“I didn’t get here alone,” Hank said. “You two kept me upright and fast. I won the Cup because my bike ran like it was supposed to and because there was someone in my ear keeping me from doing anything too stupid. I’m not interested in being the guy who owns everything and barks orders.”
Brian grinned. “That’s sweet. You’re still going to bark orders.”
“Probably,” Hank said. “But I’d rather do it to partners than employees.”
Brian tore off a piece of pastry and popped it in his mouth. “All right. I’m in. I’ve been half living in this town for three seasons anyway. Might as well get a proper address.”
Colby nodded slowly. “I want to walk the building again with Jason,” he said. “Get a better sense of what his ‘that’s an easy fix’ face means. But yeah. I’m in. We’re going to need an excellent accountant and a lawyer who doesn’t scare easily.”
“The mayor had a list of people who’ve handled business sales in town,” Hank said. “We can talk to a couple, see who feels like the least painful option.”
“Least painful is a high bar,” Brian said. “You’re trusting lawyers with your future.”
“Careful,” Bree said. “Their future involves my paintings. I need contracts that don’t make me want to light them on fire.”
Hank nudged her knee under the table. “We’ll let you vet the language.”
She smiled, but her thumb still stroked the edge of her sketchbook. He knew her head was half at this table and half in Milwaukee, in the house where her parents had just hung up the phone.
“Did you tell your folks about this idea?” Brian asked Bree.
Bree glanced at Hank; he tipped his head, giving her the choice. She took a breath.
“They were… okay,” she said. “Sad. Worried. But they listened. I told them about the building and the studio. And about using some of Bryn’s insurance money for the build-out.”
Brian’s calm expression sobered. “Was that a hard sell?”
“It was a hard start,” she said. “But my dad said she’d like it. That she hated I hadn’t painted her yet.” Her mouth quirked. “He also wants pictures of the warehouse and said something about gravity, which made little sense, but it was sweet.”
“Parents rarely make sense,” Colby said. “It’s part of their charm.”
Hank watched Bree’s shoulders; they were relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen since the first night. She’d just taken one of the hardest conversations of her life and walked out of it standing.
“You were brave,” he said quietly.
A flush climbed her neck. “You already said that.”
“I’m going to keep saying it until it sinks in,” he replied.
His phone buzzed against the table. The screen flashed Diaz’s name.
He swiped to answer. “Sergeant.”
“James,” Diaz said. In the background, he could hear the low murmur of a station. “You got a minute?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at the others. “We’re at Dockside. What’s up?”
“Short version, we’ve got confirming chatter that Eisen’s supplier is not happy their product got yanked off the track,” Diaz said. “One of our neighboring departments picked up talk at a regional race about ‘the guy who ratted.’ No names, but the description’s close enough to you that I’m not calling it a coincidence.”
Hank’s hand tightened around his mug. “Is he in this region?”
“Probably not yet,” she said. “But he has friends who are. I’m not telling you this to freak you out; I’m telling you so you keep your head on a swivel. Awareness, not paranoia. You understand the difference.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m talking with the mayor about fast-tracking security cameras around the Bay Street block,” Diaz went on. “If you move forward with that warehouse, I want your exterior covered. I’ll connect you with a guy I trust. No junk equipment.”
Bree watched his face, worry flickering in her eyes. Hank reached for her hand under the table and squeezed once.
