The room fell completely silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Vivian’s phone suddenly lit up on the table, buzzing against the wood.

The caller ID showed a name I recognized immediately.

*Cole Brantley.*

We all looked at the vibrating phone.

The phone slid an inch across the polished mahogany table, its buzz a low, irritating rattle.

Vivian reached out a manicured hand, her large emerald ring catching the light from the crystal chandelier.

“Don’t touch it, Mrs. Hayes,” Malcolm said, his voice flat.

Vivian froze, her fingers hovering just an inch above the glowing screen.

“It is our wine broker,” she said, looking up at Malcolm with a tight, practiced smile.

“I am aware of who Mr. Brantley is,” Malcolm replied, his hand resting near his belt.

The screen finally went black, and the silence of the room rushed back in to fill the space.

Vivian cleared her throat, pulling her hand back and clasping it tightly with her other.

“There has been a massive misunderstanding here,” she said, her tone smooth and grandmotherly.