Holt tracked me with his gaze. “Wyatt.”
I stopped. My boots planted hard. “Did you see any note?”
“No,” he said.
My jaw clenched so tight it hurt. I dragged in a breath through my nose, slow, controlled, the way I did when I needed to keep my temper from deciding for me.
“Okay,” I said.
Holt’s brows pulled together. “Okay.”
“Did you call Dani,” I asked.
“Went straight to voicemail,” Holt said. “Twice.”
That didn’t settle anything. It made it worse.
My phone vibrated on the bar where I left it. The sound cut through my chest like a hook. I lunged for it before I could talk myself out of it. For a split second, I expected to see her name, to see some message that explained everything, that made it all make sense.
It wasn’t her.
It was a number I didn’t recognize, but the first three digits were local, and something in my gut tightened.
I answered. “Wyatt Hargrove.”
“Mr. Hargrove,” a woman said, professional and too bright, like she’d been trained to keep her voice steady nomatter what kind of mess she was calling about. “This is Marlene Fisher from the credit union.”
My blood cooled again. Different cold this time. The cold of paperwork and signatures and consequences.
“I’m busy,” I said bluntly.
“I understand,” she replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “It won’t take long. I’m calling regarding the Callahan estate.”
Holt’s head lifted slightly, attention sharpening.
My stomach turned. “What about it?”
“We’ve received confirmation from the county and from the estate’s legal representative,” Marlene said, as she shuffled some papers around. “We’ve been given the green light to proceed with the purchase agreement submitted by Hargrove Brewing.” The words didn’t make sense together. Green light. Purchase agreement. Hargrove Brewing. Callahan estate.
It took a second for my mind to catch up, and when it did, anger flashed so hard behind my eyes I saw spots.
“What,” I said again, rougher this time. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause on the line, a polite recalibration. “We can proceed, Mr. Hargrove. The necessary authorizations are in place, so we can finalize the terms of the sale and begin the transfer process as early as this afternoon.”
My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles ached. “Who authorized it?”
“I can’t disclose details over the phone,” she said, still polite. “But the estate has provided the required documentation.”
The estate. There was only one person who could’ve done that. Tessa.
My chest went tight, tight enough that breathing took effort.
Holt’s voice was low beside me. “What’s happening?”
I held up a hand, not looking at him, my eyes fixedon a spot on the bar top like if I looked away, I’d lose my grip on myself.
“Marlene,” I said, keeping my voice even by force, “are you telling me Tessa Callahan signed my letter of offer?”
