Chapter 26 Devon
DEVON
Thursday arrives, and I spend most of the morning puking up from nerves.
When my lawyer was handling everything, the fight for the bakery seemed much less intimidating, but today is decision day.
I have to stand in front of a judge with my lawyer by my side and lay out my case, hoping they will take my side.
“You ready?” My family lawyer, Augustus, stands by my side with a briefcase in one hand and a mountain of papers under the other arm.
“No,” I say hoarsely. “I can’t move.”
“I know it seems scary.” He chuckles. “Your father used to always have a shot of whiskey at the bar around the corner before he faced down any judge.”
I meet Augustus’s twinkling eyes, blind to all the other well-dressed people hurrying around us. “My father?”
“Mmhmm. Back when you were about ye high.”
He attempts to indicate with one hand. “A few frivolous lawsuits from unhappy customers back in his ice hockey days.”
“He never said anything.”
“It was a long time ago. But we have two minutes if you think you can run to the bar and back in time.”
His warm smile grows, and it’s difficult not to be affected.
“No. It’s alright. I’ll be fine. I think,” I say as my phone vibrates against my hip.
Pulling it free, several texts from Kairo and Martin light up the screen.
[KAIRO] Knock ‘em dead.
[KAIRO] Only not literally.
[KAIRO] Although could you?
[KAIRO] Death by cake has to be a valid way to deal with something like this.
[KAIRO] and if they eat the evidence, is it really a crime?
[KAIRO] I’d still visit you in prison.
[KAIRO] In all seriousness, I believe in you. You have a great case.
[MARTIN] Please text him as soon as it’s over because he won’t stop talking about ways to deal with the judge if this fails, and I’m not sure of the rules on reporting one’s employer for planned manslaughter.
There are a few texts from my parents and even my friends, which all lift my spirits until my name is called by a pursed-lip woman in a grey pencil skirt and more wrinkles than a ruffle cake.
My heart plummets into my gut.
Showtime.
Inside the courtroom is nothing like I expect.
I spent all night worrying about rows of people staring at me, jurors who would judge me for how I looked or how I spoke, even people being health fanatics and deciding cakes are too unhealthy, so who cares about a bakery?
It’s nothing like that at all.
The judge still sits up on the altar like any courtroom, but there’s no crowd and no jury.
Only two small, square tables are present, with my lawyer standing at one and the other remaining vacant.
Several officers of the court linger near the doors and one stands between the tables and the judge.
All in all, it’s much smaller and more intimate than I feared.
“Please state your name for the court,” says the officer standing at my table.
“Devon Miller.”
“Augustus Cardiff.”
“Who are we waiting for?” says the judge without looking up.
“A representative from Silver Canopy, your honor,” pipes up a stressed-looking man in a slightly rumpled black suit.
He clutches a host of papers in one hand while thumbing through his phone. “They should be here soon.”
“I have a lot to get through today, Mr. Donovan. Where are they?” the judge drawls, still not looking up from whatever they are writing in front of them.
“They’re coming,” Mr. Donovan says hurriedly, glaring down at his phone. “They should be.”
“Two minutes,” says the judge. “Then we start.”
Augustus glances at me with an encouraging smile.
“Deep breaths,” he murmurs.
Deep breaths don’t work.
I feel sick.
My stomach is folding itself inside out while my intestines wrap and writhe around one another, amplifying the nauseating sensation.
My heart pounds so fast that the back of my teeth ache and pressure builds in my skull behind my eyes.
I’m so nervous, I’m either going to throw up or pass out.
It’s the longest two minutes of my life.
“Alright, let’s proceed.” The judge finally looks up. “Silver Canopy versus Just A Sweet Thing,” she recites. “With Silver Canopy running late to represent themselves, the floor is yours, Mr. Cardiff.”
Augustus steps around the table, papers in hand, and smiles.
Most of what he says is beyond me.
Despite the late nights I spent poring over documents, the exact legality of this case isn’t something I’ve been able to grasp.
On the outside, Just A Sweet Thing has been in my family and on that spot for generations with only two name changes in its life.
That immediately gives us a specific claim on the land rights swiped out from under us years ago by Silver Canopy, a deal that Augustus highlights as very underhanded and frankly illegal in some regards.
The judge is inclined to agree.
Then it’s my turn.
My hands tremble violently.
My heart pounds and shakes my voice with each word I force past my lips, but I do it.
