Chapter 6: What Beverly Did Next
I slept in a guest room at Henderson House that night.
It was the first time I'd slept somewhere that felt genuinely quiet in longer than I could remember.
No wedding checklist running through my head.
No Fiona's family to manage.
No performance to prepare for.
Just rain on old stone, and the sound of the house settling around me.
In the morning, Reeves brought coffee and a folded newspaper to the door.
I almost didn't take the newspaper.
Then I saw the headline on the lower half of the front page.
*Martinez Group Faces Debt Claim from Henderson Holdings — Sources Confirm Nine-Million-Dollar Dispute.*
It had moved fast.
My father's attorneys had clearly been ready.
I brought the paper downstairs.
My father was already at the table with Eleanor and Calloway, a pot of coffee between them.
"You saw it," my father said, not as a question.
"How did it get to the press that quickly?"
Calloway smiled slightly.
"It didn't.
George's people put it out themselves.
They're trying to frame it as a dispute between equals.
Get ahead of the narrative."
"Will it work?"
"No," Eleanor said simply.
She poured me a cup of coffee.
"Sit down, Blake."
I sat.
"There's something else you should know," she said.
"Beverly Martinez called me this morning."
I looked up.
"Beverly called you."
"At seven fifteen." Eleanor's expression was composed, but there was something dry underneath it.
"She wanted to discuss what she called 'a misunderstanding between families.'"
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her that I didn't discuss misunderstandings before eight o'clock." She set the coffeepot down.
"And that what happened last night was not a misunderstanding.
It was a choice.
And choices have weight."
"She won't stop there," I said.
"No," Eleanor agreed.
"She won't."
She was right.
By noon, Beverly had called my personal cell phone twice.
I let both calls go to voicemail.
The first message was measured — almost warm, in that particular way Beverly had of wrapping contempt in cashmere.
She was sorry the evening had become emotional.
She hoped I would consider that families sometimes needed time to find their footing.
She would love to have coffee.
The second message was different.
I played it on speaker at the kitchen table.
My father sat across from me.
Reeves stood near the door.
Beverly's voice was still controlled, but the warmth was gone.
*"Blake, I think you're making decisions based on a very emotional night.
I understand that.
But I want you to think carefully about what you're walking away from.
Fiona loves you.
Our family has invested considerably in this relationship — in you — and I think you owe it to everyone to have a real conversation before you do something that can't be undone.
If your father has put ideas in your head about what happened last night, I'd encourage you to remember that old men with old grudges don't always have their children's best interests at heart."*
The message ended.
My father looked at the phone.
He didn't say anything.
"Old men with old grudges," I said.
"She's frightened," he said.
"Frightened people reach for whatever they can find."
"She called you an old man with a grudge on your son's wedding night and now she wants coffee."
"Yes."
"I'm not having coffee with Beverly Martinez."
"No," my father said.
"You're not."
My phone buzzed again.
Not a call this time — a message.
From Fiona.
*I know you're at Henderson House.
I know who your father is now.
I know I don't have the right to ask you for anything.
But there's something I need to tell you that isn't about the acquisition or my father's debts.
It's about me.
Can I come?*
I read it twice.
I handed the phone to my father without a word.
He read it.
He set the phone back on the table.
"That's your decision," he said.
"What do you think?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I think she's telling the truth about something.
I don't know what.
And I think you won't stop wondering unless you hear it."
I picked up the phone.
I typed: *One hour.
Come alone.*
Her reply came in under ten seconds.
*Thank you.*
May you like
I set the phone face-down on the table and finished my coffee.
Whatever she was coming to say, I needed to be steady when she said it.
