Chapter 1 - THE ROAD BACK TO BELLWEATHER
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom sat idling on the gravel shoulder outside the gates of St. Jude’s Cemetery.
Inside the rear passenger cabin, Adrian Wolfe stared out the tinted glass at the sheet of silver rain pouring down over the gravestones. His tailor-made charcoal suit jacket was drenched across the shoulders, and dark water dripped steadily from his hair onto the plush leather armrest.
The car’s engine hummed softly. On the mahogany dashboard console, his phone vibrated against the leather trim.
It was his Chief Financial Officer, Victor Sterling, calling for the fifth time.
Adrian picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear without speaking.
"Adrian? Where the hell are you?" Victor’s voice came through the high-definition speakers, sharp and laced with panic. "The Mercer family is sitting in the private dining room at the Fairmont in Pittsburgh. Their board of directors is ready to sign the final acquisition papers for Mercer Steel Components! The deal is thirty minutes from expiring, and you're not in the building!"
Adrian looked out the window. Through the gray fog, he could see Claire Collins leading the three small girls down the muddy path toward an old, rusted blue station wagon parked near the chapel.
Emily walked first, holding her grandmother’s hand with an unyielding grip.
Sophie trailed behind, her face buried in her grandmother’s coat, still holding the framed photograph of her mother.
And Naomi, carrying her children’s book sealed in the plastic grocery bag, stopped for a fraction of a second near the iron gates. She turned her head, her fogged glasses catching the dim reflection of Adrian’s headlights, before climbing into the backseat.
"Adrian? Are you listening to me?!" Victor demanded, his voice rising an octave. "This is a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar defense acquisition! If you don't show up to sign these papers, the Mercer family is going to walk away and take the European offer!"
"Cancel the meeting, Victor," Adrian said, his voice flat, quiet, and completely detached from the multi-million-dollar deal he had spent eighteen months constructing.
Silence fell over the line. "What did you just say?"
"Cancel the Mercer acquisition," Adrian repeated. "Tell my legal team to transfer my personal files to the Bellweather Inn. I am staying here."
"Bellweather?!" Victor shouted in utter disbelief. "Bellweather is a dead steel town with two gas stations and a decaying paper mill! What could possibly be in Bellweather that is worth losing Mercer Steel?!"
Adrian looked at his reflection in the dark glass of the car door. He saw his own gray-blue eyes—the exact same shade of eyes that had stared back at him through the cold rain ten minutes ago.
Three identical pairs.
"My daughters," Adrian whispered, cutting the call before Victor could reply.
He turned to his driver, an elderly, stoic former British military officer named Marcus who had served Adrian for twelve years.
"Marcus," Adrian said softly.
"Yes, Mr. Wolfe?"
"Follow that blue station wagon. Keep three car lengths back. Don't let them see you."
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"Understood, sir."
The blue station wagon sputtered, blowing a cloud of gray exhaust into the freezing rain, before pulling out onto Route 9. The Rolls-Royce followed silently into the darkening hills of Bellweather.
