Page 109 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“And no one’s stopped him?”
“Individual victims don’t have enough resources to pursue legal action,” Jessica explains. “But a coordinated effort from multiple communities? That’s different.”
Mrs. Hensley’s smile turns fierce. “We’re not just protecting Michelle. We’re taking down a predator who’s been using small towns as his personal hunting ground.”
“What do you need from me?”
“We need you to convince Michelle to trust the plan instead of trying to handle Norris alone. And we need you to figure out what you’re doing with your investors.”
The reminder of my deadline hits like cold water. “The investors are meeting this evening to decide whether to keep Reed Development Corp. on the project. David’s been positioning himself as a consultant who can solve their community complications.”
“By replacing you with a person who promises fewer relationship dramas,” Jessica finishes. “Michelle told us about David’s calls to your investors.”
“How did she?—”
“Small towns have excellent communication networks,” Mrs. Hensley observes. “The question is: what are you going to tell them?”
I look at the documents spread across the table, evidence of David’s systematic destruction of communities just like Twin Waves. Evidence that Michelle’s grants aren’t complications—they’re protection against exactly the kind of predatory development that destroys places instead of building them up.
“I’m going to tell them that Michelle Lawson’s preservation funding is exactly what makes this project worth building. And if they can’t see that, they can find another developer.”
Mrs. Hensley’s smile could power municipal lighting. “Good answer. Now let’s go convince Michelle to let us save her business and her love life simultaneously.”
“Does she know I’m here?”
“She knows you left her a voicemail promising to explain everything. She also knows you’ve been gone for two days without explaining anything.” Jessica’s expression turns serious. “Grayson, she’s holding herself together through sheer stubbornness, but she’s terrified. Of David, of losing everything again, of trusting you and getting her heart broken.”
“What if she won’t listen?”
“Then you better find words that matter more than your fears,” Mrs. Hensley says, already gathering her intelligencefiles. “Because in one hour, Channel 7 is going to ask Michelle about federal grant compliance, and she’s planning to face those questions alone.”
“Not anymore,” I say, finally understanding what I should have realized two days ago. “She’s not facing anything alone ever again.”
TWENTY-THREE
MICHELLE
The Channel 7 news van sits in Twin Waves Brewing’s parking lot. Through my apartment window, the crew sets up equipment while my stomach churns. In thirty minutes, I’ll be defending my federal grants on live television while David circles like a predator.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror shows a woman trying too hard to look composed. The navy blazer is professional, the pearl earrings suggest competence, and the carefully applied makeup conceals two days of sleep deprivation and heartbreak. I look like a girl who has everything under control.
If only that were true.
My phone buzzes.
David:Channel 7 loves investigating financial irregularities. Make sure your answers are consistent with your grant applications.
The threat is clear—he has copies of my grant documents. Documents that detail every aspect of the preservation project, including Grayson’s role. Documents that could be twisted into evidence of financial impropriety if David decides to make trouble.
I check my makeup one final time, gathering the professional armor that has protected me through five years of rebuilding my life after David destroyed it the first time. This time, the stakes are higher. This time, I’m not just protecting my business—I’m protecting everything Grayson and I built together.
Even though he’s not here to see it defended.
The walk from my apartment to the coffee shop downstairs feels endless. Mrs. Hensley waits by the front door with Jessica, both women radiating protective energy.
“Honey, you look beautiful,” Mrs. Hensley announces, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my blazer. “Professional and confident.”
“I feel like I’m about to be sick.”
