“So what I am providing here is a copy of my accounting records for all of the years I have worked at El Zopilote del Mar winery. As I understand it, the numbers are very different than the books my ex-husband Royal Hamilton provided you.”

She handed a stack of papers over to the row of besuited people sitting across the table from her.

“In addition, I’ve outlined the make-up of every vintage that was created while I have been employed there. If I had questions about the provenance of the grapes involved in production, I marked that, and cross-referenced it to our purchases from the same time, to highlight any discrepancies. Sometimes I put my objections in writing to him, in an e-mail or text, but not too often. Since we were married at the time, most of our disagreements just happened in conversation. But I’ve been able to pinpoint some pretty significant differences.” She handed another sheaf of paper across the table and glanced down at the volume of paper in the crate next to her. She’d been home for two months and had spent that entire time buried in El Zopilote’s back office, tracking down every single piece of paper she could find about the production of the wine.

“If we can verify this—and it shouldn’t be hard, given the amount of information you are providing—it could well strip the winery of some titles. Are you aware of this?”

“I am, yes.”

“Aren’t you still the owner?”

“I am, yes.”

Tabitha watched the board of directors shift in their seats and glance at each other. She faced them with equanimity. The last time she had seen most of these people was on the stage at SommFest. They wore the same suits today, it seemed to her, as they had at the SommFest and at every single competition she had ever seen them in. Variations in charcoal. Tiny silver lapel pins the only indication of their distinction. Faces untouched by pleasure, despite the fact that they worked with wine all day long.

“You’ve testified to all of this in a court of law?”

“Some of it.”

“Is the testimony you gave us the same as the testimony you gave the court?”

“No.”

“Can you clarify that?”

“I’ve told you much more than I told the court. The court testimony was only to help defend Mr. McClintock in the libel suit Royal Hamilton brought against him. I only spoke about the truth in the details he published in his article of November 2016. I confirmed everything that Mr. McClintock printed to clear his name and the name of the publication.”

“And that case has been thrown out by the court?” asked Donald Purcell. The man she once considered a friend, who had laughed along with the other men when Royal called her a ball-buster. The judge of her service test who had sneered at her description of a terrible wine. Tabitha eyed him steadily, wishing she could dump an entire bottle of rugby field wine on his head.

“It has, yes. The court determined that Mr. Hamilton had no cause for a libel suit against Mr. McClintock and dismissed it. Mr. McClintock’s name has since been cleared.”

“You have more to say.”

Bella Masbach, the only woman on the board of directors of Vintner International, looked at Tabitha with carbon-grey eyes. It took nerves of steel to reach this level of the business. Tabitha wondered what this woman had sacrificed to get to her position. Nothing, she hoped. But she doubted it.

“Mr. McClintock has a lot more to publish, because now I am going on record, and providing him with all of the documents I provided for you today. Some of them will lead to charges of tax evasion, which will result in fines for the winery. In addition to that, he is going to expose how Mr. Hamilton rigged every wine competition he has ever won. He has paid judges of competitions you oversee. I have documentation for all that, too.”

“Yet you’ve never come forward before.”

“No.” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “For many reasons. I didn’t want to believe it was going on. Whenever I got suspicious—the wine he was selling didn’t taste right, or it didn’t make sense how he won competitions against wineries that were objectively better—I brushed it off. I didn’t want to think I was married to someone who cheated the system, because that would only mean one thing: that he was cheating me, too. I was too proud.”

“This is going to reflect on your reputation,” Jack McDowell spoke almost lazily, leaning back in his seat and regarding Tabitha with a sleepy interest. She wondered if Royal had already attempted to manipulate him.

She attempted a brave smile, but her resolve wavered. “Yes, I do realize that my reputation is shot. But it’s not like I had a great reputation anyway, working for a cheater. All I can do is tell you what I know now. You will be able to see from the timeline I created exactly what I knew and when I knew it.”

“Is there any way we can convince Mark McClintock not to publish that information?”

Tabitha bit back a smile. Everyone was protecting a reputation.

“You’ll have to take that up with Mr. McClintock. But I doubt it.” She wondered how a roomful of old people could have forgotten how investigative journalism worked, but it didn’t matter. The truth would out. It always did.

“If we can verify that what you are saying is true, Mr. Hamilton will be stripped of all titles.”

Tabitha nodded.

“As this relates to you directly, in cases of fraud, the runner-up is given the title of International Sommelier of the Year. Which, last year, was you. Are you aware of that?”

“I am. But I would like to pre-emptively decline it.”

Bella spoke up again. “You are declining the title of International Sommelier of the Year? The most distinguished achievement in the world for a sommelier?”

Tabitha shook her head. “I don’t want to win it that way.”

“You still technically won on your own merits. Had he not bribed judges, the title would already be yours. No one doubts your skill.”

“When I win that award—and I will win it, someday—there will not be an asterisk next to my name.”

Bella glanced over at her colleagues before continuing. Tabitha thought her eyes looked different now; a cool, appraising look came over her face.

“Furthermore, the winery will be stripped of its distinctions. This could be catastrophic for the business.”

“I am aware of the consequences. I still have to tell the truth.”

They regarded her for a long moment. She forced herself to breathe slowly and face them without flinching.

“You are a strange person, Ms. Hamilton.”

“Lawson. My name is Tabitha Lawson. And yes, I realize that, too.”