Chapter 9 - The Monday Morning Audit
The brass bell above the door hadn't even finished ringing when Julian Thorne walked in at 7:00 AM sharp, clutching a stack of freshly printed balance sheets that smelled faintly of toner and panic. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept since the Blackstone gala, his tie askew and his eyes bloodshot behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“Audrey,” Julian gasped, sliding the papers across the flour-dusted prep table. “The bank accounts in the Caymans. They’ve been frozen by federal marshals. Sierra’s personal assets are locked down too—she tried to wire fifty thousand dollars to a boutique hotel in Miami an hour ago, and the transaction bounced like a rubber ball.”
Audrey didn’t look up from her rolling pin. She was flattening out a thick disk of sourdough rye, her movements smooth, rhythmic, and entirely unbothered.
“Good morning to you too, Julian,” she said evenly. “Did you bring the lease agreements for the River North location?”
“In my briefcase,” Julian stammered, pulling out a heavy blue folder. “And... Arthur Sterling’s legal team just finalized the equity transfer. Opal & Son Culinary Group officially holds eighty percent control over the corporate portfolio. Brett is legally prohibited from coming within five hundred yards of any restaurant property.”
Micah strolled out of the back pantry carrying a tray of freshly sliced lemons for the morning tea service. He glanced at the papers, his young face deadpan.
“Tell me Dad didn't try to contest the trademark on the sourdough starter,” Micah said, tilting his head.
“He tried,” Julian groaned, rubbing his temples. “His new lawyer—some ambulance-chaser from a strip mall in Cicero—filed an emergency injunction claiming Brett invented the fermentation process. The judge threw it out in under three minutes after I submitted the original handwritten recipe book from 1994, signed by Opal Finch herself.”
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Audrey finally paused, resting her hands on the wooden counter. A small smear of flour brushed across her cheek like war paint.
“A man who couldn't bake a batch of biscuits without burning the butter thinks he invented wild yeast,” Audrey murmured, a dry, humorless smile touching her lips. “Some people spend their whole lives trying to take credit for the heat while never once tending the fire.”
