18. The Moment She Stands
Chapter eighteen
The Moment She Stands
Maya
Sunday morning, I woke up to a text from Emily Russell: "Island council moved the Sweetheart Week vendor presentation to this afternoon. Emergency session. Thought you should know."
I stared at the message, my stomach dropping. The vendor presentation wasn't supposed to happen until Tuesday. Moving it up forty-eight hours meant something had changed—and emergency sessions were never good news.
I called Emily immediately. "What's going on?"
"Some council members are concerned about the publicity from Friday's hearing." Emily's voice was careful, apologetic. "They're worried that association with the fraud case might reflect badly on Sweetheart Week. They want to review all vendor contracts before finalizing them."
"Translation: they want to reconsider giving me the contract because Ethan exposed fraud and now it's controversial."
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to." I closed my eyes, taking a breath. "What time is the presentation?"
"Three o'clock. Maya, I'm sorry. I pushed back, argued that you've earned this contract through years of excellent work. But the vote was eight to four to move it up and review everything."
After we hung up, I sat in my kitchen, staring at my coffee and processing the implications.
The Sweetheart Week vendor contract was worth thirty thousand dollars in revenue—money I'd counted on, money I'd built my financial projections around, money that would fund the expansion plans Ethan and I had mapped out.
Losing it because of association with the fraud case would be devastating. Not just financially, but professionally. It would send a message that fighting back against predatory investors made you controversial, unreliable, someone to avoid.
I pulled out my laptop and opened the business plan Ethan and I had built together. The projections, the growth strategies, the documentation of seven years of success. If the council wanted to review my qualifications, I'd give them qualifications they couldn't ignore.
My phone rang. Ethan, as if he'd sensed I needed him.
"Morning," I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You've seen the news?" He sounded tense.
"What news?"
"Two more articles came out overnight. One from the Seattle Times, one from a national legal journal. Both questioning whether I should face disbarment." He paused. "Maya, this is getting bigger. More public. More controversial. And that's going to reflect on you."
"I know. The island council just moved up the Sweetheart Week vendor presentation to this afternoon. Emergency session to review all contracts."
There was silence on the other end, then he said, "Because of association with me. With the case."
"Because some council members are worried about controversy.
" I opened the business plan, scrolling through pages we'd built together.
"But I'm not backing down. I earned this contract through seven years of excellent work.
They can review my qualifications all they want.
I'll show them exactly why Honey I looked like a serious businesswoman with credentials and accomplishments worth recognizing.
Tessa appeared at my door at 2:45, holding her car keys. "I'm driving you. No arguments."
"I can drive myself—"
"You're stressed, you're preparing in your head, and you shouldn't be navigating while distracted." She grabbed my laptop bag. "Come on. We're going to win this."
The island community center was more crowded than I'd expected for an emergency council session.
Not just council members, but community members were filling the gallery—the same people who'd celebrated Friday's victory at the coffee shop, the ones who'd watched Ethan expose fraud in that Friday Harbor courtroom.
Emily Russell caught my eye from her council seat, giving me a small, encouraging nod. But I also saw the skeptical expressions on other council members' faces—the ones who'd voted to move up this presentation, who viewed controversy as liability rather than principle.
"Ms. Romano." Tom Fletcher, the council president, gestured to the presentation podium.
"Thank you for coming on short notice. As you know, we're conducting an emergency review of Sweetheart Week vendor contracts in light of recent events.
We'd like to hear your presentation for the signature culinary vendor position. "
Recent events. Such a careful, neutral way to describe fraud exposure and legal battles.
I set up my laptop, connecting it to the projector with hands that were steadier than I felt. Then I pulled up the business plan—the one Ethan and I had built together, the one that documented everything I'd accomplished.
"Thank you for this opportunity," I began, my voice clear and professional. "I'm Maya Romano, owner and head pastry chef of Honey & Hearth Bakery. I'm here to present why my business is the ideal signature culinary vendor for Sweetheart Week."
I clicked to the first slide—my credentials, laid out in stark, impressive detail.
"I graduated top of my class from the Culinary Institute of America with a focus on pastry arts.
Following graduation, I completed a prestigious year-long internship at Pastéis de Belém in Lisbon, Portugal—one of the world's most renowned bakeries, famous for inventing pastéis de nata over two hundred years ago.
I was one of only three international students selected that year. "
I saw several council members sit up straighter, their expressions shifting from skeptical to interested.
"After completing my internship, I worked for four years in Seattle's competitive restaurant scene, rising from pastry commis to senior pastry chef at Canlis by age twenty-seven.
For those unfamiliar, Canlis is consistently ranked among the best restaurants in the Pacific Northwest. As senior pastry chef, I led a team of six, developed seasonal menus, and maintained the standards that earned Canlis multiple culinary awards. "
Click. Next slide—my decision to come home, framed as strategic choice rather than sacrifice.
"Seven years ago, I chose to return to Lopez Island and take over Honey & Hearth Bakery. Not because my Seattle career had failed, but because I saw an opportunity to bring world-class culinary technique to a family business with fifty years of tradition."
I pulled up the revenue graphs—the ones showing fourteen percent year-over-year growth, the tripling of revenue since I'd taken over.
"Since assuming ownership, I've transformed Honey & Hearth from a marginally profitable family operation to a thriving business with partnerships across the San Juan Islands.
We supply twelve restaurants, six hotels, and participate in eight farmers markets throughout the summer season.
Our Portuguese specialties—particularly the pastéis de nata—have become destination items, with tourists planning trips specifically to try them. "
I advanced to customer testimonials, reviews, and awards from regional food publications.
"We've been featured in Pacific Northwest Magazine, Seattle Met, and Island Living. We hold a five-star rating on every review platform. And we've built this success while maintaining the traditional recipes and values that have made Honey & Hearth a community institution for five generations."
Tom Fletcher leaned forward. "These are impressive credentials, Ms. Romano. But we're concerned about recent publicity. The fraud case, the courtroom testimony, the media coverage—some council members worry that association with controversy might overshadow Sweetheart Week's family-friendly image."
There it was. The real concern, finally spoken aloud.
I closed the laptop, setting it aside. This required looking directly at them, not hiding behind slides and data.
"Let me tell you a story," I said, my voice steady.
"Three weeks ago, I discovered that my family's business—a bakery that's served this community for fifty years—was being deliberately targeted by a mainland investment group.
They falsified property surveys. They manufactured legal complications.
They coordinated a campaign to create vulnerabilities they could exploit. "
I saw several council members shift uncomfortably.
"I had two choices. Accept the predatory sale offer and walk away with something. Or fight back, expose the fraud, and risk losing everything if I couldn't prove what they'd done." I met their eyes, one by one. "I chose to fight. And I'm not apologizing for that choice."
"But the controversy—" someone started.