10. Public Scrutiny
Chapter ten
Public Scrutiny
Maya
"You look terrible," I said, holding the door open.
"Thanks. You look great, too." He handed me the coffee—large oat milk latte, exactly how I liked it. "We need to talk about the Friday Harbor trip. And about what happened yesterday with my firm."
I'd been thinking about that all night. About Ethan telling his boss he was reporting them for fraud.
About him choosing to do the right thing even though it would cost him his career.
About the look on his face through the video chat—determined, almost relieved, like he'd finally made a decision he could live with.
"You really did it," I said quietly. "You quit."
"I didn't quit. I got fired." He took a long drink of his coffee. "Marcus called me at midnight, very officially informed me that my partnership was terminated effective immediately, and that the firm would be pursuing disciplinary action with the state bar for breach of client confidentiality."
My stomach dropped. "Can they do that?"
"They can try. I documented everything before I told them, made copies of all the evidence of fraud. If they come after me, I'll bury them." His voice was cold, professional. "But yes, my legal career is probably over."
"Because of me." The guilt sat heavy in my chest. "Because you were trying to help me."
"Because I was trying to be someone better than who I'd become." Ethan met my eyes. "This isn't on you, Maya. This is on me for spending five years not asking the right questions about how my firm operated."
Tessa breezed in at 7 AM, took one look at both of us, and immediately poured herself a large coffee. "Jeez, what happened? You both look like someone died. You didn’t fake break-up, did you?”
"Ethan's firm fired him for reporting fraud," I said.
Tessa's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"
"Seriously." Ethan pulled out his tablet. "But the motion to dismiss is ready to file. We just need to get to Friday Harbor today to submit it before the county clerk closes at 4 PM."
"Today?" I looked at the schedule board on the wall—Wednesday was always busy, with morning rush and afternoon prep for Thursday's farmers market delivery. "I can't just leave for the day—"
"I've got this." Tessa waved her hand. "Go file your legal documents. Save the bakery. I'll handle the bread. It’s not like you just hired me for my stunning good looks.”
"Tessa—"
"Maya." Her voice was firm. "You've been fighting this battle alone for seven years. Let your fake boyfriend actually help you for once."
The words hung in the air. Fake boyfriend. Except Ethan had just sacrificed his entire career to protect my bakery, and that didn't feel fake at all.
"Okay," I said finally. "Let me change into something court-appropriate."
Forty-five minutes later, I was sitting in Ethan's Mercedes, watching Lopez Island disappear behind us as we drove toward the ferry terminal. I'd changed into dark slacks and a white blouse. Ethan had changed too, back into his lawyer uniform: pressed suit, crisp shirt, tie.
“We need to meet with Richard Sterling first,” Ethan said, navigating the island’s winding roads with easy confidence. “Since he agreed to take your case, he’s now your attorney of record. That means he’ll need to approve and sign the motion before we can file it.”
"Will he?" I fidgeted with my phone. "Sign off, I mean. He might not want to get involved in accusing another law firm of fraud."
"He'll sign." Ethan's voice was certain. "Richard doesn't tolerate ethical violations. And he cares about this community. He'll do the right thing."
I hoped he was right.
The ferry ride to Friday Harbor took forty-five minutes. We stood on the deck, watching the San Juan Islands slide past, the morning sun turning the water silver. A few locals gave us curious looks—the mainland lawyer and the local baker, clearly together, clearly serious about something.
"People are staring," I said quietly.
"Let them." Ethan's hand found mine, his fingers threading through my fingers in a gesture that was becoming familiar. "We're supposed to be dating, remember? This is what couples do."
"Right. The arrangement." But my hand felt warm in his, and I didn't want to pull away.
We drove to Richard Sterling's office in Friday Harbor, a small building near the marina. Richard's secretary—a cheerful woman in her sixties named Patricia—ushered us into his office immediately.
Richard stood when we entered, his silver hair catching the morning light from the windows. He looked between us with sharp, assessing eyes.
"Maya. Ethan. I hear you have something urgent to discuss." He gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "Please, sit."
Ethan pulled out his tablet and launched into an explanation of what he'd found: the falsified survey, the payments to Hutchins, the email chain proving my firm had orchestrated the entire campaign. He presented each piece of evidence methodically, building the case layer by layer.
I watched Richard's face shift from curiosity to shock to cold fury.
