If you won't authorize the $35,000 credit expansion, you're worthless to this firm, my business partner snapped.
The scent of sautéing shallots filled the kitchen, a welcome aroma after days of anxiety. Nia and I were buzzing, moving with renewed purpose. We had secured a private $15,000 catering job in Buckhead, a last-minute anniversary dinner for a high-profile client. It was enough to cover our immediate legal retainer and keep the lights on.
“Remember that truffle oil we’ve been saving?” Nia asked, beaming. “Tonight’s the night.”
I grinned, grabbing a bottle from the shelf. “Absolutely. This is our chance to show them what Savor & Soul truly is.”
We worked in sync, a practiced dance honed over years in kitchens together. Fresh scallops seared in butter, tenderloin roasting to perfection, a delicate lemon curd tart cooling on the counter. The kitchen, once a place of dread and tension, now felt alive with possibility.
Halfway through plating the appetizers, Nia’s phone buzzed on the stainless steel counter. She wiped her hands on her apron and answered, her smile still lingering.
“Nia Washington, Savor & Soul,” she said, her tone bright.
Her smile faltered almost immediately. Her brow furrowed, her eyes wide with alarm. I watched, my gut twisting.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice dropping. “Criminal indictment? That’s… that’s completely false.”
She listened for another long moment, her shoulders slumping. Her gaze met mine, full of a deep, sickening dread.
“I understand,” she finally said, her voice flat. “Yes, of course. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”
She hung up, her hand still clutching the phone. The sounds of sizzling food and clinking plates suddenly seemed distant, muted.
“What happened?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“It was Mrs. Davis,” Nia whispered, her voice heavy with disbelief. “Our Buckhead client. Julian contacted her directly.”
My blood ran cold. “What did he say?”
“He told her you’re under active criminal indictment for embezzlement,” Nia choked out. “She canceled the contract. Effective immediately.”
My breath caught. Fifteen thousand dollars. Gone. Just like that. The exquisite scallops and tenderloin on the counter felt like a cruel joke. Hundreds of dollars in perishable food, all destined for the trash.
The weight of Julian’s relentless attacks pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. The old, familiar trauma of my bankruptcy resurfaced, a cold dread washing over me. I felt the walls closing in, the same way they had when my accounts were seized, when my home was foreclosed.
“He’s going to destroy us,” I said, my voice hollow. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the faint stiffness of my healing burns.
Nia walked over to me, her eyes burning with a fierce, protective fire. She gently took my hand.
“No,” she declared, her voice resonating with conviction. “He’s not. Not while I’m standing here with you.”
She squeezed my hand, her grip firm and unyielding. “This isn’t your bankruptcy, Marcus. We’re not alone this time. We have each other. And we have Kendra.”
Her words were a much-needed jolt. Julian’s tactics were brutal, designed to break me. But Nia’s loyalty, her unwavering belief in us, was a bulwark against his darkness. We might have lost a contract, but we hadn’t lost our will to fight. Not yet.
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