Chapter 9 - The Morning After the Gale
By 8:00 AM the following morning, the storm had finally broken over Chicago, replaced by a brilliant, cloudless sky that turned Lake Michigan into a vast sheet of glittering sapphire.
Outside the building on Michigan Avenue where Crestview Bakery had operated for ten years, a large moving van was parked at the curb.
A team of commercial contractors in hardhats was already at work on the facade, using heavy power tools to unbolt the green corporate signage. The gold letters of Crestview were dropped into a metal recycling bin with heavy, concussive clangs.
A small crowd of neighborhood locals and morning commuters had gathered on the sidewalk, watching in fascination as a private security team stood guard outside the locked glass doors.
A sleek black town car pulled up to the curb.
The door opened, and Emily Ward stepped out onto the wet pavement.
She wore a simple, elegant dark wool coat over a cream cashmere sweater, dark trousers, and sturdy leather boots. She wore no jewelry, save for the antique silver key hanging from a chain around her neck.
Beside her, Walter Vance stepped out, leaning lightly on his ash-wood cane, dressed in a warm tweed overcoat and a clean wool cap.
The contractors paused, their foreman stepping forward with a clipboard.
"Excuse me, ma'am," the foreman said politely. "This site is under a commercial lease transition. We have orders to clear the interior fixtures."
"I know," Emily smiled warmly. "I hold the lease."
She walked past the tape, unlocking the front glass door with a heavy brass key from her pocket, and stepped inside.
The bakery was silent. The floor had been swept clean of the broken inventory tablet; the counter was wiped down; and the trash can where Henderson had thrown the panini was gone.
Emily walked behind the counter, stopping right at the spot where her apron had been torn twelve hours earlier.
Walter walked slowly behind her, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floorboards.
"What are you going to do with this space, Emily?" Walter asked softly, looking around the empty room.
May you like
Emily ran her fingers over the cool quartz surface of the counter.
"We're opening a bakery," Emily said, turning to face him with a brilliant, luminous smile. "A real one. With an open kitchen, fair wages for every worker, and a table in the corner where anyone can sit, get warm, and eat a hot meal—whether they have fifty dollars in their pocket or seventy-seven cents."
