Page 3 of Worth the Risk
I allow myself thirty seconds to fall apart—thirty seconds for tears, for shaking hands, for the crushing weight of failing Papa’s dying wish. The promise I made to protect his life’s work, and I couldn’t even get fifteen minutes to matter.
Then I wipe my eyes, straighten my shoulders, and start planning.
Highland Community Center survived twenty years in downtown LA. Economic downturns, natural disasters, the slow creep of gentrification. Papa built it to last, and I’ll be damned if I let some privileged CEO tear down what took him a lifetime to create.
It will survive Declan Pierce, too.
Even if part of me can’t stop thinking about the moment his composure cracked, or the way my name sounds in his voice, or the fact that for just an instant, I thought I saw something real beneath all that expensive armor.
Focus, Maya. Papa’s legacy is what matters.
But as the elevator carries me back to ground level, I can’t shake the feeling that this war just became a lot more complicated.
2
As soon asthe elevator doors close behind Maya Navarro, the silence in my office feels deafening.
Her final words echo in the space she’s vacated, each syllable cutting deeper than the rest.My father spent twenty years building something beautiful. You’ll destroy it in six weeks for luxury condos.
Eight hundred and forty-three families. The number sits on my chest like a stone.
I move to the windows overlooking downtown Los Angeles, pressing my palm against the cool glass as Maya’s accusations replay in my mind. Six months of silence. No transition assistance. No alternative programming locations. No support for families who’ve depended on Highland’s services for decades.
That can’t be right. Pierce Enterprises has protocols for community displacement—comprehensive transition programs I personally approved three years ago when I took over from my father. When we develop properties that house communityservices, we don’t just shut them down without offering alternatives. We’re not that kind of company.
Are we?
The thought sends ice through my veins. I’ve spent three years trying to modernize Pierce Enterprises, to move beyond my father’s more ruthless approaches to development. Community engagement initiatives, transition support programs, stakeholder communication protocols—I implemented all of it to ensure we weren’t the corporate bulldozer Maya clearly believes us to be.
But if Highland has been stonewalled for six months...
I press the intercom button. “Jessica, what transition support have we offered Highland Community Center since we informed them of the building’s demolition?”
There’s a pause—the kind that makes my chest tighten with dread. Jessica’s voice crackles through, hesitant. “I’ll need to check with Mr. Gordon’s office. He took over that file about six months ago.”
Harrison Gordon. My father’s former right-hand man, current Chairman of Pierce Enterprises’ board, the man who supposedly taught me everything about responsible development. The man who reports to me but somehow managed to control Highland’s case for six months without my knowledge.
“Get me everything,” I say, voice deceptively calm. “Every email, every letter, every phone log. And Jessica? Do it quietly.”
“Of course, Mr. Pierce.”
I end the call and return to the window, Los Angeles sprawling beneath me like a circuit board of ambition and brokenpromises. The afternoon light slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the pristine hardwood. Everything in this office speaks of control, of power carefully wielded, yet somehow Harrison has been operating completely outside my oversight.
Maya’s words circle my thoughts like vultures.Six months of being shuffled around and given the runaround while you people plan to destroy everything my father built.The fire in her dark eyes when she said it—deep brown with flecks of amber that caught the light—as they held mine without flinching. The way her voice cracked slightly when she spoke about her father’s dying wish, the promise she made to protect his legacy.
She’s beautiful, but not in the polished, predictable way of the society women who typically orbit my world. Maya Navarro has substance. Depth. The kind of passionate conviction that radiates from every gesture, every word, every defiant tilt of her chin when she faced me down in my own office.
When she spoke about Highland Community Center, about the families depending on its services, her entire being seemed to vibrate with purpose. Twenty-seven dollars and a dream that became a community center serving three thousand people. My father came to Los Angeles with considerably more capital, but the drive was the same—build something, leave a mark, create a legacy that would outlast the man who built it.
Highland’s entire annual operating budget is roughly $180,000 according to the financial documents my team compiled months ago. Less than what I spend on wine in a year, yet they’ve built something that’s lasted twenty years and serves thousands of people.
But if Harrison has been systematically ignoring their requests for basic communication...
My inbox fills with six months of correspondence—or rather, Highland’s increasingly desperate attempts at correspondence. Email after email from Maya and other board members, each one more carefully worded than the last. Professional inquiries about relocation assistance. Requests for meetings to discuss transition timelines. Proposals for temporary space during construction. Offers to work with Pierce Enterprises on community impact mitigation.
None of them answered. Not a single reply in six months.
I scroll through Maya’s messages, watching her tone evolve from hopeful to frustrated to grimly determined. Her early emails are almost apologetic, as if she’s afraid of taking up too much corporate time.I understand how busy your schedule must be, but when you have a moment, we’d love to discuss Highland’s future...Professional. Respectful. Patient.
