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As soon as my car came to a stop in front of the old farmhouse, the front door opened and a motley crew of three dogs came scrambling out. I reached down and threw my arms around the coonhound.
“Grumpy Gus,” I murmured into his mottled brown fur. “Sweet boy.”
Grandpa stood at the front door, illuminated by the porch light. He held a kitchen towel in his hands as if he’d been drying dishes when he heard the car, and I could see the confusion on his face at the sight of me. I hadn’t called or texted to let him know I was coming and I had to look like death warmed over. I knew it didn’t matter—they’d be happy to see me regardless.
After a quick pet on the head for the two smaller dogs, I brushed my hands together and stumbled up the steps and straight into Grandpa’s arms. I was taller than he was now, but the broad shoulders of the lifelong rancher had always made me feel safe. His strong arms wrapped around me and held me tight. My eyes stayed dry, but it was a close thing.
“It’s okay. You’re home now,” Grandpa said gruffly. “Whatever it is, it’ll be fine, I’m sure. Come inside, son.”
I followed him inside without meeting his eyes. My feet automatically led me toward the sitting-room side of the kitchen where Doc was dozing in a recliner with a worn afghan pulled over him.
“Liam, sweetheart, wake up,” Grandpa said. “Hudson’s here.”
Doc’s eyes were unfocused at first, but as he realized I was really there, a big smile overtook his face.
“Hey. I thought you were in Ireland on business?”
“I was. I just got in this evening.” I took a seat and kicked off my shoes before putting my feet up on the coffee table and slouching down into the deep cushions of the sofa.
Grandpa sat next to me and squeezed my knee. “We’re glad you’re here. How did it go?”
“Fine.” I shook my head. “I mean, the work was fine, but…”
I didn’t even know how to begin. I had a moral dilemma, and I needed their guidance.
Doc and Grandpa projected their usual calm and soothing air. Doc was one of the most patient men I’d ever met, and Grandpa wasn’t far off. The two of them were so easy to be with, I knew if I didn’t speak up on my own, they’d simply leave me be. They’d never push or prod.
“I guess there’s something I need your help figuring out,” I began. “I was sent over there to assess a historic pub and brewery for majority-share acquisition. The assessment was straightforward, and it’s definitely a good investment for Ames.”
Grandpa sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So what’s the problem?”
I picked at the worn edge of a sofa cushion near my thigh. “While I was there, I met a few members of the Murray family and learned all about the pub’s history.” I looked up at my grandfathers. “It’s truly amazing. They’ve been there for hundreds of years, right at the Cliffs of Moher on the coast. It’s gorgeous and… special. The property has been in the family for so long, I can’t picture it being owned by an American, a stranger to the Murray family and someone who doesn’t give a damn about all that history. It’s… it’s not right.”
“Why are they selling the shares?” Doc asked. “I assume it’s not something Ames is considering taking by force. If the family is selling and Ames is buying, that’s really all there is to it.”
“I don’t think they want to sell. From what I could piece together, it’s owned by two brothers, Sean and Devlin. Sean always managed the books, but about ten months ago he remarried and moved to Brazil. Since then, Devlin, who used to manage the brewery operations, has had to do his best with the finances on his own. I found evidence Devlin made some mistakes with the accounting and wound up trying to make up for it with his own money. It’s all fine now, except I’m guessing Devlin is in personal financial trouble. If that’s the case, maybe he’s selling his shares because it’s the only way he can recoup his personal investment. Once I got to thinking about it, I remembered something Bruce mentioned before I left on the trip. I think Devlin originally wanted to sell only a portion of his shares, but Bruce said he wouldn’t consider it unless it was a majority share in the business.”
“Hmm,” Grandpa mused, rubbing the coonhound’s big furry butt with his bare foot. “So maybe he doesn’t need as much money as this transaction would bring him, but he doesn’t feel like he has any other option.”
I shrugged. “I mean… this is a ton of assumption and speculation. But that’s what I think.”
