Chapter 1
Evan
I woke up at five a.m. sharp on Friday morning, as I did on every weekday morning. On weekends I allowed myself to sleep in, and would get up at five thirty, or maybe, if I was feeling especially lazy, six. As I always did, I jumped out of bed, dropped straight into a push-up position and cranked out fifty push-ups. I then went to my bathroom door, to which a pull-up bar was attached, and did twenty-five chin-ups. After that, I jumped into the shower—ice cold, the most intense wake-up possible. It beat coffee any day, and I’d learned it was great for my immune system and testosterone levels, too.
It was as I was getting out of the shower that I heard my phone ringing in the bedroom. Man, always at the worst possible time. Who the hell would be calling me now, at twenty past five?
I wrapped my towel around me, not having had the time to dry myself off properly, and then jogged out to my bedroom to answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Evan.”
“JB? What are you doing calling me this early in the morning?”
“It's about the bar. There's a little uh, issue that I need to talk to you about.”
I groaned and shook my head. There had been far too many of these “issues” in the last few months. There were times I wondered if the only real way to sort things out with the bar would be to fire JB—except that I couldn't. Not only because he was my step-brother, but I actually wanted to see him succeed. I wanted him to be able to stand on his own two feet without me having to bail him out of mess after mess. That dream, however, seemed as if it were getting less and less realistic.
“Well go on, spit it out,” I said.
“There was a bit of a brawl at the bar last night. And now one of the guys involved wants to press charges against us.”
“What?” I asked, anger rising within me. “A brawl? What kind of people are you letting in these days, JB? And how did things get to the point where a fistfight could break out? You need to keep things under control. You can't let situations escalate to the point where guys start throwing fists—or bottles or chairs, man! Come on.”
“Dammit, Evan, do you think I want guys fighting in the bar? Quit being an ass—I called you for help, not a damn lecture.”
With a sigh, I forced myself to remain calm. “All right,” I muttered, “so there was a fight. But what's this about pressing charges against the bar? Do they want to sue us now?”
“Uh, yeah. It turns out that one of the guys fighting was the son of a prominent lawyer here in town, Gabriel Nash.”
I groaned. “Dammit. Nash is notorious for that kind of thing. So, you let his kid take a beating in our bar?”
“I didn't let the damn guy take a beating! Nash's kid is the one who started the fight!”
“Please tell me this 'kid' is at least over twenty-one. Because if you're letting underage troublemakers into the bar, then we're gonna be in a world of trouble.”
“Jeez, Evan, how damn incompetent do you think I am? Of course they're both over twenty-one. Nash's kid is twenty-three, the other guy is twenty-six.”
I let out a sigh of relief—at least we wouldn't be getting in trouble for that. Still, this whole issue was messed up, and I didn't want the name of our family bar to get dragged through the mud. We had a big problem now, especially since Nash was gonna come after us, and this would mean that I was going to have to put some serious effort into sorting this out.
“Okay. Tell me exactly what happened, JB, and what Nash wants to sue us for.”
“Okay, so, I was making some cocktails for these two girls—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, feeling anger rising inside me again. “You were making cocktails? Where were the bar staff? You're supposed to be keeping an eye on everything that's going on, not making drinks for people.”
“Spare me the damn third degree, Evan,” he muttered sourly. “Look, do you want to know what happened and what's going on, or do you want to keep freakin' criticizing me? Because if that's what you want to do, we might as well just end this conversation right now.”
I took a breath. He was right. I needed to bite my tongue for the time and let him finish. “Fine. Go on, tell me what happened.”
“All right, so, I was mixing up some cocktails for these two girls when I heard someone yelling. There was a commotion at the other end of the bar. Things were kinda rowdy at that point, so I didn't investigate right away.”
I really, really wanted to say something at this point, but forced myself to bite my tongue. I needed to get to the bottom of this mess, and scolding JB wouldn't help me to get there.
“Look, Evan, there were a lot of people in the bar last night. It was crazy busy, and I just didn't have the manpower to—”
I groaned and cupped my forehead in my hands, pressing against my temples as he continued. I was hoping we weren't going to be in serious trouble. “Just get to the point, JB,” I said. “Tell me exactly what happened, not why it happened.”
“Okay, fine. So, I heard a bunch of yelling, but I had my hands full at the bar, so I couldn't check it out right away. Next thing I knew this kid gets tossed over a tabletop, and then all hell broke loose.”
“Oh man,” I groaned. “This doesn’t sound good. How many people were involved in this fight? You made it sound like there were just two of them, but if all hell broke loose—”
“No, it was just two people, but when they started slugging it out, a whole bunch of people stampeded toward the door. The other guy—the older guy, the twenty-six-year-old, this guy Jake—he had just thrown Nash's kid, I think his name is Dominic, over a table. Jake had a bloody nose at this stage. I heard from his friend that Dominic had thrown a sucker punch, and that's what started the fight. Apparently, this Jake guy had been hitting on Dominic's girlfriend, and grabbed her ass or something, I was told they had a history, and—”
“JB, just get to the point please. What happened after that, and how badly were they injured?”
