"I wouldn’t. But someone's doing a damn good job of making it look like I'm the one behind everything." Gabe accepted hiscoffee from the server with a nod of thanks. "I laughed when Sandy suggested I was behind the attacks. I asked her, point-blank, what could possibly drive me to do all this. You know what she said?"
"What?"
"Jealousy. That Emery got the authentication program at Stone Bridge Winery, and I wanted to run it myself. That you all had overlooked my hard work, brought in an outsider, one you were sleeping with, no less, and I lost my shit.” Gabe took a long sip of his coffee.
“I can’t believe she said that.”
“Neither could I. But I pointed out that if I was jealous of her job, why would I sabotage her work with Harold before she even got here? That makes no sense."
Devon's hands tightened around his coffee cup. Jealousy? That was Sandy's theory? Gabe had been the one pushing for premium wines and authentication from the beginning, had spent years building toward that program. However, he’d even admitted two years ago that he was spread too thin and they’d need to hire someone.
But he'd also been vocal about his concerns when they'd hired Emery—worried about her reputation, the optics, the risk to Stone Bridge Winery. Devon had seen that hesitation firsthand. Still, concerned wasn't the same as homicidal. And the idea that Gabe would orchestrate attacks meant to get rid of, or kill Emery, all over a job he'd never wanted for himself anyway? Absurd. But someone had planted evidence knowing exactly how it would look—methodical, damning, designed to make Gabe the perfect suspect.
"What did Sandy say?" Devon asked.
“She said perhaps I didn’t anticipate that you’d risk hiring her, and I had to inform her that you hadn’t even thought about it until that night.” Gabe's jaw tightened. "Then I madea mistake. I told her about the David Callaway thing. About Winston thinking I might be the heir."
Devon went very still. “Not sure that’s a mistake, but I’m sure it means she’ll be coming by the house today and asking a bunch of questions that we don’t have answers to. And then there’s the questions she’ll want to ask the Callaways. We aren’t prepared for that.”
"I had to give her some kind of alternative motive to investigate. I felt trapped. Like she’d shackled my wrists and ankles. I just blurted it out.” Gabe rubbed his temple. "I know you're not thrilled about that. But Sandy had nothing else to go on except evidence that's been planted to make me look guilty, and that’s a horrible feeling, man. Worse in a town full of people who like to remind me that my grandfather was a murderer.”
Devon wanted to be angry, wanted to point out that bringing the Callaway inheritance into an official police investigation complicated everything. But one look at Gabe—exhausted, desperate, barely holding it together—killed the impulse. "What did she say about the Callaways and Emery?”
"Asked a lot of questions about the will, the timeline, Winston's behavior at the funeral. Took notes. Said she'd look into it." Gabe hunched over his coffee. "But here's the thing—there were no prints on the gun they found. Wiped completely clean. And Sandy mentioned they have video from the storage facility, but she wouldn't share what was on it. Just said she'd be reviewing it more closely.”
"But it wasn't you, right?” The question came out before Devon could stop it, and the look Gabe shot him made Devon want to take it back immediately. Of course, it wasn't Gabe. Devon knew that. Had known Gabe for years, worked beside him, and trusted him with his family's winery. But someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to make it look like Gabe—planting evidence, creating paper trails, manipulating timelines.And for just a fraction of a second, doubt had crept in. Not real doubt, not the kind that changed what Devon believed, but the insidious kind that whispered what if everyone else believes it? What if the evidence is too convincing? What if Sandy arrests him anyway? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“It’s fine. I might have done the same thing if the tables were turned.” Gabe pushed his mug aside.
“I get why the Callaways would want Emery out of the picture. But who would benefit from destroying you?”
"The same person who benefits from Emery being driven away or killed. The same person who doesn't want the real heir found." Gabe ran a hand over his mouth. "Winston and Callie. They’ve always taken issue with me being in the Valley. As if my mere presence has tainted Napa’s reputation more than anything their grandfather has ever done.” Gabe tapped his finger on the table. “And don’t try to tell me it’s ancient history. I heard some of the shit Callie had to say about me when you were dating her. Both times. She doesn’t like me, and she believed that I was damaging your winery’s reputation.”
“I won’t deny that.” Devon grimaced. “One of the many reasons we broke up.”
“Until Emery, I never understood your taste in women.” For the first time since sitting down, Gabe’s lips twisted into a slight smile, and he chuckled, before growing somber again. “When I left the station, Sandy told me to stay in town, don't do anything stupid, keep a low profile, and stay away from the Callaways." Gabe tilted his head. “She emphasized it. She told me to stay close to home and that she’d increase patrols around my house. Which made me wonder if she thinks Oliva’s not safe. So, my dad decided to stay a little while longer.”
“That’s “a good idea.” Devon glanced around the Cafe as the morning crowd filled in. “I’m sure my folks would be okay if youall moved into the main house for a bit. It’s not like we don’t have room.”
“I’ll ask Olivia. She might enjoy the company, and it might keep me from doing something stupid, and confronting Winston and Callie.” Gabe reached for his cup, raised it, glanced inside, set it down, and pushed it away again. “This is so messed up. My grandfather’s guns were used in a shooting. Evidence has been planted to make me look like a stalker. And I have no idea how to prove I'm being framed."
Devon's phone buzzed. Emery's name lit up the screen.
"Hold on," he said to Gabe, answering immediately. "Hey, you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm at the main house with your mom." Emery's voice sounded strange—excited but cautious. "I've got a visitor. A strange one."
"Who?"
"Vanessa Wright. The woman who works with Harold." Emery paused. "And she has something very interesting to say."
Devon exchanged a look with Gabe across the table. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
“We’ll be here,” Emery said.
He hung up and stood, tossing bills on the table. “Vanessa Wright’s at the house.”
"Harold's assistant?" Gabe was already standing. "What does she want?"
