Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
NADIA
The kitchen at the back of The Daisy Chain was perfect for our meeting. An enormous open space with room for fifteen people, tall windows overlooking the enclosed backyard, and much-needed privacy. Call me paranoid, but every time I turned around, I saw Samantha or Justin from Elevate.
Daemon arrived not long after six with Amelia and Malakai.
"Thanks for this," I said, watching him arrange chairs in a semicircle.
"No problem."
"Daemon—"
"Where do you want the coffee station?"
Daisy, who'd heard him, pointed to the kitchen counter, leaving me to swallow the question I'd been about to ask. Now wasn't the time. We had a meeting to prepare for.
Nor did he give me a chance, disappearing up the stairs while mumbling something about catching a game with Josh, Daisy's husband.
Skye arrived at six-thirty with Seth, her husband, and a box of pastries.
"These are perfect. Thank you." I opened the box. Almond croissants, lemon tarts, the sort of thing that made people feel welcome before a hard conversation. "Seth, can I get you a coffee?"
"I'm good." He stood behind Skye with the ease of a man comfortable in his own skin, despite his six-foot-four frame. "I won't stay for the meeting. This is Skye's thing." He stopped at the door. "Besides, I heard on the radio there's an Elevate SUV on Main Street that needs moving."
Skye looked at him over her shoulder, grinning. "That's the second time this week."
"Third," he said, and left. I watched him go, feeling something warm settle in my chest. Only in Coogan's Break would tow truck drivers form part of the resistance.
Skye looked around Daisy's kitchen before her gaze landed on me. "How are you holding up? Really."
"If I'm being real? Some days are better than others."
Amelia, Malakai’s wife, who'd joined us, nodded. "That sounds about right." She turned her back to the room, which told me she had something specific to say. "Can I tell you something? About what happened with us and the warehouse?"
I glanced at Skye, then said, "Please."
She told us. Not the version that had circulated around Coogan's Break, the broad strokes of a property dispute and some corporate interference. Instead, she told us what had happened after the venue on the bottom floors opened for business.
The pressure tactics that had started small and escalated fast. How she'd realized they weren't only after the building that had been in her family for generations. They were after her resolve.
"The thing about these operations," she said, "is that they're not really in the business of acquisition. They're in the business of attrition. They don't need to beat you. They need you to get tired."
"I won't get tired."
"We know that." She leaned forward. "But they don't. And when they figure it out, that's when it gets worse before it gets better."
"How much worse?"
"Personal," Malakai said from the counter. "When the business tactics stop working, they go after the person. Your reputation. Your relationships. Things that are harder to document and fight than a fake health complaint."
I thought about Samantha Morrison in the parking lot outside Law's Real Estate. Composed and watchful, taking her time. Already knowing more about my family than she should have.
"They've already started," I said.
Amelia's expression didn't change, which told me she'd expected that.
"Then you're further along than we were when we realized.
" She reached out and covered my hand briefly.
"But Nadia, everyone coming through that door tonight has their own version of the same story.
That's your advantage. They came after us one at a time. You're making sure that stops tonight."
Malakai pushed off from the counter. "I'll pick you up later, sweetheart," he said to Amelia, kissing her lightly on the lips. He was halfway out the door when he stopped. "For what it's worth, the collective idea is smart. Harder to pick off a unit than individuals."
After he left, I stood frozen to the spot, his words ringing in my ears.
Harder to pick off a unit than individuals.
He wasn't wrong. I'd known that since the army. It was why you didn't send soldiers in alone.
I straightened the chairs, set out the pastries, and got ready to build something.
By seven, the kitchen out back of The Daisy Chain was full. Daisy had set out extra chairs thanks to people bringing friends along. Kelly had claimed a corner of the workbench with her laptop, three tabs open, a printed agenda face-down beside her keyboard.
Angie, the dance instructor, came in still wearing her studio clothes, a reusable cup of something that smelled like peppermint tea in hand. Four classes that afternoon, and she was ready for a fifth.
Sarah came in next, Tyler's mom, a tote bag over one shoulder that looked like it held a filing cabinet's worth of paper. Daisy hugged her at the door.
"Malakai asked me to sit in and keep a record," she said, settling herself at the end of the kitchen counter. "He thought you might want someone taking notes who isn't already in the fight."
She had a pen out before she'd finished the sentence.
Next, a woman I didn't recognize came in, though Daisy clearly did. Curvy, with natural hair pinned up and the confidence that came from knowing exactly who she was.
"This is Cherie Williamson," Daisy said. "She owns Lucky in Love, the bridal salon up the road. I thought she should be here."
"Custom gowns," Cherie said, shaking my hand. "I specialize in plus-size brides. I went out on my own six months ago." She smiled to herself. "Elevate approached me last month about working with them. When I said no, I had three consultations cancel within a week."
"Welcome," I said. "I'm glad you're here."
Others filtered in. Matthew Oliver, who ran a photography and videography studio out of a converted garage on the north side, had lost two wedding contracts to Elevate's preferred vendor list in a single month.
Bea from Ezi-Rent arrived with a folder under her arm and a look that said she had things to say and had been waiting for the right time.
By seven-fifteen, we had twenty people. Daemon, who'd snuck back downstairs, had positioned himself against the back wall, arms crossed, watching without taking part.
Cole had joined him, which surprised me. He wasn't anyone's husband or boyfriend, so I had to assume he'd been upstairs too. He was taking up no more space than necessary, as if he'd spent a long time knowing exactly how much space he was allowed.
He wasn't watching the room the way Daemon was. He was watching one specific corner. I followed his sightline to where Sarah had set up at the end of the workbench, busy writing before anyone had said anything worth making a note of.
