"In a box in your attic when you asked me to help clean it. Mom's box." Gabe's brow furrowed. "Why did she keep it? Why keep a picture of her and David Callaway looking that... close?"
"Your mother loves pictures. Always has. She keeps everything—ticket stubs, postcards, photographs of people she hasn't seen in decades." Robert looked up at his son. "But I'm guessing that's not really what you're asking.”
Gabe was quiet for a moment, his jaw working, his fingers flexing at his side. “This is going to sound crazy, and I mean no disrespect. But is there any possibility that I'm David Callaway's son?"
The room went very still.
Robert blinked once, twice, then dropped his head back and burst out laughing. The sound was so unexpected that Devon nearly dropped his wine glass.
Devon’s gaze shifted between Gabe, his father, and back. One man, looking confused, conflicted, even scared. While the other laughed like he was sitting front row at a comedy show.
"Dad, this isn't funny," Gabe said, his cheeks blazing scarlet.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Robert tried to compose himself, failed, laughed again, then finally cleared his throat. "I promise you—and I mean this with absolute certainty—you are not David Callaway's son. It’s literally impossible.”
"How can you be sure?"
"Because—" Robert stared into his drink. Humor gleaming from his eyes. He glanced at Walter and Devon, clearly amused, then back at his son. "Because one has to have sex to get pregnant, and your mother never slept with David."
Gabe's face went scarlet. “And you know this how?”
“I never thought I’d be having this conversation with my son.” Robert took a large gulp. “Your mother’s going to make me clean out the garage for sure after this one, but I know because your mom’s first time was with me. I can assure you with 100% certainty that I am your biological father."
"Oh my God," Gabe muttered, sinking into a chair and covering his face with his hands. “I never needed to know that.”
"Why would you even think such a thing?" Robert asked more gently.
Devon spoke up. "Winston cornered Gabe at David's funeral. Accused him of sending an anonymous photo and note claiming to know who the third heir is. Winston threatened him and offered to buy the gun collection for a substantial sum. He warned Gabe about Emery—mentioned her father—and mentioned taking us down, too.”
Robert's expression turned thoughtful, the humor fading away like the afternoon sun. "A bribe to make him go away."
"That's what we thought," Gabe said, his voice muffled by his hands. "But now that you've thoroughly embarrassed me and confirmed I'm definitely not David's son?—"
"Which I'm happy to do anytime," Robert interjected. “That is to embarrass you. But if Winston thinks it's Gabe, why stealthe guns? That was his leverage. His way to buy Gabe off and make him go away quietly." Robert rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. "Unless he realized they weren't effective leverage. Maybe Winston's trying a different approach—remove the guns from the equation entirely, shift focus to discrediting Gabe through other means."
"But someone sent Winston that photograph," Gabe said. "Someone who wanted him to think I might be the heir. Who would do that?"
The room fell silent as everyone considered the question.
"The same person who sent forged documents to the reporter," Devon said slowly. "The same person who's been targeting Emery."
"Why target Emery if they think the heir is Gabe?" Walter asked. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
"Unless they don't think it's Gabe," Devon said, pieces clicking together in his mind like a puzzle magically putting itself in place. "Unless they're using Gabe as a distraction while they go after the real heir."
"Who would be?" Robert asked.
Devon moved to stand by the fireplace, his mind racing. He lifted his wine glass and drained it before setting it down harder than he meant to. “Emery was born here in this valley. She told me her bio mother gave birth to her in Stone Bridge—it was a private adoption, so she doesn't know much about it. But she was born here."
"So were a lot of people," Bryson pointed out.
"She's the same age as the heir would be. The same age as Gabe." Devon turned to face them. "Someone wants her gone."
The room went absolutely silent. The only thing to be heard were their thoughts turning over and the wind rustling the vines.
Walter and Robert exchanged a long look. Bryson straightened from where he leaned against the bookshelf, hisexpression stunned. Gabe stared at Devon like he'd grown a second head.
"You think Emery is David Callaway's daughter," Walter said quietly.
