Chapter 7 - Everett Knew My Father’s Name
While the decanter and wine were being sent for emergency testing, Everett asked me to wait in the private office.
Marlene was kept in a separate room with the restaurant owner.
I thought I’d finally be dismissed once the immediate danger had passed.
Instead, Everett sat across from me and said, “Vale. Was your father Anthony Vale?”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“I thought so.”
My father had been a sommelier before he got sick. Not famous. Not rich. But people in the wine world had known him.
Everett nodded toward my phone.
“That explains how you noticed the swirl.”
I swallowed hard.
“My dad taught me never to trust a glass just because it’s expensive.”
A sad smile touched Everett’s face for the first time that night.
“Your father once told me something similar. He said the prettiest bottle in a cellar is often the one hiding a rotten cork.”
I almost laughed, even with my cheek still burning.
For the next few minutes, we spoke not like billionaire and waitress, but like two people connected by a man who had loved wine and honesty more than comfort.
Then Everett’s expression darkened again.
“Marlene handled some of my social scheduling, foundation dinners, and charity events,” he said. “Lately she’s been pressing me to give her broader control over parts of the vineyard portfolio.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Did she know that?”
“Oh yes,” he said quietly. “Which is why tonight worries me.”
I understood.
If Marlene had needed him confused, sedated, or medically unstable before those papers were signed, then the video wasn’t about an argument at dinner.
May you like
It was about a plan.
And people who build plans like that rarely begin with only one step.
