Chapter 3 - The Counter-AttackThe next morning, the intimidation campaign escalated.
Two municipal health inspectors marched into my bakery at 6:00 AM, clipboard in hand, claiming they received an anonymous tip about severe mold infestation. At the exact same time, my landlord—a nervous little man named Mr. Higgins—pulled up in his sedan, shaking as he handed me a formal eviction notice.
“I’m sorry, Onyinye,” Higgins stammered, refusing to look me in the eye. “The new corporate buyer of this block tripled the rent overnight. You have forty-eight hours to clear out.”
I didn't yell. I didn't beg. I simply signed the eviction notice with a steady hand.
“Take your clipboards and get out of my kitchen,” I told the inspectors, my voice carrying an unexpected, icy authority that made both men instinctively step back.
As they scurried out the door, my phone buzzed. It was Leo.
“Onyinye, I just heard about the eviction! And the health inspection! My mother and uncle are behind this—they’re trying to crush you before the charity gala this Friday. I’m coming over right now, we’re going to the press—!”
“No, Leo,” I interrupted smoothly, looking out the shop window at the sunny Charleston street. “Don’t say a word to them. Let them think they’ve won.”
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“Onyinye, what are you planning?” Leo asked, his voice tight with worry.
“Just baking a very special cake for Friday night,” I replied softly. “Make sure your mother sends me a formal, written invitation to the Theodore-Ashbourne charity gala. After all... a good baker never shows up to a party empty-handed.”