“Well, it turns out this Jake guy was a competitive boxer at some point. He ended up breaking Dominic's jaw before I managed to pull him off the kid and break up the fight. After that, the cops showed up and made a report and all the usual stuff.”
I groaned and shook my head. “A broken jaw? In our bar? So, let me guess. Nash wants to sue us for damages because this happened on our property?”
“That pretty much sums it up, yeah.”
“I have a question, JB, and I want you to answer honestly.” I said with my tone as even and calm as I could manage.
“Uh, all right. Ask away, Ev.”
“Were you drinking on the job last night, JB? Were you drunk or sober when this happened? And remember, if I think you're not being upfront with me, I can call the cops who were there last night and ask them what sort of state you were in.”
“I…I might have had a couple of drinks,” he murmured.
“A couple? Seriously, JB, was it just a couple?”
“Maybe closer to five or six. Or maybe a little more,” he admitted sheepishly.
“You have to be the worst damn manager on the face of this planet, JB,” I growled, truly furious. “I warned you, didn't I warn you? More of this sort of shit and you're gonna lose this job. I am at the end of my rope here. I can't give you any more chances. You keep screwing up, and this is on a monumental scale! I don’t want to have to do this, but that's it…This is it, JB. You're done. You're fired.”
“No, no, no no no no,” he pleaded. “Please, Ev, don't fire me. This job is all I have. You can't fire me, please—”
“You're not giving me a choice. We're in a world of trouble because of this.”
“C’mon, Ev, please. Without this job, I've got nothing. Seriously man, don't do this to me.”
“Look, I'm going to call my lawyer and arrange an emergency meeting to see what we can do about this situation. If he thinks we can get out of this somehow with our reputation and finances intact, then we can talk about another chance. If not, you've left me with no choice.”
“Ev, wait, come on you can't—”
I cut the call off, not giving him the opportunity to say anything else. I flung the phone across the room, bristling with anger. I balled my hands into tight fists at my sides. I needed a good, solid session on the boxing bag in the gym, that was for sure.
How could JB keep screwing up like this? Just a few weeks earlier, he had gotten drunk on the job and forgot to lock the bar up when he went home. Some crackheads had gotten in and stolen most of the expensive liquor and a dozen cases of beer. I should have fired JB then, but I do believe in second chances. Third and fourth chances, in JB’s case.
I stormed across my room and picked up the phone which, thankfully, still seemed to be in working order after I'd flung it against the wall. I dialed Alex Venables, my attorney.
His cell phone rang for quite a while. Eventually, he picked up.
“Uh, um hello?”
“Alex, it's Evan Powers.”
“Oh uh, hi Mr. Powers,” he said, still sounding groggy.
“I'm very sorry for the early call, but I have a situation on my hands. There was a serious fight in my bar in Wytheville last night, and one of the injured parties was the son of Gabriel Nash, who now wants to sue us.”
“Ah,” he said in a knowing tone. “I see why you called me. Nash is a real bulldog, and we're going to have to get serious fast if we want to tackle this issue and get him to drop the suit. You're aware there's likely going to be some sort of out-of-court settlement to shut him down?”
“I'm aware of that. I'll do whatever necessary to keep the reputation of my bar intact. Sorry again about waking you at this hour.”
“Can you meet me around midday? I have some urgent business this morning, but I'll be free around twelve.”
“That sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
“Of course.”
I put the phone down, still fuming, and still in a towel. Edgy, impatient, and worried, I grabbed some clothes, got dressed, and turned on my computer to check on some stock prices to distract myself from the stressors that were now bouncing around my mind.
I couldn't sit and waste time though; I needed to plan my day and shuffle a few things around if I was going to meet with Alex, which hopefully wouldn't take too long. I picked up my planner and checked what was going on for the day. A few meetings were set up throughout the day, one I was particularly excited about—going to Sala Valley Winery to sample their range of wines. I wanted a new range of local wines for my restaurants, and I'd heard good things about their selection. Hopefully the taste would live up to the reputation.
I made a few adjustments so I could fit everything in, then I did my best to push the incident with JB and the bar out of my head.
* * * * *
“So, the mill is still using some of its original 1893 machinery, huh?” I asked the mill owner, a grizzled, hirsute man in his fifties, dressed in dungarees and work boots.
“Yes sir,” he said, nodding slowly. “It's been in my family for five generations, and we've always maintained it meticulously. That's how we've been makin' our stone ground flour, same now as it was way back then. Best stone ground flour in all of California. Yes, we sell it at a more expensive price than our competitors, but I'll tell you what, you take this little bag of flour home, free of charge, and you make whatever you want with it. Then you get some of our competitors' flour and make the same things, and you serve 'em to your customers. Guaranteed they'll pick the food that was made with my flour, ten times outta ten. And they'll be coming back for more, guaranteed.”
