“I want to see for myself what kind of success story she’s selling,” he said. “I’d like to know how much of it is real.”
Richard was convinced the whole thing was a polished front built to impress donors and investors.
Mike made a weak attempt to object, but years of obeying his father had worn the habit too deep.
That morning, Kate felt uneasy from the moment she woke up. Representatives from an equipment company were due to arrive that day to finalize paperwork for a major expansion of the creamery.
“I don’t know, Kate,” Annie said as she walked the boys outside. “Something feels off today.”
“You’re just tired,” Kate said gently, though she herself couldn’t shake the feeling in her chest.
She had her hair pinned neatly and wore her best tailored blue dress for the meeting. It was elegant without trying too hard.
She had no idea the day was about to divide her life into before and after.
Then she heard the low growl of a powerful engine outside the gate.
A long black luxury SUV rolled to a stop in front of her property, kicking dust up from the road.
Kate frowned and stepped onto the porch just as Richard Grant climbed out, immaculate as ever in a custom suit, expensive watch glinting at his wrist, a familiar look of contempt already on his face.
Mike got out after him, rumpled and uneasy, hiding bloodshot eyes behind dark sunglasses.
Richard looked over the property, searching for signs of failure.
He found none.
Instead he saw order, gardens in bloom, and a clean, modern creamery humming with work.
“Well, Kate,” he said, not bothering with a greeting, “looks like you’ve done a fine job turning a sob story into European grant money.”
“I came to see whether you remember who really set all this in motion.”
