Page 100 of Taken Away

“Usually was.” Walter’s eyes drifted briefly toward Mabel’s office. “Whether folks liked it or not.”

He disappeared into his office and returned with a rolling cart stacked with binders, folders, and three narrow archival boxes.

“Distribution is blue,” he said, setting one box near her elbow. “Vendor agreements are green. Land and equipment leases are brown. Mabel color-coded like a woman preparing for war.”

Despite herself, Aubrey smiled. “That tracks.”

Walter’s mouth softened. “She would’ve liked hearing you say that.”

Aubrey opened the first blue binder.

Mercer Distribution — Current Agreement.

She paused. The letters swam for a second, resolving into the image of Vanessa’s perfectly polished smile at The Overlook. The press of her perfume in Aubrey’s kitchen. The way Bennett had looked at Vanessa like someone remembering a different, easier life.

“Vanessa’s company?” Aubrey asked, aware of the cool edge in her own voice and not loving it.

“Her family’s company,” Walter corrected gently. “Vanessa runs the western accounts now. Her father still holds controlling interest, far as I know.”

“Was Mabel happy with them?”

Walter settled back into the chair with his own mug. “Mabel was happy with very little. But Mercer got the wine into restaurants that wouldn’t have taken our calls ten years ago.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No,” Walter said quietly. “I suppose it wasn’t.”

Aubrey looked up. He gave a small shrug.

“Mabel thought Vanessa was sharp. She thought Mercer was useful. She also said useful people had a way of becoming expensive once they knew you needed them.”

Aubrey’s gaze dropped back to the binder.

Now that sounded like Mabel.

For the next hour, she worked in silence.

Walter didn’t hover. He didn’t interrupt. He simply sat across from her, reviewing payroll reports while she moved through contract amendments, rate schedules, shipping summaries, and quarterly casing reports.

At first, the documents looked exactly the way she expected. Clean. Professional. Aggressive, but not unusual.

Then the pattern started.

Fuel surcharge increase. Regional handling fee increase. Premium restaurant placement fee increase. Temperature-controlled transport adjustment. Marketing co-op contribution.

Individually, nothing obscene.

Collectively—

Aubrey frowned and pulled the prior year. Then the year before. Then the one before that.

Same structure. Same language. Same slow tightening of the vise.

Her pen stopped moving.

“Walter.”

He looked up over his glasses. “Hmm?”