Page 57 of Worth the Risk
“Financial advisor?”
“Legal team. If I’m going to buy Highland using Maya’s community land trust framework, I want to coordinate with her legal work, not override it.” I pick up my phone, scrolling through contacts. “This needs to be a true partnership from the beginning.”
Elliot’s grin is pure satisfaction. “Now you’re thinking like your grandfather.”
“I’m thinking like someone who learned what really matters from a woman who never stopped fighting for community preservation, even when it seemed hopeless.” I pause, considering the magnitude of what Maya has accomplished while I’ve been wallowing in corporate guilt. “Even if she never speaks to me again, Highland’s community deserves to benefit from the legal framework she’s created.”
“She’ll speak to you again,” Elliot says confidently. “Especially when she realizes you’re not just saving Highland—you’re honoring months of work she thought was pointless.”
Maybe. But even if Maya never forgives me for not thinking of this solution sooner, even if Highland’s restoration doesn’t bridge the gulf between us, buying Highland using her legal framework is still the right thing to do.
Some things matter more than romantic outcomes.
Some things are worth risking everything to protect.
And some partnerships are worth fighting for, even when you have to prove you deserve them.
17
The smellof coffee would permeate the air by now, Tita Sol unlocking the classrooms for morning ESL practice while asking me in her usual loud voice—she never did learn the art of an inside voice—about whether I’d eaten breakfast yet. Rosa would be arranging chairs in the main hall, humming old Filipino lullabies while Carlo tested the sound system and Mrs. Valdez claimed her favorite corner table for citizenship test review.
Instead, I stand alone in the empty main hall at 6 AM, watching the sunrise paint golden light across silent walls. In three hours, bulldozers will destroy not just this building, but every echo of the life that should be filling it right now—children’s laughter, whispered prayers of new citizens, the rhythm of traditional dances that kept culture alive in a city that forgets its roots.
Today is demolition day. Today, my father’s dream becomes dust.
My phone buzzes with a final email from Kemp & Associates, the community development law firm I hired two weeks ago.
Maya, all community land trust documentation has been finalized and filed with the city. Preliminary approvals are in place. Unfortunately, without the capital to purchase the property, we cannot proceed to implementation. We’re sorry we couldn’t help save Highland in time.
Two hundred thousand dollars. My father’s entire life insurance policy, spent on the best legal team in California for community land trust establishment. All of it useless without the fifteen to twenty million dollars needed to actually buy Highland from Pierce Enterprises.
I delete the email and slide my phone back into my pocket. The legal framework exists—sitting in some lawyer’s filing cabinet like a blueprint for a house that will never be built. If I’d had more time, more money, if I’d discovered community land trusts six months ago instead of after Pierce Enterprises’ board vote sealed Highland’s fate.
If, if, if.
“Maya, anak, you shouldn’t be here alone.” Rosa’s voice cuts through the morning silence. She’s standing in Highland’s doorway, her face etched with worry. Behind her, the parking lot is empty, surrounded by the chain-link fence Pierce Enterprises installed yesterday to keep people away from the demolition site.
“How did you get in?” I ask, though I’m grateful for her presence.
“Same way you did—through the gap behind the dumpster.” Rosa steps inside, closing the door behind her. “I saw your car from the street and knew you’d found a way inside. I couldn’t let you face this alone.”
“I needed to be here when the bulldozers come. I needed to be the last person to say goodbye.”
Rosa settles beside me on Highland’s worn wooden floor. “He would be proud of how you’ve fought for this place, anak. Even if we couldn’t save the building, you saved what matters most.”
“Did I?” The question comes out raw, honest. “Highland is about to become rubble, and I couldn’t stop it.”
Through Highland’s front windows, I can see the first news van pulling up across the street. Channel 7, probably here to document the demolition for a human-interest segment about community displacement in downtown LA.
“Have you heard anything from Declan?” Rosa asks quietly.
The question I’ve been dreading for three weeks. “He tried to call the first few days. I didn’t answer.” I pause, using the silence to rebuild emotional walls that threaten to crumble every time someone mentions his name. “Rosa, it doesn’t matter what Declan is doing. Highland’s programs are thriving in their new locations, the community is adapting beautifully, and we’ve proven that Highland’s value was never about this building.”
It’s true, practical, and completely inadequate for describing the way my chest aches every time I drive past Pierce Enterprises’ tower.
“Then trust me when I say that Alejandro would be proud of how you’ve led Highland through this crisis. But he would also want you to leave room in your heart for forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness for what? For not being able to save Highland?” I say. “Maybe this is just the way things work. You win some. You lose some.”And sometimes you try everything but it’s just not meant to be.
