Dr. Wineberg fell into the trap seamlessly. Her eyes lit up with a cold, predatory intelligence as she leaned over the table.
"An unverified site is simply a matter of opinion, Mr. Wayne. If the initial findings are deemed inconclusive or... structurally compromised during the ongoing hotel renovations, the state has no grounds to enforce a freeze. I can provide an independent, highly critical evaluation of any alleged artifacts. With the right counter-reporting, we can tie the discovery up in bureaucratic red tape until the Heart family is forced to settle the sale out of sheer financial exhaustion. It is entirely within the realm of aggressive development strategy," Dr. Wineberg answered effortlessly and without emotion. Cold and clinical.
Darius watched her, noting how smoothly she skirted the absolute borders of legality. She was offering to falsify academic critiques to suppress a historical find, all wrapped in the neat language of corporate consulting. He let her speak, his mind registering the sheer danger this woman posed to the project—and to Linda. His heart slammed against his rib cage. He took a slow, steadying breath.
The waitress returned, placing a thick ceramic mug of steaming black coffee in front of him before slipping away. Darius ignored the steam rising into his face. He picked up a small jar of honey, unscrewing the lid with deliberate, unhurried movements. He dipped a spoon into the golden liquid and began to stir it into his coffee, his eyes never leaving his cousin.
"We need to be proactive here, Darius," Baxter urged, misinterpreting his cousin's silence as contemplation. "If Dr. Caldwell is on her way, it means they are either sitting on something or they are actively digging for it. Tell him, Debbi."
Dr. Wineberg nodded, her fingers elegant as they rested on the edge of the table.
"The local angle is what makes this personal, Mr. Wayne. The niece of the current owner, George Heart, is Dr. Linda Heart. She is an archaeologist who completed her doctoral studies directly under Anna Caldwell. They have a direct pipeline." She paused, glancing toward the diner's front entrance before her eyes snapped back to Darius. "Furthermore, I just ran into another very well-renowned archaeologist right here in this diner a few minutes ago.” She paused again. “Another former student of Caldwell’s. Dr. Owen Reed."
Darius’s brow furrowed, the spoon pausing for a fraction of a second in his mug. The name struck a sudden chord in his memory.
"Owen Reed?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. "The only Owen Reed in Sweet Blossom Bay is the man who owns the café down by the marina."
"Oh," Dr. Wineberg said, her smile tight and unreadable. “He could possibly own a cafe.” She frowned. “But the man I ran into here in this diner is definitely Dr. Owen Reed.”
Darius recalled seeing the name painted in neat, gold lettering on the glass door of the Bay Cafe in Sweet Blossom Bay:Owen Reed, Proprietor.He had never met the man face-to-face, but he had noted the business during his initial survey of the island's commercial layout.
"So he’s an archaeologist?" Darius’s hands circled the warm mug as he leaned back.
"A brilliant one, before he chose to withdraw from the field," Dr. Wineberg replied, her tone dipping into a cold, sterile neutrality that didn't quite hide the sharp edge beneath it.
Darius made a swift mental note to have the café owner thoroughly vetted. He already knew Linda worked in cultural resource management, but he hadn't realized her academic pedigree linked her directly to a figure as prominent as Dr. Anna Caldwell. Over his years of attending high-profile charity galas and political fundraisers across the Carolinas, everyone who moved in those circles knew the Caldwell name.
"Three archaeologists converging on a single small island," Baxter chimed in, leaning forward to drive the point home. "That can mean only one thing, Darius. They are building a defensive wall around that hotel."
Darius sat staring at his cousin for a few moments before giving a few thoughtful nods and glancing at his wristwatch.
"I have a meeting to get to," Darius replied smoothly, purposefully withholding the fact of what meeting. "When Imeet with the Heart family, I’ll feel them out. I'll see where their focus is."
"I can come along," Baxter offered immediately, his eyes flashing with ambition. "Back you up in the room, make sure they don't try to pull any fast ones with the zoning language."
"No." Darius’s voice was flat, final, and entirely devoid of room for negotiation. He turned his head slowly, his eyes landing squarely on Dr. Wineberg. "While I appreciate you taking the time out of your schedule to travel here and express an interest in assisting us, Dr. Wineberg, any movement at this stage would be entirely premature. We do not move forward on evidence we do not possess."
"Let me check with my contact at the state archives," Dr. Wineberg began quickly, her voice tightening.
Darius caught the sudden, sharp flash of desperation in her eyes—a calculated, intense need that had nothing to do with a standard corporate consulting fee. There was an underlying motive here, something deeply personal that she was hiding behind her academic credentials.
"No," Darius repeated, cutting her off cleanly. "If I require your services, I will have Baxter contact you. Not before." He shifted his gaze to his cousin, his expression hardening. "Baxter, thank you for enlightening me about this potential complication regarding the hotel. But I am going to tell you one last time. I am handling the Sanibel acquisition. It is my project, and you need to back off."
Darius watched his cousin’s jaw tighten. For weeks, he had been wondering why Baxter was pushing so aggressively to insert himself into the Florida timeline. He ran a quick, silentcalculation in his head, tracing the lineage of Baxter’s recent assignments. The intense pressure from his cousin had only begun after Baxter took control of the Wayne Group’s new luxury resort development in South Carolina.
Darius looked closely at the body language between the two people sitting across from him. Then it clicked. Baxter wasn't driving this agenda for his own corporate advancement. He was doing it for the woman beside him.
Interesting.Dr. Wineberg was a stark departure from Baxter's usual type. She wasn't one of the simpering, superficial women his cousin typically brought to company dinners. This woman was poised, deeply calculating, and significantly more dangerous. Dr. Wineberg carried herself with the distinct, unmistakable air of generational wealth. Then, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place in Darius’s mind. Her surname.
"Where are you from originally, Dr. Wineberg?" Darius asked, his tone deceptively casual. Her accent was subtle, a polished, aristocratic drawl with just a hint of the deep South hidden beneath her professional delivery, but it was just enough to confirm his suspicion.
"Charleston," Dr. Wineberg replied, lifting her chin slightly.
Darius nodded to himself. The pieces fit perfectly. Baxter’s sudden desperation to impress her, the irregular travel expenses, and the aggressive push to find a foothold on Sanibel all stemmed from this woman's influence.
"Are you by any chance related to the former senator, Harold Wineberg?" Darius asked, already knowing the answer before the words left his mouth.
"Yes, he is my father," Dr. Wineberg said, a cunning, well-rehearsed smile touching her lips. She softened her posture slightly, but the underlying ambition remained raw. "He still maintains a considerable amount of pull within the state’s historical and development boards. If our interests align, those connections can be remarkably beneficial to the Wayne Group's future projects."
