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“Could an amateur have done this?” Drew asks.

“An amateur could have killed himself.” The electrician points without touching the exposed wiring. “Whoever did it knew which line to damage and how to avoid the live connections. He also knew enough to leave the main service intact.”

I look past the junction box toward the trees. It sits outside the estate’s primary fence, concealed from the vineyard by the tree line but reachable from the forest without approaching either gate.

The outage was never intended to destroy the winery. Its purpose was to reveal how we respond.

Whoever opened the box learned how quickly the generator activates, which systems receive emergency power, where employees gather, and how long security takes to close the estate. The person also discovered that the cameras remain active, unless he knew that before arriving.

“He was testing us,” I say, my jaw tightening as I stare toward the trees.

Drew studies the box, then follows my line of sight into the woods. “I agree. I’ll have the ground searched, but the rain may have erased prints.”

“Search it anyway, and widen the camera review beyond the property.”

He contacts the security room while we return to the production building. By the time we enter the office beside the crush pad, one of his officers has located footage from a camera overlooking the eastern rows.

The recording shows a hooded figure emerging from the trees while rain moves across the image. Distance conceals the face, but the figure carries a compact tool bag and walks directly toward the junction box without pausing to search for it. Seven minutes later, he returns to the woods by the same route.

Drew advances the recording to footage from a camera overlooking the county service road. A dark SUV waits beyond the property, partly hidden by trees. The hooded figure gets into the passenger seat, and the vehicle pulls away. The timestamp matches the moment the winery loses power.

“One of my patrol officers saw an SUV matching this one near the lower gate Wednesday night,” Drew says. “The patrol car’s camera recorded its plate before it left. I’ll send that recording to the outside firm with today’s footage.”

In today’s recording, mud covers enough of the rear plate to hide the characters. The rest of the SUV appears clean.

“That mud was placed there,” I tell him. “Preserve both recordings in three locations. Add cameras along the wooded boundary and increase patrols on every service road.”

“I’ll need additional people if you want the private tasting covered at the same time.”

“Bring them in, but keep them out of sight,” I tell Drew. “Review every contractor, delivery driver, and maintenance worker who entered the property during the last month. Compare their names with those of anyone who had access to our electrical plans.”

Reid folds his arms. “Visible guards and vehicle searches may make the guests nervous.”

“The guests will not see either,” I tell him.

“Do you want to cancel tonight?” Reid asks.

“No. Canceling damages relationships we’ve spent years building and tells the person in that vehicle that a brief outage influences my decisions.” I look from Reid to Drew. “The vineyard tour, reserve presentation, dinner, and client meetings proceed as planned. Security increases around them without becoming part of the event.”

The office door opens before either man responds. Sofia enters carrying a box of place cards against her cream cardigan, with several ivory envelopes tucked beneath one arm. Her silver hair is pinned away from her face, though loose strands curl near her cheeks from the damp air.

“Why is half the winery operating on generator power?” she asks. “Why are Drew’s men walking through my gardens, and why has no one answered three calls about the flowers?”

“The generator worked, no one was injured, and the wine is safe,” I tell her.

Sofia places the box on the nearest desk and looks at me with the patience she once used when I came home from school with mud on my clothes and an explanation she didn’t believe. “You answered one of my questions.”

“The flowers can be handled without me.”

“They could have been, but Mrs. Harrington has a severe shellfish allergy she neglected to mention until this morning. The chef must change two courses, which requires moving the Harringtons away from the seafood distributor, who will complain if he is seated beside the restaurant owner from Portland.” Sofia removes two place cards and exchanges them. “I have fixed all of this, but I require approval from the man whose name appears on the invitations.”

“You have my approval.” I lean down and kiss her cheek.

Sofia gives me a patient look. “I have not shown you the revised arrangement.”

“You fixed it.” I straighten one of the place cards she moved, although it doesn’t need my attention. “That means I approve.”

Her hazel eyes move toward Drew, then to the security feed displayed on the monitor. She sees the hooded figure before Reid can minimize the window.