"Winston never talks to Gabe," Mason observed. "Like, ever. What changed?"
Devon watched the conversation escalate. Winston's face reddened, his gestures becoming more animated. Gabe remained calm, but Devon could see tension in every line of his body. Olivia hovered nearby, her expression anxious.
"Should we intervene?" Bryson asked.
"Not yet." Devon kept watching. "But be ready."
Whatever Winston said next made Gabe's fists curl. For a moment, Devon thought his friend might actually throw a punch at a funeral. Instead, Gabe leaned in close, said something sharp and short, and walked away. Olivia followed, casting a worried glance back at Winston.
Winston stood alone among the gravestones, his expression unreadable from this distance.
"That was intense," Mason said.
"Something's happening." Devon felt certainty settle in his gut. "Something more than grief."
"You think it's about the will?" Bryson asked.
Before anyone could answer, Callie appeared at Winston's side. They engaged in a heated conversation, Callie gesturing emphatically while Winston's expression grew darker.
"This family is imploding," Riley observed quietly. "And we're getting a front-row seat."
Sandy Kane appeared from the direction of the parking lot, still in her police uniform. She scanned the crowd with professional efficiency before spotting their group.
"Everything alright?" she asked, joining them. "I saw some tension from the road."
"Just the Callaways being the Callaways," Mason said, dropping a kiss on his wife's cheek.
"Actually," Devon said, "did you see that conversation between Winston and Gabe?"
"Hard to miss. Winston looked ready to start a fight." Sandy's cop instincts were clearly engaged. "You know what that was about?"
"No idea. But given Winston's never given Gabe the time of day before..." Devon trailed off.
"It's worth noting," Sandy finished. "I'll keep an eye on things."
The crowd began dispersing in earnest now, families heading to their cars, conversations wrapping up. Devon saw Gabe and Olivia hurrying toward their vehicle, Gabe's arm protectively around his wife's shoulders.
"We should talk to him," Bryson said.
"Not here. Not now." Devon watched Winston and Callie still locked in a heated discussion. "But soon. Something's happening, and I want to know what."
"Could be about the third heir," Mason suggested. "Maybe Winston thinks it's Gabe?"
"Gabe doesn't want anything to do with the Callaway legacy," Devon said. "He made that clear."
"Doesn't mean Winston would believe him.”
Fair point.
"Boys," Walter called. "We should head out. Your mother wants to get home before the vultures start circling for the reception."
"We're not going to the Callaway house?" Bryson asked.
"Absolutely not." Brea's tone brooked no argument. "I will not spend an afternoon watching Monica preen and Callie play the victim while they plot God knows what. We’ve paid our respects. That's sufficient."
They made their way to the parking lot, the afternoon heat hitting like a physical force after the cemetery's shade. Devon loosened his tie, already sweating through his shirt.
"Devon.” Winston's voice carried across the lot. "That word? Now would be good."
