The scent of warm yeast and sugar usually soothed me. Today, it felt like a heavy blanket as I walked back into my bakery, “Maya’s Sweet Treats.” The morning light was just beginning to streak through the storefront window, but the peace was fragile.
My brother, Andre, was already there, hunched over a spread of papers on my stainless-steel prep table. He looked up, his expression a quiet storm.
“You okay, Maya?” he asked, his voice low.
I just nodded, pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My hands still trembled slightly from the scene at the Pine Bluff Country Club.
“They’re fine,” I said, thinking of the boys. “With Mama.”
Andre tapped a finger on one of the documents. It was a municipal zoning map, covered in red and blue lines. “This isn’t just about Marcus trying to humiliate you, Maya.”
He slid another sheet across the table. It was a property deed, stark and formal.
“His wedding venue,” Andre continued, his voice tight, “the whole new ‘luxury expansion’ of the Pine Bluff Country Club? It sits directly on our great-granddaddy’s old acreage.”
My breath caught. “What are you talking about? That land was sold years ago. Granddaddy signed off on it.”
Andre shook his head. “That’s what everyone thought. But I’ve been digging. See this boundary line?” He traced a wavering red mark on the map. “This isn’t where it should be.”
He leaned closer. “Marcus’s development permits, the ones for the country club expansion, they were pushed through using falsified appraisal documents.”
I stared at the papers, my mind trying to make sense of the sudden shift. This wasn’t just about my personal embarrassment anymore. This was about family land.
“Falsified by who?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Julian Pryce,” Andre said, pointing to a signature block on a different document, a property valuation report. “He’s the appraiser and notary who rubber-stamped Marcus’s initial land deals when he first came to town. The same Julian Pryce everyone says is crooked.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. The ground beneath Marcus’s grand wedding, the very symbol of his new life, was built on a lie. A lie connected to our family’s history, signed by a man I vaguely remembered.
Meanwhile, across town, Marcus DuBose stormed into Julian Pryce’s cramped office. The air smelled of stale coffee and old paper.
“She showed up, Julian,” Marcus spat, his face flushed. “With three little brats who look exactly like me.”
Julian Pryce, a man with thin, slicked-back hair and nervous eyes, hunched behind his desk. He had been expecting this call.
“Mr. DuBose, I checked the local registries like you asked,” Pryce stammered. “There were no records for Maya Linwood with children from four years back. Nothing under her maiden name, nothing.”
“Because she filed them in the next county over, you imbecile!” Marcus slammed his hand on the desk, making Pryce jump. “You missed it!”
Pryce flinched. “I only checked the county we discussed, sir.”
Marcus ignored him. “This changes everything. I need that Linwood bakery property. Now. Expedite the seizure. What’s the fastest way to get it done legally?”
Pryce swallowed hard. “The quickest way is usually a lien enforcement, sir. If she’s defaulted on any payments, we can push it through fast. Or, if she signed anything at the catering event.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. He thought about the catering contract. He had made sure to include a clause.
“Good,” Marcus said, a cruel smile forming. “Start digging into her business financials. Find any missed payment, any technical default. I want that bakery by the end of the month.”
Pryce nodded, already reaching for his computer. He knew what Marcus wanted. He always did. The money was always good, even if the work was dirty.
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