“Ten million dollars.”
That answer was enough.
Near eleven fifty, Nadine sliced the brisket.
The bark cracked perfectly.
Smoke ring.
Tender.
Not falling apart.
She brushed each slice lightly.
Wes packed the blind box.
Maya watched.
“Is it good?”
Nadine looked at her.
“Granny would complain.”
“Why?”
“She complained about everything.”
Maya laughed.
Then someone shouted.
“Turn-in moved!”
Nadine looked toward the judging tent.
A barrier had suddenly been placed across the shortest route.
A security worker redirected competitors around two buildings.
Wes looked at the clock.
Five minutes.
“This is deliberate.”
Nadine grabbed the box.
“Go.”
They ran.
Wes cleared people from the path.
Nadine held the box level.
No shaking.
No tilting.
Three minutes.
A golf cart blocked the lane.
Wes pushed it aside.
Someone shouted at him.
He ignored them.
One minute.
They reached the table.
The official reached for the box.
“Ten seconds.”
Nadine handed it over.
Stamped.
Accepted.
Across the grounds, Dax watched.
His face told her everything.
The boxes entered the blind judging tent.
Six judges.
Twelve boxes.
No names.
No labels.
No celebrity pitmasters.
Taste first.
Judge after.
One judge opened Box Nine.
He smelled it.
Stopped.
Then took a bite.
His eyes closed.
“This tastes like a Sunday I haven’t had in years.”
Another judge sampled Box Four.
Dax’s submission.
“Technically perfect.”
He chewed again.
“But it tastes like something out of a bottle.”
The scores were counted.
Then counted again.
The head judge walked onto the stage.
Dax stood beside Briella.
Nadine held Maya’s hand.
Wes stood behind them.
“Your grand champion…”
The crowd quieted.
“Box Nine.”
Maya screamed.
Nadine did not move.
Not yet.
The judge opened the registration envelope.
“Pit 41.”
The fairgrounds erupted.
“Your grand champion, Nadine Pruitt!”
Maya jumped into her mother’s arms.
“Granny won!”
Nadine laughed through tears.
“Granny won, sweetheart.”
Dax walked onto the stage.
“Recount.”
The head judge looked at him.
“The scores were verified.”
“That barrel is scrap metal.”
“The boxes were blind, Mr. Whitfield.”
Dax pointed toward the judges.
“Half of them know who she is now.”
“The boxes were blind.”
Wes repeated from the crowd:
“The boxes were blind, Mr. Whitfield.”
People laughed.
Dax turned toward Nadine.
“Fine.”
His voice became sharper.
“Then she copied me.”
Silence.
He pointed toward her brisket.
“That is my Diamond Sauce profile.”
Nadine looked at him.
“Then tell them what’s in it, Dax.”
He laughed.
“Easy.”
“Go ahead.”
“Coffee rub.”
Nadine opened Lou’s notebook.
“Keep going.”
“Peach molasses mop.”
She turned a page.
“Post oak.”
Another page.
“Low and long.”
Nadine raised the notebook.
“Page eleven.”
She read aloud.
“Lou Pruitt. June 1981.”
The crowd became silent.
Dax laughed nervously.
“Anybody can write an old date in an old book.”
