Chapter 6 - THE TOWN THEY PLANNED TO BUY
Grey Haven had no idea someone had been buying it.
Not literally.
But close.
Shell companies had acquired abandoned lots.
Old orchards.
Two warehouses.
Several rental buildings.
A campground.
An auto shop.
Nobody noticed because ownership names differed.
Colin brought corporate mapping.
Once combined, the pattern became obvious.
A future logistics corridor.
Avery Markets wanted centralized processing near major interstate routes.
Dante wanted Bellandi Freight as the exclusive carrier.
Richard Avery wanted land cheap before announcing development.
Classic.
Legal in parts.
Fraudulent in others.
The problem was a zoning corridor requiring contiguous industrial parcels.
Grey Haven’s residential center blocked it.
So did Nora’s bakery building.
So did several family farms.
How were they planning to clear them?
Not through violence.
Through economics.
Buy mortgages.
Raise commercial rents.
Challenge septic approvals.
Acquire tax liens.
Make staying exhausting.
This story had no masked men.
It had paperwork.
Sometimes paperwork was meaner.
Nora read the map.
“They bought Wilkins Hardware’s note.”
“Yes.”
“Old Mr. Wilkins thinks his bank still holds it.”
“Not anymore.”
Her face hardened.
“My landlord?”
“You own this building.”
“Damn right.”
I smiled.
One problem solved.
Others weren’t.
Roman looked at the map in his library.
“Dante knows I would never support this.”
“Because of the town?”
“No.”
“Because Isabel loved this town.”
“She wanted to restore the old mill as a public market.”
Of course she did.
Recipe woman.
Food scientist.
Community-minded.
Roman’s voice softened.
“She believed food businesses could keep Grey Haven alive.”
“Then why didn’t she?”
“I told her the return was too low.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I was very good at measuring everything except the things that mattered.”
He had become exhausting in therapy.
Insight everywhere.
Useful.
We formed a coalition.
Strange group.
Roman Bellandi.
Colin Avery.
Nora.
Local farmers.
Shop owners.
Food-safety investigators.
Municipal attorneys.
Me.
I was nobody important.
That became an advantage.
No stock.
No family trust.
No criminal empire.
I could ask stupid questions.
Stupid questions were dangerous to complicated schemes.
“Why does Hudson Provision need a grain-processing permit if it doesn’t own a mill?”
Silence.
“Why do these land purchases use identical appraisers?”
Interesting.
“Why did three property owners receive code violations within forty-eight hours of rejecting purchase offers?”
Very interesting.
Patterns emerged.
Dante and Richard had quietly influenced a private inspection contractor used by the county.
Pressure.
Not outright fabrication every time.
Selective enforcement.
Everyone had violations if inspected hard enough.
The bakery had an outlet installed six inches too close to a sink.
Nora called it organized tyranny.
Correct.
Then Richard Avery contacted me directly.
First time since the flagship.
He requested coffee.
I agreed in public.
Roman hated it.
“Why?”
“Information.”
“I can provide information.”
“You can provide intimidation.”
“Also useful.”
“Not today.”
Richard chose a hotel lounge in Poughkeepsie.
He looked calm.
“Grace.”
“Richard.”
“You’ve become unexpectedly central.”
“I bake bread.”
“Exactly.”
Condescension.
Familiar.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to understand Colin is throwing away his career.”
“His career.”
“His inheritance.”
“His family.”
“He is testifying against his father.”
“You mean telling investigators what happened.”
Richard sighed.
“Life is more complicated than courtroom language.”
I smiled.
“That sentence has probably financed half your mistakes.”
His expression hardened.
Then he shifted.
“Roman Bellandi is using you.”
“Maybe.”
“You think you’re different because he listens.”
“I think I’m different because I leave when I want.”
Richard leaned closer.
“You know what he is.”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“I know enough.”
He listed allegations.
Illegal lending.
Union pressure.
Protection networks.
Some true.
Some rumor.
“Colin’s flaw,” Richard said, “was caring too much about appearances.”
I stared.
“He told you?”
“He tells me everything eventually.”
That explained plenty.
Richard continued:
“But he was not wrong that worlds matter.”
“You belong in bakeries.”
“Bellandi belongs in rooms where men settle problems differently.”
“Do not mistake fascination for compatibility.”
The words were cruel because they touched a real fear.
Roman and I were growing close.
Too close.
But Richard had miscalculated.
Months earlier, Colin’s judgment would have sent me spiraling.
Now I could examine a statement without swallowing it.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Richard blinked.
I continued.
“Maybe Roman and I make no sense.”
“But that has nothing to do with whether your company lied about food.”
His face tightened.
“You cannot distract me with my own insecurity.”
He leaned back.
For the first time, he looked at me as an adult threat.
Not because I had power.
Because his usual tools failed.
Then he said:
“You could have had everything.”
I laughed.
“With Colin?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I could have had what you considered everything.”
“Those are different.”
Richard left.
No dramatic threat.
Just a man who realized control had limits.
Later, Roman asked:
“What did he say?”
“That you’re a terrible romantic prospect.”
“He’s not entirely wrong.”
I smiled.
“He also said worlds matter.”
Roman became quiet.
“They do.”
I looked at him.
“You agree?”
“Yes.”
He gestured around his house.
“My world taught children to hide from their father.”
His honesty stopped me.
“I’m trying to build another one.”
Not:
Come into mine.
Another one.
That distinction mattered.
Then he asked:
“When this is over, would you have dinner with me?”
I stared.
“We eat together constantly.”
“Not with children.”
“Oh.”
“Not because we are investigating flour.”
“Oh.”
“Not because someone is trying to buy the town.”
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“You sound nervous.”
“I am.”
Beautiful.
“Then yes.”
His relief lasted approximately twelve seconds.
Samuel entered.
“Problem.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
County officials had issued an emergency closure notice for Juniper & Rye.
Reason:
Structural concerns in the rear wall.
Nora exploded.
“That wall survived seventy years!”
The inspector claimed new cracking suggested immediate risk.
Roman looked at me.
I looked at the land map.
Pressure had reached our bakery.
The building where my second life began had just become another number in someone else’s future.
May you like
This time, I wasn’t leaving.
---
