Chapter 3 - The Name on the Eviction Notice
Emma found Mrs. Brooks sitting at her kitchen table with an unopened envelope.
That alone frightened her.
Evelyn Brooks opened everything.
Bills.
Coupons.
Advertisements promising affordable hearing aids.
Once she had opened a letter addressed to the previous tenant because, as she explained, “If Gerald didn’t want me reading his mail, he shouldn’t have moved to Arizona.”
Tonight she merely stared at the envelope.
Emma set down the pharmacy bag.
“Mrs. Brooks?”
The elderly woman pushed the letter toward her.
Emma read it.
Then read it again.
NOTICE OF TERMINATION OF TENANCY.
Redevelopment.
Building acquisition.
Ninety days.
At the bottom sat a corporate name.
Whitmore Urban Holdings.
Emma’s stomach dropped.
“Emma?”
She barely heard Evelyn.
Caleb’s face flashed through her mind.
His smile.
His jokes.
The restaurant.
His last name.
She felt foolish for having forgotten what money meant once dinner became pleasant.
“Sweetheart?”
Emma folded the notice.
“I’ll handle it.”
“With what army?”
“I’m working on that.”
Evelyn studied her.
“You met him tonight, didn’t you?”
Emma froze.
“Who?”
“Caleb Whitmore.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m old, not dead.”
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“His grandmother called.”
Emma sat down.
“You know his family?”
“I worked for his grandfather.”
“Doing what?”
Evelyn’s smile vanished.
“Keeping him honest.”
That answer stayed with Emma.
The next morning, Maple & Rye was unbearable.
Tessa had shown everyone the photograph.
By seven, two employees had asked whether Emma was “dating up.”
At eight, Brooke asked if she planned to quit now that she had “landed a millionaire.”
Emma kept working.
At nine seventeen, Caleb walked through the door.
The bakery went silent.
He wore a charcoal suit beneath a dark overcoat and looked wildly out of place between the chalkboard menu and plastic display case.
Tessa almost dropped a coffee pot.
Emma’s heart reacted before her anger could stop it.
Then she remembered the eviction notice.
Caleb approached the counter.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Apparently buying coffee.”
“There are approximately six hundred places between your office and here.”
“Yes, but only one has you.”
Tessa stared.
Brooke’s mouth fell open.
Under different circumstances, Emma might have melted.
Instead, she reached beneath the counter and placed the eviction notice in front of him.
Caleb’s smile disappeared.
“I found out last night.”
“Convenient.”
“Emma—”
“Did you know before dinner?”
“No.”
She searched his face.
“Your company owns her building.”
“A subsidiary acquired it six weeks ago.”
“And now she has ninety days.”
“I’m reviewing it.”
“Reviewing?”
“I can’t overturn a redevelopment agreement without understanding—”
Emma laughed once.
It had no humor.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The language people with power use when they don’t want to say no.”
Caleb lowered his voice.
“I’m trying to help.”
“Then help.”
Tessa watched from the espresso machine with open fascination.
Caleb leaned closer.
“I will.”
Emma’s anger faltered.
He wasn’t defensive.
He looked angry too.
But not at her.
“I need twenty-four hours.”
“Why?”
“Because something about the acquisition doesn’t make sense.”
Emma crossed her arms.
“What doesn’t?”
“My signature is on the approval.”
“So?”
“I never signed it.”
That silenced her.
Caleb took the notice.
“Keep Mrs. Brooks from signing anything.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody inside my company wants that building badly enough to forge my authorization.”
Before Emma could respond, the bakery manager appeared.
Richard Lane was Marcy’s uncle and had managed Maple & Rye for twelve years.
“Emma. Office.”
She knew from his expression it wasn’t good.
Inside the cramped office, Richard closed the door.
“This is awkward.”
“Usually when people say that, they’re about to make something worse.”
He frowned.
“We’ve had complaints.”
“About?”
“Your conduct.”
Emma almost laughed.
“My conduct?”
“Using the bakery to pursue personal relationships with customers.”
Her face went cold.
“That never happened.”
“Tessa says—”
“Tessa.”
Richard avoided her eyes.
“There’s also the food.”
“What food?”
“Product leaving the premises without authorization.”
“The leftovers you told me I could take to the shelter?”
“There’s no written authorization.”
Emma stared at him.
Four years.
Four years of opening at dawn.
Covering shifts.
Working sick.
Never stealing a dollar.
“You’re firing me.”
“I’m suspending you pending review.”
“For how long?”
“We’ll call.”
Emma understood.
They wouldn’t.
When she stepped from the office carrying her apron, everyone pretended not to look.
Tessa did not.
She smiled.
Small.
Victorious.
Caleb stood near the door.
He had heard enough.
“What happened?”
Emma kept walking.
“Nothing.”
He followed.
“Emma.”
She spun around on the sidewalk.
“Please don’t fix this.”
He stopped.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need you buying the bakery.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You thought about it.”
Caleb hesitated.
Emma pointed at him.
“That hesitation is exactly the problem.”
Despite everything, he almost smiled.
She didn’t.
“I need one thing from you.”
“Name it.”
“Find out what happened to Mrs. Brooks’s building.”
“I will.”
“And don’t help me because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why?”
Caleb looked at her for a long moment.
“Because I think you’re the first person I’ve met in years who would rather lose everything than owe the wrong person.”
Emma’s anger softened.
“That isn’t necessarily a compliment.”
“I know.”
His phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Caleb answered.
He listened for ten seconds.
Then looked at Emma.
“Stay with Mrs. Brooks tonight.”
“Why?”
“My legal team found the company that sold us the building.”
“And?”
“It didn’t exist six months ago.”
Emma felt cold.
Caleb continued.
“And the attorney who created it is Richard Lane.”
Her former manager.
Marcy’s uncle.
Emma stared through the bakery window.
Inside, Richard stood beside Tessa.
Both were watching her.
Then Tessa slowly raised her phone.
Emma’s phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
Walk away from the Whitmores.
May you like
A second message arrived.
Or Mrs. Brooks loses more than her apartment.
