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“We have something we need to tell you.”

Otto was leaning his hands against the table, holding court as the three sisters sat in their respective seats. Freya slumped in hers, arms crossed, eyes on the table and not on the rest of them.

Freya’s mood certainly dimmed after Klaus Kasner left the premises. She went around sulking and snapping at anyone who asked her a question. Eventually she disappeared indoors to her room where she’d sat like a gremlin at her computer, only deigning them with her presence when Otto forced them to the table. He’d conveniently left Leo out of the invitation, and the winemaker had escaped to his shed after they packed up the market. The sun had sunk beyond the horizon by the time they made their way to the house, the blue-enameled pendant hanging above the kitchen the only source of light as dusk blanketed everything else in darkness.

Sophie’s bottom lip trembled. “What is it? What’s going on?”

Otto aimed a raised a brow at Freya, who continued to stare at the table. He sighed. “Freya.”

She shook her head, refusing to speak.

Otto slid a hand down his face with a sigh, then gripped the chair in front of him. “There’s something about our vineyard that your mother and I never told the three of you.”

Alana’s stomach dropped. This didn’t sound good. “What is it?”

He sighed again, deeper this time. “When my father started this vineyard, he was still working for Friedrich Kasner.”

“Yes, obviously,” Alana snipped. “We know the story.”

He met her eye. “The story we told you was that he had bought the land outright, built the house and the shed, and planted these vines.”

The three of them remained silent. Alana waited impatiently, eyes locked on her father. Freya still refused to look at any of them.

“This is only partly true.”

“Are you saying he didn’t plant the vines, or build our house?” Sophie timidly asked.

“No.” Otto exhaled one more long breath. “I’m saying he didn’t buy the land.”

“So who did? Who owns the land?” Sophie asked.

Alana leaned forward, her attention no longer on her father, but on Freya. She knew exactly where this was going.

Freya ignored her.

“The property was meant to be an investment, with a small portion of profits going back to the original owner.”

Sophie’s eyes were wide when she asked, “Which is who?”

Alana spoke this time. “Friedrich Kasner.”

Freya’s lips twisted.

Otto pressed on. “For years, our vineyard thrived. The soil has been good to us. We’ve been able to pay them what is due. But with everything that has happened⁠—”

Alana whipped her head around to her father. “How much do we owe them?”

He hesitated to speak.

“How much, Papa?”

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Freya answered.

Alana was thankful she hadn’t eaten dinner, because it would’ve likely come up at this point. “How in the hell is that possible?”

“Three years of unpaid profit,” she explained, her arms crossed, eyes still burning holes in the table. “The summer Mom died, plus the two vintages that followed. They take fifteen percent of the vineyard’s net profits, and the profit went unpaid.”