Chapter 3 - The Name That Made Chicago Tremble
By eight the next morning, Adrian Moretti knew more about Amelia Brooks than she knew about herself.
He knew that Brooks and Bloom had been open for four years, that Amelia employed one part-time assistant, and that the business was three months behind on its rent. He knew her father had died when she was nineteen, her mother had passed away six years later, and she had no siblings.
He also knew someone had recently offered to buy her building.
The offer had been rejected.
Twice.
Adrian stood in his office overlooking the Chicago River, reading the report his security chief had placed before him.
“Who made the offer?” he asked.
“An investment company called Northbridge Urban Holdings.”
“Who owns it?”
“Three registered directors. Two are legitimate businessmen. The third is a shell-company representative.”
Adrian looked up. “Whose representative?”
His security chief hesitated.
“Your cousin, Vincent.”
Adrian closed the folder.
Vincent Moretti had spent the past decade trying to prove that Adrian's control over the family was undeserved. He smiled at charity dinners, donated to hospitals, and shook hands with politicians. Behind closed doors, he considered every act of restraint a weakness to exploit.
“What does Vincent want with that building?”
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
A phone vibrated on the desk.
It was a message from his mother.
I'm visiting Amelia today. Don't send six men to stand outside her shop.
Adrian typed back.
Two?
The reply came almost immediately.
Adrian.
He almost smiled.
Then another message arrived.
And don't buy her building.
His expression hardened.
He hadn't told Isabella about the report.
That meant his mother had already understood the danger.
Across Lincoln Park, Amelia was trying to persuade a delivery company to stop charging her twice for the same shipment when the bell above her shop door rang.
Isabella entered wearing a navy coat and carrying a small paper bag.
“Good morning,” she said. “I brought breakfast.”
Amelia peered inside.
“Two croissants and enough pastries to feed a wedding?”
“I wasn't sure how hungry you were.”
“I'm always hungry. I'm a florist. Flowers don't pay overtime.”
They laughed.
For the next hour, Isabella helped Amelia arrange white roses and blue delphiniums for a wedding. She asked about the shop, the neighborhood, and Amelia's dreams for the business.
When Amelia mentioned that the landlord had recently threatened to raise the rent, Isabella's hands paused over a bundle of eucalyptus.
“Has he?”
“Apparently, someone wants to redevelop the block. I can't compete with the kind of money those people have.”
“Would you sell?”
“No.”
“Even if the offer were generous?”
Amelia looked around at the buckets, ribbons, and handwritten signs.
“This place is the last thing I have that feels entirely mine.”
Isabella nodded as if she understood more than Amelia had said.
Just before noon, a black luxury SUV stopped outside.
A man in a navy suit entered carrying a white envelope.
“Amelia Brooks?”
“That's me.”
He handed her the envelope.
Inside lay a formal notice informing her that the property had been acquired by a new holding company. Her lease would be terminated in thirty days unless she agreed to new terms.
Amelia read it twice.
“That can't be right. My lease has another eleven months.”
“The acquisition agreement includes provisions for redevelopment.”
“I never signed anything agreeing to early termination.”
“Then I suggest you consult an attorney.”
He turned to leave.
Amelia followed him to the door. “Who bought the building?”
“Northbridge Urban Holdings.”
The name meant nothing to her.
But Isabella's face had gone completely still.
When the man disappeared into the SUV, Amelia turned.
“You know them?”
Isabella didn't answer immediately.
“I know the kind of people who use companies like that.”
“Who?”
“People who think a signature gives them the right to take whatever they want.”
Amelia placed the letter on the counter.
“I'll fight it.”
Isabella studied her with quiet concern. “What if fighting costs you everything?”
“Then at least I won't lose it by handing it over.”
The elderly woman reached across the counter and squeezed her hand.
Outside, the SUV pulled into traffic.
Across the street, a second vehicle waited with its engine running.
A man inside raised his phone and photographed the shop.
Then he sent a message.
The florist refuses to leave.
The reply arrived seconds later.
Then make her understand what happens to people who refuse us.
May you like
The sender was Vincent Moretti.
And he had just ordered the first step in a war that would reach far beyond a flower shop.
