Page 32 of Intoxicating Pursuit

The Mend

A fter a few days, Mom seemed to be healed. She had played a set or two of tennis and had weeded her cut flower beds until all you could see were colorful blooms.

I, however, had been sleeping terribly. I spent my nights staring at the ceiling, unable to shut off my brain. I just needed those photos to disappear. Permanently.

Paying the photographer off might stop their release, but Gabe seemed confident that was the wrong choice, one that would ultimately lead to more demands.

Requesting assistance from the police might help a lot, but I’ll admit I didn’t relish the idea of those photos becoming public record—it might be a solution as bad as the problem.

I had no idea if Gabe was doing anything, or if he was just stuck on blaming me.

Ian was my only resource, and I couldn’t think of anything else. My mind spun in circles.

So far, Ian only had a few insights to share.

He was pretty sure the photos had come from a high-quality smartphone, not a long-distance lens.

He’d triangulated the nearby roads, and they all seemed too far away, given the number of pixels and the quality.

So, he was thinking whoever had taken the shots must have been on the property somewhere.

Obtaining the IP address had been a dead end, and he hadn’t found any traceable data in the digital images.

No useful contacts in North Carolina had turned up, and Ian wasn’t sure how to get more information without police support and warrants.

He was more apologetic than anything when he provided the update.

He didn’t think he had useful results to share.

And so, I stared at the ceiling and simply lost sleep, which meant I spent the days in an exhausted fog. I was starting another morning like this, shuffling around my kitchen in a stupor when a text arrived from a new number:

I’m sorry. I’ve been an ass. I’m sending this from my cell phone, so you have my number now. But Sammy can we talk? -Gabe

I stared at the screen. I was too groggy to process it, let alone face that conversation. The whole situation really wasn’t okay.

When the coffee finished brewing, I took my mug to the front porch swing.

What on earth had happened to my life? I’d met Gabe only a few weeks ago, and already my world was upside down. Pictures of me having sex? Extortion? Accusations I was a criminal? Ridiculous. This wasn’t how I liked to start relationships, to say the least.

I picked up the novel I’d been savoring and read for a few minutes, idly watching the neighbors start their day.

The elderly man next door talked to himself and cursed at the cat who wound between his legs while he retrieved a newspaper from his driveway—probably the last one still being delivered in the entire neighborhood.

At seven in the morning, the mom across the street was scolding her toddlers as they joyfully shredded the marigolds in her front garden.

Poor woman. And here I sat mulling over my ridiculous mess.

Just a cross section of real people, bumbling our way through life.

I watched their mornings unfold for as long as I could, but it was a busy day, and, eventually, I got moving.

***

A fter loading laundry and dishes, I snuck away to my computer to finish the work-related tasks that had been so horribly interrupted with all this craziness.

The July numbers should have landed, and I pulled up the financial statements. As expected, they did not look good. Expenses were far worse than they had been in June, and the balance sheet was wonky, too. I immediately dove in.

The cost of goods sold was up again, but, oddly, capital expenditure had increased as well.

I downloaded all the transactions, checking first on anything purchased from HopNBrew.

A virtual avalanche of invoices filled the screen.

HopNBrew orders had multiplied, not decreased, and the purchases had expanded to high ticket items: dishes, appliances, barstools.

All were absurdly priced. None of it made sense, and with asset purchases on the list, I was thinking that Charlotte couldn’t be the sole driver anymore—their freshly built facilities wouldn’t need upgrades for years.

Had I misworded my email to the franchise managers?

I dug up the message and reviewed it. To me, the language seemed crystal clear.

My brain reeled. I did appreciate our leaders finding creative solutions to procurement problems; however, this was the opposite of helpful. It needed to stop now.

I sent another email to all locations. No one was to purchase from HopNBrew until further notice.

A block on the HopNBrew URL would help as well.

It wasn’t a foolproof solution to shutting down orders, but it would at least prevent employees from accessing the website through internal hardware and routers.

I logged into our bank account to check today's cash balance and couldn’t believe what I saw. We had never experienced negative cash flow like this before. How was it possible? I poured more money into the account again and called Debbie, hoping she had found something on the legal side.