"They falsified a legal survey," Richard said quietly when Ethan finished. "And used it to extort a sale."
"Yes." Ethan pulled up the motion to dismiss. "This motion lays out the fraud, includes the evidence, and requests dismissal with prejudice. But I need your signature as attorney of record."
Richard was silent for a long moment, studying the documents on the tablet. Then he looked at me.
"Maya, I have to ask. Are you certain you want to pursue this? If we file this motion, we're accusing a mainland law firm and a local landowner of criminal fraud. It will get ugly. There will be depositions, maybe a criminal investigation. Are you prepared for that fight?"
"Yes." My voice came out steady, certain. "They tried to steal my family's legacy. I'm prepared to fight."
Richard studied me, and I saw something flicker in his expression—doubt, maybe. Or concern.
"You understand this isn't just about being angry," he said carefully.
"This requires strategy, careful planning, emotional control.
Business litigation is complex, and opposing counsel will use every tool they have to discredit you.
They'll paint you as an emotional small-town girl who’s in over her head, someone who doesn't understand modern business realities—"
"Excuse me?" The words came out sharper than I intended.
"I graduated top of my class from CIA. I was senior pastry chef at Canlis by age twenty-seven.
I've tripled this bakery's revenue in seven years while navigating permit issues, property disputes, and every obstacle your generation of lawyers has thrown at me.
I'm not some emotional little girl, Mr. Sterling.
I'm a businesswoman who knows exactly what she's doing. "
Richard blinked, clearly surprised by the outburst. "I didn't mean to suggest—"
"Yes, you did." I stood, my hands clenched at my sides.
"You looked at me and saw someone too emotional to handle business litigation.
Because I'm young, or because I'm a woman, or because I bake bread instead of practicing law.
But I'm not asking for your permission to fight for my bakery.
I'm asking you to do your job and sign the motion. "
Ethan stood, moving to stand beside me. "She's not emotional. She's strategic. She's not in over her head. She's been swimming in deeper waters than this for years. And she's not someone who needs protection. She's someone who deserves respect."
My throat tightened. I'd defended my own credentials a thousand times—to my mother, to Marcus in Seattle, to every person who'd questioned my decision to come home. But no one had ever defended me with such fierce certainty.
He saw me. Completely. And he valued what he saw.
Richard's expression had shifted from surprise to something that looked like shame. "You're absolutely right. Both of you. I apologize, Maya. That was condescending and inappropriate."
He picked up a pen and signed the motion with a swift, decisive stroke.
“Let’s file this and take them down.”
The county clerk's office was busy —property transfers, business licenses, permit applications. We stood in line for twenty minutes, Ethan holding the motion documents with care.
When we finally reached the counter, the clerk—a middle-aged woman with reading glasses on a chain—reviewed the motion with practiced efficiency.
"Motion to dismiss with prejudice, alleging fraud and extortion." She stamped it with official finality. "This will be sent to the judge for review. You should hear back within five business days."
"Five days?" My voice rose slightly. "But the sale deadline is in less than three weeks—"
"Maya." Ethan's hand touched my elbow gently. "Five days is actually fast for the court system. We'll be fine."
Outside the county building, I let myself breathe for the first time in hours. The motion was filed. The evidence was submitted. The fight was official.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For what you said to Richard. You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." Ethan's blue eyes met mine. "He was dismissing you. And you deserve better than that. You deserve to be seen for who you actually are."
“So, you meant all that? You weren’t just saying it so he’d take the case more seriously?”
“Of course not. You’ve built something remarkable despite every obstacle thrown at you. You're exactly the kind of person who succeeds, not because things are easy, but because you refuse to give up even when they're impossible."
My heart was pounding. We were standing on a Friday Harbor street corner, other people walking past, going about their normal lives. But I felt like we were completely alone.
"This is starting to feel less fake," I whispered.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "I know."
"We said no real feelings. That was the rule."
"I know," he repeated, and his hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone with heartbreaking gentleness. "But I'm starting to think that rule was stupid."
I leaned into his touch without meaning to, my eyes closing. This was dangerous. This was breaking every boundary we'd established. This was—
“I should get back to the bakery. I love Tessa, but I don’t trust her alone in there for any length of time. I’ll see you at the beach cleanup.” I turned and walked away from him before he could respond.
The fake dating arrangement had become very, very real.
And I had no idea what to do about it.