As if summoned by his words, Gloria appears beside our table with a plate of glazed ribs and a smile.
“Gentlemen,” she says pleasantly, setting the food down directly in front of me. “Thought you might be hungry, Mason. These are on the house—can't have you wasting away while you're taking care of our community.”
The message is unmistakable.You're welcome here, you're family, we take care of our own. Richard receives it as intended, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly.
“Very kind,” he says smoothly. “Though I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I have particular dietary restrictions.”
Gloria smiles, all warmth and knives. “Of course you do,” she says sweetly. “We stopped serving self-importance and sanctimony in the Ming dynasty—but I could rummage in the back.” Then she turns to me with a wink. “These have extra sauce—they’re our specialty. And there’s apple pie cooling in the kitchen if you’re still here later.”
“Thank you,” I say, and mean it more than she'll ever know.
“Well, I'll let you boys get back to your catching up. Mason, you wave if you need anything else.” She pauses, fixing Richard with a look that's all steel wrapped in velvet. “Anything at all.”
She heads back to the bar, though her eyes keep cutting my way. A raised brow, a slight shake of her head, small gestures that say she’s clocking every move.
“Charming woman,” Richard observes. “Very ... protective.”
“She's good people.”
“I'm sure she is. The question is, what happens when being good people isn't enough? When this little fantasy you've built comes crashing down around you?” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Because it will, Mason. It always does. And when it happens, I'll still be here.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s an observation. Thirty years of watching idealists learn the world doesn’t run on hope and good intentions.” He lifts a hand in a casual signal. Gloria moves smoothly to refill his glass. “But I’m not here to threaten you, Mason. I’m here to make you an offer.”
My stomach knots. “What offer?”
“Your own office. Fully funded, top staff, your name on the door.” He adjusts his cuff, like the deal’s already done. “You run your cases. Keep the community project—it makes for great PR.” He leans closer, voice lowering. “I’m building bigger. Better. Backed by serious money. You and me—this time, we don’t miss.”
The offer hangs in the air between us. Everything I used to want, handed to me on a silver platter. Power, prestige, the amount of money that turns options into certainties.
And all I'd have to do is abandon everything I've built here. Everyone who's come to trust me. Maddy.
“What's the catch?”
“No catch. A recognition of reality. You’re a corporate lawyer, Mason. One of the best I’ve ever worked with. This…” He gestures around the bar, encompassing the entire town by extension. “This is beneath you.”
“Or maybe I stopped chasing someone else’s idea of success.”
“Maybe you've forgotten who you are.” His voice takes on the hypnotic quality I remember from boardroom presentations,the tone that made investors believe whatever he wanted them to believe. “You think this place will fulfill you? That these people will challenge you? You'll be bored within a year, resentful within two. And by then, the opportunities I'm offering will have passed to someone else.”
For a moment—just a moment—I feel the old pull. The seductive appeal of returning to a world where I understood the rules, where my legal skills were not only valued but essential. Where I didn't have to worry about fog machines and festival permits and whether my girlfriend's mother approved of my breakfast choices.
Then I think of Maddy's hand in mine this morning, of the way Mrs. Russell called me son, of the look in Gloria's eyes when she brought me food without being asked. I think of the life I've built here, messy and complicated and nothing like what I planned.
And I know my answer.
“Thank you,” I say. “But no.”
Richard's expression doesn't change, but a cold gleam flashes behind his eyes. “You're making a mistake.”
“I've made worse ones.”
“Have you?” He leans back, studying me with renewed interest. “Because from where I sit, it looks like you're about to make the biggest mistake of your career. Of your life.”
“The lawsuit,” I say, understanding flooding through me. “This isn't about getting me back, is it? You're still fighting us. You want the Morrison Center destroyed, Henry punished for his rebellion, and me back as a bonus prize.”
Richard's smile is sharp as a blade. “Very good. Though I'd hardly call it a bonus. Your legal expertise was always what made my acquisitions bulletproof, Mason. Your father understood that. He knew the value of airtight legal strategy.”
