Page 35 of Stolen Harmony

“Fine.” I took a sip of coffee to avoid having to elaborate. “Busy.”

“That's good. That's very good. Economy being what it is, steady work is a blessing.” He crossed one leg over the other, the crease in his pants sharp enough to cut glass. “I hear that new artist you've been working with is getting some attention. Local radio, wasn't it?”

I nodded, wondering how he knew about that. Victor made it his business to know everyone's business in Harbor's End, but his interest in my clients felt different tonight. More pointed.

“That's the thing about this town,” he continued, settling back in his chair like he was preparing for a longer conversation than I'd anticipated. “News travels. Good news, bad news, all of it gets around eventually.”

The way he said it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Victor had perfected the art of making casual conversation sound like a threat, of wrapping warnings in pleasantries until you weren't sure if you were being invited to dinner or warned off someone's property.

“Speaking of news,” he said, and there it was, the real reason I was here. “I've been hearing some interesting things about development opportunities in town. Waterfront properties, specifically.”

My grip tightened on the coffee cup. “Yeah?”

“The town council's been very receptive to proposals for modernization. Bringing Harbor's End into the twenty-first century, attracting the kind of tourism revenue that could really transform this place.” His smile widened, showing teeth that were too white and too straight. “Properties with good bonesbut... outdated uses... those are particularly attractive to investors.”

The studio. He was talking about the studio, and we both knew it.

“That so,” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

“Oh yes. Very promising. Of course, change is always challenging for people who've grown... attached to the way things were.” Victor leaned forward slightly, his pale eyes fixed on mine. “But sometimes change is necessary. Sometimes holding onto the past just keeps everyone from moving forward.”

“You're talking about my business, Victor. Not some abstract concept of progress.”

“Am I?” His eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “I was speaking generally about development opportunities. If you're feeling targeted, perhaps that says more about your situation than mine.”

I set down my coffee cup with more force than necessary, the china clicking against the saucer. “Cut the bullshit. You've been circling my property like a vulture for two years. What's changed?”

“Nothing's changed, Eli. That's exactly the problem.” His voice remained smooth, but there was steel underneath now. “The world moves forward. Harbor's End moves forward. Some people adapt, and some people...” He gestured vaguely at me. “Some people cling to things that are already dead.”

“The studio isn't dead.”

“Isn't it? When's the last time you recorded anything meaningful there? When's the last time you made music instead of just... existing in the same space where music used to happen?”

The words hit too close to home, and Victor knew it. His smile sharpened, scenting blood in the water.

“I should probably get going,” I said, standing abruptly.

“Of course.” Victor's smile didn't waver. “But before youdo, I should mention that I heard some other news. More personal news.”

My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression blank. “Oh?”

“Rowan is back in town.” He made it sound casual, conversational, like he was commenting on the weather. “Interesting timing, don't you think?”

The way he said Rowan's name made my skin crawl. Like he was tasting it, rolling it around on his tongue to see how it might be used.

“Haven't seen much of him,” I said, which was technically true. The encounters we'd had were brief, charged with tension and misunderstanding, hardly enough to qualify as seeing much of anyone.

“Of course not.” Victor nodded sympathetically. “I'm sure it's complicated, given the circumstances. A young man coming back to deal with his emotions, trying to make sense of his mother's... choices.”

The pause before the word “choices” was deliberate, loaded with implication. Victor had always disapproved of my marriage, had made it clear that he thought his younger brother was wasting himself on a woman with a past and a son who might cause complications.

“People will talk,” Victor continued, his tone remaining conversational. “They always do in a town this size. Especially when there are... unusual relationships involved.”

Not a threat. Not quite a warning. Just a statement of fact.

“I'm sure they will,” I said, standing up. The coffee had left a bitter taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the beans.

Victor stood as well, extending his hand for a shake that felt more like a business transaction than a brotherly goodbye. Hisgrip was firm, dry, the handshake of a man who'd never done a day of manual labor in his life.