I talk about the joy the bakery brings, the awards we’ve won, and even the work we’ve done in maintaining the building, even when it wasn’t our responsibility.
I discuss the eye-watering rent increase and the stress it has caused me and my parents, as well as the low offers from Silver Canopy intended to trick us into selling.
I’m scolded a few times for speaking on pure emotions rather than impact but by the time I’m finished, I’m somewhat calmer.
I’ve crossed the point of stressed and made it to some peaceful place on the other side.
“Still no representative from Silver Canopy?” The judge fixes Mr. Donovan with a piercing stare and despite the phone in his hand, he shakes his head.
“No, your honor. There’s no one.”
“Interesting.” The judge scribbles something down in front of her and sighs. “You’ve presented a strong case, Mr. Cardiff. Miss Miller?”
“Y–Yes, your honor?”
“It’s clear the cultural significance of your bakery is far more impactful than this court was originally led to believe, as is how long your family has resided within that building. I’m noting Silver Canopy as no contest in this matter.”
I glance hastily between the judge and Augustus.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
“It means,” the judge continues, having apparently heard my whisper, “that with no defense from Silver Canopy in regard to the land deal several years ago or the importance of their current business, the land your bakery is situated on is yours. I’m also granting your family six months’ back-paid rent from the landlord to compensate for the landlord’s unjustified cost increases. Do you understand, Miss Miller?”
I stare at her with wide eyes, unsure if I’m hearing correctly.
“I think so?”
“Mr. Cardiff, perhaps you can explain it to your client. Case closed.”
The gavel clacks down so hard that I jump while facing Augustus who beams at me.
“You won. No contest. The land is yours. The building is yours. You won, Devon. Do you understand? You won!”
Outside, the city of New York has never smelled so crisp.
The air is cool, the aroma of coffee and hot dogs from a nearby cart warms my lungs, and a weight is gone from my shoulders.
We won.
I almost can’t believe it.
“Do you want a lift home?” Augustus stands next to me, smiling.
“No, a friend is taking me, but I appreciate it. Thank you, Augustus. For everything.”
Drawing him into a brief hug, I cuddle him tightly for a few seconds and then step away. “I can’t wait to tell my parents.”
“Will you call them?”
I nod. “I will. Thank you.”
“Take care, Devon.” He waves, and I watch him hurry down the steps with his papers and briefcase clutched just as tightly as they were before the trial.
I call Mom first.
She’s so over the moon that she can barely speak and Dad takes over the call to tell me how excited and proud of me he is.
Through the excitement, they manage to remind me that the hospital called and they can fit me in tomorrow to get my cast removed.
As much of a hindrance as this has been, I’ll almost miss it.
As the call ends, a black car pulls up in front of the courthouse and Martin steps out just as I dial Kairo’s number.
“Is it good news?” he asks as soon as the call connects.
“The best news.” The smile on my face is not shifting. “I feel like I’ve been unable to breathe for the past six months and that weight is finally gone.”
“I’m proud of you, Devon,” Kairo says and his words hit differently than my parents’. Warmth builds behind my eyes and I stop walking toward the car.
“I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Technically, you wouldn’t have had to without me,” he jokes softly. “But I understand what you mean. I’m glad I could help.”
“No one turned up. The judge was confused.”
Kairo tuts softly. “Silver Canopy just doesn’t know how to tackle problems, I guess.”
I have no idea what he did or how he pulled this off, but I’m grateful. “Thank you.”
“Martin will take you home,” Kairo says. “Do you still want to join me on Saturday?”
“A fancy party where I can relax for the first time in weeks? Hell yes.”
“Alright, I’ll see you then. Take care, Devon. And let me know when you get home safe.”
“I will do.”
The call ends, and I approach the car while Martin holds the door open. “Home?” he asks.
I hesitate and glance up the street, then catch Martin’s curious gaze. “Actually… this party on Saturday.”
“Mmhmm?”
“How fancy is it?”
Martin winces. “I’ve worked with Kairo for over ten years and I still feel underdressed.”
Pressing my lips together, I nod slowly.
“But,” Martin adds quickly, “I think I know just the place that can help you, if a dress is what you’re looking for?”
“Could you?” My brow lifts. “I don’t want to embarrass Kairo.”
“You could never,” Martin assures me with a smile. “But yes, I know the perfect place.”