That was also where he met Narelle Sanchez.
She'd been standing behind her grandfather, eyes bright and sparkling, telling Blake he was the most talented person she'd ever met.
Everything that followed seemed natural. Dating, marriage, moving into the sprawling house the Sanchez family had prepared for them. Old Mr. Sanchez said it was fate, told Blake he was family now.
But Narelle had never truly cut ties with Oscar Tanner.
They were childhood sweethearts, grew up together. She said that kind of bond couldn't just be severed overnight.
Blake believed her. Believed her for three full years.
That footage was supposed to be the foundation of his first real theatrical documentary.
Before he left for the shoot, his mother had called, voice thick with emotion, reminding him over and over to stay safe.
That day, Narelle had just gotten back from a business trip with Oscar. She was changing in the bedroom, half-listening, and came out to say, "Your mom's counting on you to make something of yourself. Don't let her down."
He'd smiled and said he wouldn't.
He never imagined that the one who let her down wouldn't be him.
Three years later, that footage appeared on an international awards stage, hoisted above another man's head.
And Blake sat in the audience, a divorce agreement tucked inside his jacket, soon to take effect.
Three days after the ceremony, people in the industry began questioning the copyright of the award-winning documentary.
Several veteran filmmakers placed it side by side with Blake's earlier work and pointed out the striking stylistic consistency. They demanded to know who truly held the rights.
When Narelle called, she couldn't keep the panic out of her voice.
"Blake, are you stirring things up behind the scenes?"
"Where are all these accusations coming from?"
"Let me remind you, you signed the copyright contract yourself. It's airtight. Don't even think about going back on it!"
Blake set his phone on the table, switched it to speaker, and went back to eating his noodles.
"Narelle, I haven't done anything."
"Then where are these questions coming from?"
"People in the industry aren't blind. Anyone who knows what they're looking at can tell whose footage that is at a glance."
Silence on her end. Two seconds. Then she spoke again.
"Go clear this up for me. You're the best person to do it. If you say there's no problem, everyone will believe you."
He set down his chopsticks and picked up the phone.
"You want me to clear Oscar's name."
"This helps you too, and it protects the Sanchez family. Blake, can you please think straight for once?"
He was thinking perfectly straight.
He knew the market value of that footage. He knew what the theatrical distribution rights would be worth if the film hit cinemas. He knew about all the things between Narelle and Oscar that no one could quite explain.
He'd just been pretending not to.
"Fine. I'll go say what you need me to say."
After he hung up, he sent a message to Old Mr. Sanchez.
"Grandpa, I'd like to see you."
Five minutes later, the reply came.
"I was just about to reach out. Tomorrow, three o'clock. The usual teahouse."
That afternoon, Ian Sanchez slid a manila envelope across the table.
Blake opened it. Inside was a divorce agreement.
Narelle's signature was clearly visible at the bottom.
He looked up. The old man let out a long breath.
"Three months ago, I told her it was a restructuring document for the family's holdings and asked her to sign. She didn't read it carefully."
"Blake, the Sanchez family has wronged you. I, as her grandfather, have wronged you."
Blake stared at the agreement for a long time.
"Grandpa, how long have you known about her and Oscar?"
Ian set his teacup down.
"Since before the wedding."
Something cracked inside Blake's throat, but no sound came out.
"Then why did you let it..."
"Because I thought she'd come around." The old man's voice dropped low. "I never expected her to keep it going all this time. I owe you, and I intend to make it right."