“Debbie Ryland, Esquire,” She sounded a bit distracted.

“Hi, Debbie. It’s me. Just following up. Did you get a chance to check on that HopNBrew contract?”

“Oh, I did. Hold on. Let me grab my notes.” I heard a few keystrokes and waited. She must have been reading through everything. “Ah, yes. So, Sammy, I don’t see any record of a vendor agreement. So, if they’re overcharging you, a contract isn’t the problem.”

“Thanks. That’s a relief, I guess.” I thought a bit, but the situation still didn’t make sense. “Debbie, something feels off about this. Orders are growing rapidly. I’m trying to shut it down operationally, but can you see what you can find about the company? The pricing defies logic.”

“I can, but I’m still a bit buried with that big corporate case, and it’s covering the bills right now. What's your timeline?”

I sighed. We truly did have plenty of money in reserve. Nothing was on fire. I just really, really did not like this trend, and if the new breweries failed completely, the broader financial implications would dwarf any troubles from a few cruddy months of expenses.

“Debbie, it’s not wildly urgent, I guess. I’ve communicated with the local managers and told them to cease ordering activity. I’ve blocked the URL, too, but I’d like to know what other options I have for stopping it completely.”

“Okay, let me see what I can find. I promise I’ll squeeze it in as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Debbie. I appreciate it.”

We ended the call.

I pushed back from my desk, rubbing my temples in peace for a moment, but subtle sounds disturbed the quiet of my room. I looked over my shoulder and found Meghan hovering in the doorway, dressed in her soccer jersey. She had a weird habit of lurking like that.

“Something wrong, Mom?”

“Oh, just a Forbidden Brews problem I can’t quite figure out.”

“Please let me help. You’d be surprised what I can do.” She took a few steps into the room, trying to see my laptop screen.

She looked so earnest, and truly, I had more to accomplish than I could get through.

The reality was, Meghan was as smart and as organized as anyone I knew.

“I tell you what, sweetheart. I’d be happy for your help this time.

There’s a company we’re having issues with, and I don't have time to sort it out. If I got you a Forbidden Brews login, would you be willing to compile the invoices for one of our vendors? I need them organized in a database, so I can make sense of them.”

“Mom, you won’t be disappointed. I’ll kick butt at this, I promise.

” She smiled broadly, the eagerness plain on her face.

Meghan made little effort to hide her emotions.

It wasn’t fun to be around her when she was angry, but when she was excited, it was impossible not to feel caught up in the moment, too.

“Thanks, sweetie. I’ll get things set up for you. We can go over it after soccer tonight.”

“Sounds awesome.” She looked at her watch, and her eyes got big. She dashed to her room, grabbed her soccer bag, and hustled down the stairs. “Gotta run!” she called from the first floor. “Warmup’s in fifteen minutes.”

“See you there,” I called after her. “Drive safe!” The front door had already shut.

I watched her pull down the driveway, grateful to finally have an interaction that ended on a positive note. If involving her in the business was what it took, I should have no problem amping that up.

***

M eghan’s team took a tough loss that afternoon, in part due to a penalty kick she’d missed.

When we got back to the house, she threw her soccer bag on the ground, and wrenched off her dirty cleats and shin guards, leaving them in the middle of the kitchen floor.

She stormed out of the room to get a shower before I could stop her, but I left her mess where it was.

She could perfectly well clean up after herself.

Thirty minutes later, the scent of onions, oregano and simmering Bolognese had drawn Meghan back to the kitchen, but she was no friendlier.

I made her pick up her dirty soccer gear before serving up pasta and fresh salad at the kitchen island.

She grouched her way through dinner with Mom and me, then slammed her plate into the dishwasher before heading back upstairs.

Single parenting meant picking my battles carefully, and I didn’t take the bait this time. “Boy, she’s a delight when she’s had a bad day, huh.” I looked to Mom for a little sympathy.

She arched her eyebrows and dried the dripping pot I handed her. “Too bad she can’t keep her emotions in all the time, like you and me.”

I scrubbed remnants of Bolognese from a saucepan and rolled my eyes. Why did Mom always have to be so reasonable? It was very irritating.