the mystery. Its like someones playing Monopoly with our funds.

The room tightens around us. Silass steps echo a determined beat as he moves closer. We need a deep dive, he states, the detective in him coming alive. Lets grill the vineyard manager.

Emily, pacing a groove in the living room rug, halts as we share our next move. Are we sure we want to do this?

Silas and Emily exchange a look. I know theyve sorted their issues between themselves. Im not sure how or where, but theres a deeper understanding between them that serves all of us. Emily sees something in his eyes and nods. To the vineyard manager, then.

The man had also called me to his office two days back, but I was busy with work. Perhaps he finally unearthed something.

Before we can head out, Floras phone goes off. She checks the alert and groans regretfully. I—Em, Im really sorry. I have to go to the station, theres been a development. Its related to Dads case, but I wont say anything else until I have more deets. Ill have to take a rain check, but Im going to drop by later.

Emily nods. No trouble, Flo. Well update you when we have some more information.

When we enter the vineyard managers office, I notice his face is somehow more lined than before. His welcome is as warm as a winter in Siberia.

His office is a quaint stone building that shares the mansions regal bearing but none of its opulence. Its proximity to the mansion—a mere stones throw away—underscores the intertwined fates of Emilys family legacy and the land it oversees.

Thank you for coming, he begins, motioning us to a set of worn chairs. The room is steeped in the essence of the vineyard, earthy and raw, much like the truth were about to unearth.

Weve been going over the books, he says, laying out a series of documents on his desk. And what Ive found doesnt just raise red flags; its a full-blown parade of them.

Silas leans forward, scanning the papers. Show us.

The manager points to a column of figures. Look here. Paychecks were processed and supposedly sent. But then, follow this trail … His finger traces a line across the page, leading to entries that make no sense, numbers that shouldnt exist.

Payments diverted, he states flatly. And not just once. Its systematic, calculated. Someones been funneling funds, bleeding us dry, and covering their tracks with the finesse of a fox in a henhouse.

Emilys voice cuts in, sharp as a blade. What about the supplies? The upkeep?

He flips to another page, his expression grim. Overcharged or never arrived. Orders placed but somehow lost in transit. Its a circus, and were the clowns being played.

The facts he lays before us are undeniable, a labyrinth of deceit woven through the very fabric of the vineyards operations. The sabotage is not just an act of malice; its a campaign, meticulously orchestrated to cripple the heart of our legacy.

And theres more, he adds, his gaze meeting ours with a severity that forebodes deeper shadows. The vineyards not just bleeding money. Theres been tampering with the crops, subtle but deadly. If we dont act now, this years harvest could be the last.