My father stepped outside.
“Brian, leave my property.”
Brian turned toward him.
“Or what?”
Then he gestured toward the forge.
“Without my restaurant, nobody important would even know this dusty place exists.”
He kicked a wooden box near the doorway.
The lid opened.
Three handmade knives fell onto the ground.
One struck the stone hard enough to scratch the blade.
Then another luxury sedan pulled up.
Arthur Pendelton stepped out.
Brian knew him immediately.
Pendelton was a senior executive at the corporate dining group responsible for several of The Hearth’s most important contracts.
Brian’s face changed.
“Mr. Pendelton.”
Pendelton looked down at the knife lying on the ground.
“Tell me you did not just kick one of Thomas Reyes’s handmade blades.”
Brian’s arrogance faltered.
“It was an accident. It’s just metal.”
Harrison stared at him.
“Just metal?”
Brian made things worse.
“My former father-in-law makes overpriced tools. They’re not worth half of what he charges.”
