Chapter 6 - THE NIGHT MY BAKERY WAS DESTROYED
The first brick came through the front window at 2:13 a.m.
I knew the time because the bakery's alarm company called me at 2:14.
By the time I arrived, police officers had already cordoned off the sidewalk.
The front window was shattered.
Glass covered the floor.
Someone had overturned the display case.
The register had been broken open.
And along the pale blue wall behind the counter, enormous black letters had been sprayed.
SELL BEFORE YOU LOSE EVERYTHING.
I stood outside staring at the words.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Bennett & Lane had survived twenty-three Chicago winters.
Two recessions.
A pandemic.
My mother's death.
The furnace breaking on Christmas Eve.
And June accidentally ordering six hundred pounds of flour instead of sixty.
But somebody had destroyed it in less than ten minutes.
June arrived in slippers and a winter coat.
When she saw the damage, she began crying.
I put my arms around her.
“We'll fix it.”
She shook her head.
“Harper—”
“We will.”
My voice sounded stronger than I felt.
The police asked questions.
Had I received threats?
Did I suspect anyone?
Was there a dispute involving the property?
I told them everything.
Nolan.
The trust.
The proposed agreement.
Avery's missing recording.
Roman's warning.
I didn't try to make the answers sound tidy.
Nothing about my life was tidy anymore.
At dawn, Roman appeared across the street.
He had not been invited.
He stopped at the police line and spoke with an officer before approaching me.
“Harper.”
I looked up.
He examined the damage.
His jaw tightened.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Was anyone inside?”
“No.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
I stared at him.
“That's all you're going to say?”
His eyes moved toward the broken window.
“What would you like me to say?”
I almost laughed.
“I don't know. Something threatening. Something billionaire-ish.”
His expression softened.
“I could announce that I'm purchasing the glass company responsible for replacing your windows.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then I began crying.
Roman didn't touch me.
He simply stood beside me while I tried to breathe.
For once, I didn't feel pressured to recover quickly.
When I finally stopped crying, Roman asked, “Do you have insurance?”
“Yes.”
“A contractor?”
“Not yet.”
“Your attorney?”
“Rebecca's already coming.”
He nodded.
“Then you're handling it.”
I looked at him.
“You aren't going to offer to rebuild everything?”
He smiled faintly.
“I suspect you'd say no.”
“I would.”
“Then I won't insult you by pretending I know your business better than you do.”
I swallowed.
It shouldn't have felt extraordinary.
But it did.
By afternoon, our insurance adjuster had arrived.
The damage was extensive but repairable.
Our employees volunteered to help clean once the scene was released.
Mr. Patel brought coffee from his bookstore.
The florist sent flowers.
The owner of the shoe repair shop arrived carrying a toolbox and announced that he knew how to fix almost anything except marriages.
For the first time all morning, I laughed without crying afterward.
Then I realized something.
Nolan had always described my neighborhood as underdeveloped.
Roman's company had described it as commercially attractive.
But the people around me didn't see potential square footage.
They saw a community.
My mother's community.
And I wasn't going to surrender it because somebody wanted luxury apartments.
That evening, Rebecca arrived with news.
The property records contained a recent document claiming June had agreed to amend the trust's management arrangements.
June stared.
“I signed no such agreement.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Then we need the original and a forensic review.”
I looked at the photocopy.
The signature resembled June's.
But there was one problem.
The document was dated a day when she'd been hospitalized for pneumonia.
She had not attended a meeting.
Had not signed a trust amendment.
And according to hospital records, had barely been awake for much of that afternoon.
Rebecca turned toward me.
“Harper, someone may have falsified trust records.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who submitted them?”
She looked down.
Then answered.
“A subsidiary controlled by Pierce Capital.”
At 8:46 p.m., Nolan called.
I let it ring.
Then a message appeared.
I heard about the bakery. Terrible timing. Maybe now you'll understand why selling is the sensible option.
I stared at the words.
For a moment, I felt anger so sharp it frightened me.
Then I forwarded the message to Rebecca and the detective handling the vandalism.
A second message arrived.
We can still fix this, Harper. You and me.
I looked around the ruined kitchen.
At the broken glass.
The flour scattered across the floor.
The photograph of my mother that had somehow survived on the back wall.
Then I typed my reply.
There is no you and me. There is only the truth you keep trying to avoid.
May you like
I blocked his number.
And for the first time since the engagement dinner, I felt no desire to hear him explain himself.