I nodded, running my fingers through the flour. It was thick, coarse and had a sense of real substance and presence to it. I could almost taste the flavor through my fingertips. “That won't be necessary,” I said.
His shoulders drooped. “Are you sure? But you haven't even—”
“No, no,” I said with a smile. “I'm not turning you down—I'm saying that I won't need to compare your flour with that of your competitors. I can tell right away that it's the best in the county—heck, might even be the best in the whole state.”
A broad grin spread across his face.
“You know your flour, son, you know your flour.”
“I worked with the best when I was in Paris,” I said. “I learned a lot about the importance of quality flour there. I've struggled to find stuff that's as good as the French flour here in California, but your flour…it's what I've been trying to find for a long time now.”
“Well like I said, Mr. Powers, my family has been doing this for five generations, and we pride ourselves in the quality of our product.”
“As much as I like standing here and simply admiring the beauty of this vintage watermill, I have a lot to do today. Let's head over to your office, agree on supply and pricing terms, and seal this deal.”
“Of course, Mr. Powers. Let's do that.”
Just then, my phone started to ring. I took it out and saw that it was a number from Wytheville . I guessed immediately that this had something to do with JB.
“Excuse me, I just need to take this call, I won't be long,” I said to the mill owner.
“Sure thing, sir,” he said. “You know where the office is. I'll be there.”
As he shuffled off I turned around and answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Uh hey, Ev, it's me.”
“JB.”
“Listen man, I just really, really want to apologize for what happened last night. I was being…well, I was an idiot. I shouldn't have been drinking on the job, and I shouldn't have been the one mixing the cocktails and being distracted by the women at the bar. I should have been keeping my eye on things. It's just that, I've been going through a rough patch. Things haven't been working out well for me for a while. I mean, a few months back my girl up and left me, and—”
“You mean the girlfriend you never even told me the name of? Doesn't sound like she was that important to you if you never even introduced her to the family, so I'm sorry, but that's not a great excuse I'm afraid.”
“Whatever, it doesn't matter anymore. I'm just saying things have been rough, but I'm gonna do my best to pick myself up, sort things out, and make sure this doesn't happen again.”
“I really hope you can do that, JB. I'm serious. You have one last chance—just one, and I mean that.”
“So, I still have a job, Ev?”
I sighed. “Yes, JB, you still have a job. But if anything, and I mean anything at all like this ever happens again, that won’t be the case. Do you understand?”
“I'm sorry Ev, I—”
“I didn't ask you if you were sorry. I asked you if you understood what I just said. Do you?”
Part of me felt a little bad about speaking to him so harshly. He was obviously feeling guilty. That, however, was not a good enough reason to handle him with kid gloves. I'd already given him more than enough warnings, and he needed to know that this was absolutely and without a doubt his very last chance.
“Yeah, man,” he said meekly, the shame in his voice evident. “I understand. No more screw-ups.”
“None, JB. Not a single one.”
“I know. And I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”
“Good. I have to go now. We’ll talk later.”
We said our goodbyes and I was about to slip my phone back into my pocket when it rang again. This time it was Alex, my lawyer.
“Alex, hey.”
“Hello Evan. I've just spoken to Gabriel Nash about the lawsuit he intends to file. Look, you and I are going to need at least an hour, probably two or more, actually, to sort things out. Like I said, I'm available from twelve. This is pretty urgent, so I suggest you carve out some time.”
“I'll do that, Alex. See you at twelve.”
I looked in my appointment book and realized that I would have to reshuffle more than I already had now that I was going to lose three hours out of my day by having to go to this meeting. Sala Valley Winery was one of the most important appointments of the day, so I called them first.
“Ron, hi,” I said as the owner came on the line. “Evan Powers here. Listen, I know I was supposed to come over to meet you around lunch time, but something has come up and I can't make it by then. I'm sorry, I know this is late notice, but it's a bit of an emergency. Any chance I can come by in the afternoon?”
“Sorry to hear that, Mr. Powers. I hope everything works out. Unfortunately, I'm going to be flying to New York this afternoon, and we have a college group coming in for a tour, so it'll be impossible to meet then. But if you don’t mind coming later toward the evening, I can arrange for someone to be here to show you around and to let you sample the wines.”
“This evening is fine.”
“Perfect, this evening it is, Mr. Powers.”
“Great. Thank you, and sorry again for canceling at the last minute. Like I said, it's kind of an emergency.”
“No problem, Mr. Powers. I'm just disappointed I won't be here to meet you in person.”
“Another time. Enjoy your trip to New York.”
Well, at least that had been easily and successfully rearranged. Now, for the next item in my schedule.