Page 51 of Rhett & Moses
The question was so thoroughly professional, so completely unrelated to the scandal or my personal life, that it took me a moment to switch gears.
“I... yes, actually,” I managed, grateful for the easy topic. “We’re in discussions with several distributors about bringing our small-batch gins to select venues throughout the Southeast. Nothing finalized yet, but promising conversations.”
The business questions continued, about my bar in Atlanta, about potential collaboration with local distilleries, about trends in craft spirits. Not a single reporter asked about Soren Hayes, the statue incident, or my relationship with Rhett. It was as if, by unspoken agreement, they had decided to treat me as what I was, a successful business owner returning to his hometown, rather than as the subject of scandal.
The relief was indescribable. For the first time I felt like myself, not the vandal, not the victim, not the scandal-bearer, just Moses Morley, mixologist and entrepreneur.
When the formal portion of the evening concluded, people began to circulate, glasses in hand, conversation flowing more freely. Several approached our table, offering handshakes, business cards, expressions of interest in my gin formulations. A local restaurant owner inquired about stocking my products; a hotel manager suggested a tasting event during tourist season.
“You’re a hit,” Rhett commented as we finally found a moment alone, champagne flutes in hand as we observed the mingling crowd. “The local business hero returning to potentially boost Gomillion’s economy.”
“Capitalism saves the day,” I quipped, but the levity in my tone belied the genuine satisfaction I felt. Being recognized for my professional accomplishments rather than my past mistakes was a novel and deeply gratifying experience.
As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing more fully, even enjoying the social interactions that would have terrifiedme a week earlier. Rhett remained at my side, a constant, supportive presence, though he graciously stepped back when business discussions required my full attention.
It was during one such moment, as I chatted with a distributor from Asheville, that I noticed a commotion near the entrance. Mayor Hayes stood with a small group, including his wife and several town officials. What caught my attention, however, was not the mayor himself but his posture, the unusual stiffness of his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth as he appeared to be listening to something unpleasant.
I excused myself from the conversation, seeking out Rhett, who had been speaking with Vanessa nearby. He followed my gaze toward the mayor’s group, his expression turning concerned.
“Something’s happening,” he murmured, and as if on cue, the mayor broke away from his group and headed directly toward us, his expression grimly determined.
“Mr. Morley,” he said without preamble when he reached us. “A word in private, if you would.”
The formal request, delivered in full view of dozens of onlookers, left little room for refusal. I exchanged a quick glance with Rhett, who gave a subtle nod of encouragement.
“Of course, Mayor,” I replied, following him to a quieter corner of the hall, away from curious ears.
Once we were relatively isolated, Hayes turned to face me, his political mask slipping to reveal a complexity of emotions I hadn’t expected; anger, yes, but also a weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and difficult conversations.
“I wanted to advise you that both my legal counsel and Soren’s will both be issuing formal statements acknowledging his role in the statue incident and offering restitution for the damage caused.”
I blinked, surprised by this development. “I see. And you’re telling me this because...?”
“Because the statement will be published tomorrow, and it includes an apology to you, specifically, for the blackmail and the damage to your reputation.” Hayes’s jaw worked as if the words were physically difficult to speak. “My lawyers believe it’s necessary to mitigate any potential civil action you might pursue.”
“I’ve no interest in suing you or Soren,” I said, momentarily thrown by the legal turn this had taken. “That was never my goal.”
Hayes studied me for a moment, as if trying to gauge my sincerity. “Perhaps not. But the fact remains that my actions caused you significant harm, both personal and professional. So did my son’s and I know he’s apologized but as a formality our legal team feel this needs acknowledging publicly.”
I was still processing this information when Hayes continued, his voice lowering further.
Hayes’s mouth twisted in a bitter approximation of a smile. “It’s strategy, pure and simple. This is damage control, nothing more.”
The cynical assessment rang true, yet part of me wanted to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, two decades of carrying his own secrets had weighed on the family too.
“In any case,” Hayes continued, straightening his tie in a reflexive gesture, “I wanted you to hear it from me first, before the statement goes public. A professional courtesy, if you will.”
I nodded slowly, still processing the implications. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Hayes hesitated, then added in a lower voice, “For what it’s worth, Morley, your speech tonight was unexpectedly gracious. Many in your position would have used the platform to further vilify my family.”
Coming from him, this was as close to an acknowledgment of wrongdoing, or at least recognition of the harm done, as I was likely to get. I accepted it for what it was.
“Vindictiveness serves no one,” I replied simply. “Least of all me.”
Something like respect flickered briefly in Hayes’s eyes before he masked it with his usual political neutrality. “Indeed. Well, I’ve said what I came to say. Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Mr. Morley.”
With that, he turned and rejoined his group, leaving me to process the encounter alone. I made my way back to where Rhett and Vanessa waited, their expressions curious and concerned.
