Chapter 2

The gala crowd began to thin out. Nicole, her father, and Ryan cornered me near the exit, their faces radiating smug satisfaction.

"Now, Ethan," Nicole began, her tone condescending, "I know you're upset. But your little outburst was unprofessional. You'll apologize to Ryan in the morning."

Ryan feigned humility. "It's alright, Nicole. He's just emotional. I understand it's hard to be replaced."

"Replaced?" I let out a short, bitter laugh. "You can't replace what you don't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mr. Hewitt barked. "You think you're irreplaceable? You're just a glorified plumber who knows how to cook corn."

I ignored him and looked at Nicole. I pulled a folded document from my inside jacket pocket. It wasn't the mash bill. It was divorce papers.

"We're done, Nicole," I said, my voice flat. I held them out to her. "I'll be out of the house by morning."

Her face went from smug to furious in a heartbeat. "You're divorcing me? After I made you? You ungrateful bastard!"

Ryan stepped forward, trying to play the protector. "Hey, man, that's no way to talk to your wife."

"She stopped being my wife when she put you on that stage," I said, turning to leave.

"Not so fast," Nicole hissed, her voice dripping with venom. She snatched the papers from my hand. "Did you forget the agreement you signed when we got married? The non-compete. You can't work in the spirits industry, not for anyone, not for yourself. You'll never distill another drop of whiskey in your life. You'll be broke and irrelevant."

I stopped and turned back slowly. I remembered signing it. I was young, in love, and stupid. I thought it was a formality. Now I saw it for what it was: a cage.

"You think that scares me?" I asked.

I pulled another document from my pocket, a thick ledger I had been preparing for months. I tossed it on the table in front of them.

"That's a detailed accounting of every dollar Hewitt Distilleries has earned directly from my proprietary methods and my family's yeast strain for the past ten years," I said. "The total comes to just over eighty-seven million dollars. That doesn't include the new Japanese deal, of course."

Their faces went pale.

"I want my share," I said calmly. "Fifty percent. Or I will sue you, your father, and this company for fraud, intellectual property theft, and unjust enrichment. I will expose to the entire world that the celebrated Hewitt Reserve is built on the secrets of an Appalachian family you've spent a decade despising."

Nicole stared at the ledger, then at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and hatred. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," I said, and walked out of the gala, leaving them standing in stunned silence. The cool night air felt like freedom.