Chapter 4
For several seconds, I stood beside my office window, staring at the city beyond the glass. Somewhere across Manhattan, Charles Whitmore and Richard Mitchell were allegedly searching the building where my parents had once poured their lives into feeding strangers.
I could almost smell the cinnamon bread my father baked before sunrise. The building had been taken from our family years earlier, but the memories inside it had never stopped belonging to us.
"Emily, are you there?" Vanessa whispered. I told her I was listening.
She repeated that Richard intended to meet Charles at the old property that evening, though she didn't know what they expected to find. She sounded frightened of the consequences of having told me.
I asked whether Richard had threatened her. Vanessa said he hadn't, but he'd warned her not to discuss his business with anyone.
I encouraged her to stay somewhere she felt comfortable and contact Sophia if she wanted legal advice. Whatever Vanessa had done to me, I wasn't going to use her fear as another weapon.
After ending the call, I contacted Sophia and explained what I'd learned. She advised against going to the building or confronting either man.
Instead, she arranged for the information to be documented and checked through appropriate legal channels. I agreed, despite wanting desperately to see the place again.
The building stood on Mercer Street, between a narrow bookstore and an old brick apartment house. My parents had operated their restaurant there for twenty years before the financing dispute forced its closure.
Whitmore's company later converted the upper floors into offices while leaving the original dining room largely unused. For years, I avoided walking down that street because the sight of the boarded windows made my chest ache.
Sophia reviewed the property records overnight. The transfer history included several companies connected to Whitmore, and the original deed was referenced in documents that hadn't been supplied to our lawyers.
A certified archival copy could establish important facts about the chain of title. But the missing original might also contain agreements, restrictions, or signatures that explained why Whitmore remained so determined to control the property.
By morning, Sophia had secured an urgent hearing concerning the disputed ownership claim against Aurelian. The court allowed the parties to preserve their positions while the contested documents underwent examination.
That decision prevented an immediate change of control, though it didn't resolve the underlying case. I left the courthouse relieved that my employees wouldn't wake up to a new owner.
Outside, journalists approached after learning about the commercial dispute. I declined to discuss allegations against individuals before the evidence had been reviewed.
Instead, I spoke about protecting our workforce and continuing normal service. I refused to let a battle over ownership turn the people who depended on my restaurants into collateral damage.
Two days later, Sophia received an unexpected telephone call. Charles Whitmore wanted to meet privately, without Richard Mitchell, to discuss the historical property records.
Sophia recommended that any meeting include counsel and be properly documented. Charles accepted those conditions.
We met in a neutral conference room with windows overlooking the river. Charles arrived wearing a dark suit, his silver hair neatly combed, and an expression I remembered from childhood.
May you like
He looked older, but his eyes were still sharp. When he saw me, he stopped walking.
"Emily Carter," he said softly. "You look very much like Eleanor
