Page 101 of Taken Away

“How long has Blackwood been exclusive with Mercer?”

“Exclusive?” he repeated, a little too slowly.

“Yes. For regional distribution.”

Walter leaned back. “I’d have to check.”

“I am checking.” Aubrey turned the binder so he could see the highlighted page. “This says Mercer has first-right regional exclusivity across western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee unless Blackwood maintains secondary volume through two approved legacy distributors.”

Walter blinked. “That sounds right.”

“Except those legacy distributors disappear from the reports after 2023.”

“One retired,” he said. “Other sold his routes.”

“To Mercer.”

Walter looked down.

Aubrey’s pulse ticked faster. Recognition thrummed through her. This was familiar ground: buried language, leverage disguised as opportunity. She’d made partners at Ashford very rich by catching things like this—by knowing exactly how much pressure a supplier could exert before a project broke.

She clicked into the digital archive and pulled up five years of shipping expenses.

There it was.

Not a spike.

A creep.

Slow enough to miss if you only looked year to year. Obvious when graphed.

“Eighteen percent,” she murmured.

Walter frowned. “Pardon?”

“Mercer’s distribution costs have increased eighteen percent over five years.”

He gave a soft whistle. “That much?”

“Yes.” She opened the latest amendment. Her eyes narrowed as she read.

Dense contract language filled the screen. The kind designed to make people skim.

Minimum quarterly case volume. Two consecutive reporting periods. Supply interruption clause. Default exclusivity. Automatic extension. Permanent regional rights.

Aubrey sat very still.

The winery hummed around her, faint and distant. Somewhere below, an early forklift beeped once on the production floor.

Walter’s chair creaked.

“Child?”

Aubrey didn’t answer.

She read the clause again.

Then again.