There was a good possibility Cash and I knocked skulls more than necessary for just that reason. It was amusing to get a rise out of the most even-tempered of all of us.

This time was for real though. Cash was being a grade-A asshole, which wasn’t at all out of character for him.

“We have eight minutes until Riley unlocks the doors, and you know Sergio and Marty will be right in for the Monday COMs meeting. Can we finish?” Seth said.

The Curmudgeonly Old Men convened here every Monday and Friday to discuss books, argue politics, and grump at each other. The two seniors Seth mentioned were always early.

Cash gestured for him to get on with it while I nodded tightly.

“Holden, we agreed to give you to the end of last year to see where you and Kemp could get on finding acceptable investors for the brewery idea. It’s been almost three months since then. Last week’s news wasn’t what any of us hoped for, but we can’t sit on the land forever.”

“I know that,” I said in a low voice. I shook my head, because I really didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when it came to more time.

We’d been so sure we’d finally found an investor who didn’t insist on gaining too much control over our business. When they’d decided to fund a different project, we’d been devastated.

The “brewery idea,” as Seth called it, was my dream, not my brothers’. Mine and Kemp Essex’s, who I’d been friends with for years. We’d always loved beer and had gotten into our share of trouble long before we were legal, in part due to that love of malt and hops. A dozen or so years ago, I’d delved into home brewing, and Kemp had been immediately intrigued. So intrigued that he’d eventually gone to school specifically to become a brewmaster. I’d taken some classes as well, plus had a shit ton of experience home brewing. Between the two of us, we’d be able to run one hell of a brewery, and we hoped to do it in conjunction with the restaurant that had been in my family since the sixties—Henry’s.

There was just the small matter of start-up money, which, in fact, was anything but small.

Because we’d taken out a big loan three years ago to remodel and add on to the restaurant, Henry’s was already deep in the hole. We were climbing our way out steadily, maintaining profitability, but banks weren’t lining up to add to our debt.

Kemp and I had been trying to find private investors, but there were lines we weren’t willing to cross as far as how much control we were willing to give up.