I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 13

I Was His Secret Genius, Now I’m His Biggest Regret Chapter 13

In Clayton’s absence, Savannah became the de facto mistress of Montgomery Distillery.

She carried the latest Hermès Birkin and toured the fermentation floor in high heels, with Beau and Daisy trailing behind her like two little ducklings, chasing each other between the enormous copper stills.

“Ma’am,” a powerful, older voice sounded, “this is a production area. The children shouldn’t be playing in here.”

Marcus, the distilling supervisor who had spent his entire life working for the Montgomery family, had a face full of wrinkles and a deep loyalty to whiskey. He stopped Beau, who was trying to climb onto an oak barrel.

Savannah stopped and gave him an impatient glance. Her perfume clashed with the sweet malt in the air. “Marcus, is it? I’m just helping the children understand the ‘family business.’”

“But this isn’t safe. The fermentation floor is slippery, and—”

“Safe?” Savannah laughed lightly, as if she had heard the world’s greatest joke. She stepped forward and tapped Marcus’s work clothes, stained with spent grain, with a perfectly manicured finger. “An old man who reeks of yeast thinks he can talk to me about safety? Do you know anything about brand image? Montgomery represents the glory of Kentucky, not the sweat of blue-collar workers like you.”

Marcus’s eyes widened, as if he were seeing this charming woman for the first time.

“You’re fired,” Savannah said, her voice cold and contemptuous. “Go to finance and collect your severance. Get out.”

With that, she took the children’s hands and headed toward the bottling line, as if she had just swatted a fly.

Marcus stood there, his lips moving, unable to say a word. The workers around him lowered their heads. Only a young apprentice whispered, “Mr. Marcus, you should go.”

He knew he had to leave.

After collecting his check, he walked out through the gate he had passed through for nearly forty years. He looked back at the magnificent distillery.

He remembered when Ava had been there.

The production area had been quiet and orderly. Everyone treated their work with reverence. Ava would wear the plainest work clothes and taste new spirits alongside them. She could distinguish the effect a one-thousandth change in humidity had on flavor. She respected every process and every worker.

At the time, he and some of the other senior craftsmen had looked down on her because she was a woman and an outsider.

Marcus lowered his head, his old face flushing red. His steps had never felt so heavy.

He stood in the parking lot for a long time. Finally, he took out his phone and found a number he hadn’t used in years: a respected director on the Montgomery family board.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then pressed dial.

“Hello, this is Marcus, the distilling supervisor at Montgomery Distillery. I need to report a situation regarding quality-control issues in the latest batch of Estate Reserve… and the internal management situation. I think the board should know.”