Chapter 6. Don’t You Dare Stand in the Way of Progress
Don’t You Dare Stand in the Way of Progress
Nicole was serving a customer when I walked into the yarn store after the briefing with Rob. “Oh, you’re back.” She quickly looked up from the register. “A courier just delivered a letter for you. It’s in the office.”
I thanked her and went into the tiny office at the back of the store.
It still had my grandmother’s touch all over it: On the wall were her framed economics degree from Universitas Indonesia and a large cross-stitch piece depicting the sunrise at Mount Bromo, one of the most active volcanoes in East Java.
On her desk were a framed photo of her, Opa, and me, taken the day I graduated from college; the large yellow mug she used as a pen holder next to it; and her old monitor screen rounding out the ensemble.
I’d been using my laptop to keep the books for the store, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of Oma’s ancient computer just yet.
My attention immediately caught on the large brown envelope on the desk, covering Oma’s old keyboard. I tore it open, and my eyes got increasingly wider as I read the contents.
It was a letter from Goodwin Property Group, the property giant that owned Port Benedict Plaza and a few of the storefronts on our strip, expressing an interest in purchasing our shop.
The letter explained that Goodwin was in the process of buying all the stores in our precinct, with a view to tear them down and build a multipurpose high-rise building in their place, that would home a boutique hotel, luxury apartments, and prestigious office spaces.
They had just finished a revamp of Port Benedict Plaza a few months ago, and by buying all of us out, they were hoping to bring our strip of shops in line with the modern aesthetics of the Plaza.
It was apparently a collaboration between Goodwin and the local government, as part of the Port Benedict Urban Renewal Project, which aimed to beautify the city.
There was another line or two about progress and moving toward a better future, but I was already too baffled to register the words.
The legend on the street was that this area had started off as a tiny cluster of shops many years ago, slowly growing larger, until Goodwin bought the vacant land behind our strip of shops and built a massive shopping center around a decade ago.
It had provided thousands of new jobs, brought lots of international big-name brands into the city, and turned Port Benedict Plaza into the premier shopping and lifestyle destination that it was known as today.
Our quiet precinct at the back of the Plaza was left untouched, so all the shops still retained the old brick buildings, keeping our quaint, charming, rustic vibe.
It was common knowledge that in the past year or so, whenever there was a shop front on our strip that had gone up for sale, Goodwin had been quick to snap up the property, and now I knew why—this had been their plan the entire time.
The letter was quick to assure that Goodwin was willing to buy our property at 15 percent above the market price, and the project wasn’t expected to start until early next year, so it should, according to the letter, give business owners ample time to plan their next move.
Next move?
There was no next move, because I wasn’t even going to consider the offer.
This wasn’t in the plan. The plan was for me to inherit the yarn store and continue running it, so I could keep my grandmother’s legacy alive and earn enough money to help Opa with his medical expenses.
The plan was not for some big property developer to buy and demolish the place that had been here my entire life and rebuild it into an ugly, soulless high-rise devoid of any charm or personality while destroying my grandmother’s hard work and memories in the process.
Nope. I wasn’t selling, and that was that.
I was about to crumple the letter and toss it into the trash when my phone vibrated, and Ellie’s number flashed on the screen.
“Kim! Did you get the letter from Goodwin? Tell me you’re not thinking of selling.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not.”
“Good. My landlord isn’t selling, either. But Selma told me the antique store owner next to her bookshop is planning to sell. He’s retiring, and Goodwin’s offer was too good to turn down. He said he’d be a fool to say no.”
“That’s not good.” My hands tightened around my phone. “He might not be the only one thinking of accepting the offer.”
“I don’t blame him, though,” Ellie said.
“Ever since they renovated the Plaza, I’ve heard some store owners complaining that things have been quieter.
I’m sure there are others who are thinking of selling.
And the businesses renting their shops from Goodwin won’t have a say.
They’ll have no choice but to relocate elsewhere. ”
And if the majority of the owners caved in and accepted the offer, it would back me into a corner and I might eventually be forced to sell, too.
“Didn’t Alec have some business dealings with Goodwin last year?” I asked. “Is there any way he can help?”
“He did. Alec knows the owner pretty well. I’ve met her a few times, and she’s lovely. I’ll see if we can reach out to her and talk about this.”
“Let’s do that. We should also set up a meeting with other businesses in the area,” I said. “We can’t be the only ones worried about this. See if anyone has any thoughts on how to tackle this problem.”
“Good idea. The more people in the community are involved, the better.”
We hung up after a few minutes, but something she said gave me a spark of an idea.
I flipped open my laptop and got to work. I had to do a bit of research before trying to get the other shop owners on board with my idea.
Because there was no way I was letting Oma’s legacy be taken from me without a fight.