I stood in the center of the circle and looked around it.
Twenty people. Four of them were there because I'd called them directly. The rest because word moved through Coogan's Break the way it always did, quietly and fast, through people who trusted each other enough to pass it on.
"Thank you all for coming." I kept my voice level, the way I'd learned to when briefing people who were already anxious and didn't need the person in charge adding to it.
"I think we all know why we're here. Before we go any further, I'd like us to know each other's specific situations.
Because I suspect some of you have been dealing with things you haven't said out loud yet. And I think you should."
A beat of silence.
Then Skye set down her cup. "I'm happy to go first," she said. It was an ice-breaking strategy we'd worked on earlier, because no one ever wanted to go first.
She told it straight, the way she did most things.
Elevate had approached two of her part-time bakers six weeks ago, offering full-time positions with a benefits package she couldn't come close to matching on a bakery margin.
One had taken the offer. The other had stayed so far, but Skye could see her thinking about it every time she came in.
"The worst part," Skye said, "wasn't losing Gail.
She needed those benefits. I understood.
The worst part was that whoever approached her knew exactly what to offer.
They'd done their homework. They knew she was a single mom.
They even knew what she was earning. They came in with a number that was enough above what she needed to make the choice obvious. "
The room was quiet.
"That's not recruitment," Kelly said. "That's targeting. I've seen it used in advertising when an agency wanted to poach creatives from a competitor."
"That's exactly what it is," said Bea. "Poaching. They did the same thing to two of my crew. Both have kids in school. Both got offers that covered school-hours flexibility and a healthcare plan. I can't offer either of those things, much as I’d like to."
She opened her folder and looked at it without reading. "I had a wedding coordinator tell me last week that Elevate approached the bride's mother three days before the event and offered to hire all the glassware, linens, and tableware at a fifteen percent discount. Three days!"
"While it was under contract?" My tone came out sharper than I intended.
If that happened to me, I'd be left with ingredients I couldn't return. It would be enough to cripple me financially. It wouldn't matter that there was a contract in place, not when you were facing a company that could foot bigger legal bills than you could.
"Yep, while it was under contract. The bride said no, thank goodness, but the mother spent the entire reception making pointed comments about value for money." Bea closed the folder. "I've been doing this for nine years. I've never had a client's family undermine an event in progress."
Matthew, who'd been quiet until now, looked up from his coffee.
"They used my own work against me. I had photos on my website from a wedding two years ago.
Beautiful wedding, couple was thrilled. Now those same images have turned up in a comparison piece on a wedding forum that Elevate apparently seeded.
My work versus their photographer. Guess who looks better when someone else writes the captions. "
Cherie put her hand up before speaking. "Two months ago I had twelve consultation bookings.
After I turned down Elevate's offer, that dropped to seven.
I can't prove a connection. Two clients mentioned seeing an ad they thought was mine.
Same color palette. Very similar logo." She looked around the room. "I designed that logo myself."
Kelly was visibly furious while the rest of the room processed it. "Did you trademark it?" she asked, her voice deceptively quiet.
Cherie shook her head, regret plain on her face. "I wanted to, but I couldn't afford it, and then orders took off and I got so busy."
I knew exactly where she was coming from. I'd been in the same position. The only difference was that I'd eventually made time to protect my brand legally. A small mercy.
"Okay," I said. "Here's what I want you to take from tonight.
Every one of these tactics has been carried out in isolation.
To make each of you feel like you're dealing with something specific to you.
That's the point. In isolation, these stories amount to nothing more than an awful month.
Together, they're evidence of a coordinated campaign. "
Kelly turned her laptop around. She'd been typing while people talked, pulling each account into a timeline she'd been building earlier that week. Dates, businesses, tactics.
Seeing it laid out like that, in a single document, changed something in the room. The way it always changed something when you looked at everything at once.
"How do we fight it?" Angie asked. She'd been perched on the edge of her chair with the poise only a dancer could carry off. "Other than legally, that is," she added, reminding me she'd been a high-powered lawyer in a previous life.
"We stop fighting it one business at a time," I said. "That's what they're counting on. That we each handle our version of this separately, exhaust ourselves, and eventually decide the math doesn't work."
I looked around the circle again. At Skye, who'd lost a baker and was watching her remaining staff. At Bea with her folder of documentation. At Matthew, whose own photography had been used to make him look worse. At Cherie with her handwritten notes, and stolen logo.
"The Selective," I said. "That's what we're calling it. We bundle our services for weddings and corporate events. Create packages that showcase what makes us different from a national operation, because we are different in ways that matter to the people spending money on these events."
"What does 'different' look like on paper?" Bea asked.
Kelly took that one. "A wedding package through the Selective means Nadia's catering, flowers from The Daisy Chain, Cherie's custom gown with alterations included, Angie's first dance lessons, Skye's dessert bar, Matthew on photography and video, and whatever other services we can bundle.
One booking, one point of contact, one team that has worked together and knows how to do it. "
She clicked to a slide. "I've priced three comparable packages from Elevate's regional rate sheet, which their sales rep was kind enough to leave at Maddigan's hotel last month.
We can match them on price. We can't match them on everything else, but we don't have to.
Because everything else is what people actually remember. "
"The food your grandmother would have made," Skye said, almost to herself.
"The dress that actually fits," Cherie said. "Especially for curvy girls." She shook her head in a way that told me she'd seen some atrocities in her time.
"The first dance choreographed to suit their abilities," Angie said with feeling. "Not something pulled from social media where the bride and groom are professionals."
Then Bea asked, "What's our launch timeline?" and a chorus of voices backed her up.
Which was how I knew we had them.