Chapter 5 - THE HOLDING COMPANY
The rain started hitting the windshield as I stared at the notary receipt.
Whitmore Holdings LLC.
Andrew had spent twenty-two years building our brand around the story of a family-owned, mom-and-pop bakery. He hated corporate oversight. He would never transfer ownership to a holding company unless he was hiding something massive.
"What does it mean, Mom?" Sophie asked, watching my face in the dim light of the parking garage.
"It means your father and Vanessa didn't just steal a recipe," I said, my voice hardening. "They stole the entire company. And they tied my childhood home to the debt."
I started the engine.
"Where are we going?" Sophie asked. "Home?"
"No," I said, throwing the car into drive. "We're going to the original bakery on 4th Street."
"Why?"
"Because if Andrew sold the company to a holding LLC, he had to transfer the physical assets. But he can't transfer the original building."
"Why not?"
"Because my mother never sold it to him," I said, a spark of hope finally igniting in my chest. "She kept the deed in her name. She leased it to us for one dollar a year."
We drove across the city in silence, the wipers slashing back and forth against the heavy rain.
The original bakery on 4th Street was small, nestled between a laundromat and an old bookstore. It was dark when we pulled up to the curb. Andrew had closed this location two days ago, claiming it wasn't profitable enough to keep open during the grand launch of the new stores.
I unlocked the front door with my master key.
The smell of vanilla and old wood instantly hit me, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. This was where Sophie grew up. This was where my mother taught me everything.
I flipped the light switch.
The front display cases were empty.
But as we walked toward the back kitchen, I heard a sound.
A scraping, tearing noise.
I put my finger to my lips, signaling Sophie to stay quiet. I picked up a heavy wooden rolling pin from the prep counter and crept toward the back office.
The office door was cracked open. A flashlight beam danced across the walls.
I pushed the door open.
Kneeling on the floor, using a crowbar to pry up the old oak floorboards, was Vanessa.
She had changed out of her red gown and was wearing a dark trench coat. She was covered in dust and sweat, cursing under her breath as the wood splintered.
"Looking for something?" I asked.
Vanessa jumped, dropping the crowbar with a clatter. She spun around, her eyes wide with panic.
"Annie!" she gasped.
"You're trespassing," I said, gripping the rolling pin.
Vanessa scrambled to her feet, trying to brush the dirt off her coat. She forced a laugh, but it sounded completely unhinged.
"I'm not trespassing. Andrew sent me to retrieve some old tax documents. Just tying up loose ends before the foreclosure."
I looked down at the torn floorboards.
"Tax documents aren't hidden under the floor," I said. "You're looking for the real recipe book, aren't you?"
Vanessa's face twisted in rage. "That old hag ruined my launch! Andrew promised me this company would make me a millionaire, but the investors were already calling him before I even left the restaurant! They want their money back because of your little stunt!"
"Then you should have baked a better cake," I said coldly.
Vanessa stepped forward, her eyes darting to the blue ceramic cake stand Sophie was clutching in her arms.
"You don't get it, do you?" Vanessa sneered. "Andrew doesn't have the money to pay them back. Whitmore Holdings is broke. The only asset of value left is the original recipe book. The investors want the intellectual property. And I'm going to find it."
She lunged toward Sophie.
Before I could swing the rolling pin, Sophie took a step back and accidentally bumped the edge of the metal prep table.
The blue ceramic cake stand slipped from her hands.
It hit the tile floor and shattered into dozens of pieces.
"No!" I cried out, dropping to my knees.
My mother's cake stand. The only thing I had left. It was gone.
Vanessa laughed. A cruel, sharp sound. "Looks like you have nothing left at all, Annie."
But Sophie wasn't crying.
She was staring at the broken pieces of the ceramic base.
May you like
"Mom," Sophie whispered, pointing at the wreckage.
Hidden inside the hollow base of the shattered cake stand, wrapped in a piece of faded wax paper, was a small, brass key.
