9. Discovery #2
From: Marcus Campbell To: Investment Group Partners Subject: Lopez Island Opportunity
The Romano property is viable but owner is resistant to sale. Recommend applying strategic pressure through permit complications and boundary disputes. Local consultant (Hutchins) is positioned to create necessary leverage. Timeline: 6-8 months to force sale.
Legal review confirms strategy is within acceptable risk parameters.
I read the email three times, my hands shaking with rage.
They'd planned this. My boss, my firm, the people I'd built my career with—they'd deliberately targeted Maya's bakery and orchestrated a campaign to destroy her.
And they'd called it acceptable risk parameters.
My phone rang. Marcus Campbell. As if he knew I'd just discovered his email.
I let it go to voicemail.
It rang again immediately.
I answered. “What?"
"“Good morning to you, too." Marcus's voice was cheerful, unbothered. "I've been trying to reach you. The investment group is very pleased with your progress on Lopez Island. They want to accelerate the timeline—"
"I know about the falsified survey." The words came out cold, controlled. "I know about the payments to Hutchins. I know you deliberately manufactured the legal complications at Honey & Hearth."
Silence on the other end.
"That's a serious accusation, Ethan."
"It's a fact. I have the documentation. The email chain. The payment records. The surveyor's notes showing the baseline was adjusted per client specification." I was pacing now, too angry to sit still. "You committed fraud, Marcus. Criminal fraud. And you used my firm to do it."
"We used standard acquisition strategies to identify and exploit market vulnerabilities. That's what we do, Ethan. That's what you've done on a dozen other projects."
"I've never falsified legal documents—"
"You've never asked what other firms did to create the vulnerabilities you exploited," Marcus cut in, his voice sharp now. "Don't pretend you're shocked by how the sausage is made. You've been eating it for five years."
The words hit like a physical blow. "I'm filing a motion to dismiss the case. And I'm reporting the fraud to the state bar."
"If you do that, you're done. Not just with this firm—with every firm in Seattle. I'll make sure of it." Marcus's voice was ice. "You'll be unhirable, Ethan. Blacklisted. Everything you've built will disappear."
"Then it disappears." I was surprised by how calm I sounded. "I'd rather lose my career than be part of this."
"Really? Because without this firm, without your reputation, you're nothing."
"Maybe." I thought about Manuel Romano's words from twenty years ago: Building is better than destroying. "But at least I'll be able to look at myself in the mirror."
I hung up.
My phone immediately started buzzing with calls, texts, emails. Marcus. Other partners. The investment group's lawyers. All of them demanding I call back, reconsider, think about my future.
I turned off my phone.
Then I called Maya from my laptop using a video chat app.
She answered on the second ring, her face appearing on screen. She was in the bakery office, surrounded by paperwork. "Ethan? What's wrong?"
"Everything." I ran my hand through my hair. "My firm orchestrated the entire campaign against your bakery. The falsified survey, the permit complications, all of it. They planned to force you into selling through manufactured legal pressure. And I just told my boss I'm reporting them for fraud."
Maya was silent for a long moment. "Which means?"
"Which means I'm probably about to lose my law license. And definitely about to lose my career." I laughed, the sound bitter. "But the motion to dismiss is almost done. I'll file it this afternoon. Your bakery is safe, Maya. That's what matters."
"Ethan—" Her voice was soft, careful. "You didn't have to do that. You could have just... helped me quietly. Let the fraud slide. Protected yourself."
"No, I couldn't." I met her eyes through the screen. "Because that would make me exactly the person my father was. Someone who puts self-interest above everything else. Someone who destroys things and I want to finally build something."
Something shifted in her expression—understanding, maybe. Or respect. "What happens now?"
"Now I finish the motion, file it in Friday Harbor, and watch my career implode." I tried to smile. "Want to come with me? Might be your last chance to see me before I'm un employable."
"That's not funny."
"I know." I looked at her face on the screen, at the worry in her honey-brown eyes. "But I meant what I said at the farmers market. Thank you for giving me a chance. Even if it was fake."
“Ethan—" The image of her froze, and her voice became disjointed.
“Maya, I can’t—”
Her picture on screen went black, as the connection was cut off. I stared at the blank screen for a long moment, then started packing. Friday Harbor, motion filing, career implosion. In that order.
My phone—still off—sat on the desk like a bomb waiting to explode.
I'd just declared war on my own firm.
And for the first time in twenty years, I felt like maybe I was finally becoming someone Manuel Romano would be proud of.
Even if it cost me everything.