Chapter 32
Denton
Chicago blurs past the windshield – gray slush, dirty snow piled high on sidewalks, pedestrians hunched against the wind. I’ve been driving around for hours trying to figure out what my next move is.
“Paul,” I say the second the line connects. “It’s Blake.”
“Denton?” Paul’s voice is smooth, professional, laced with the usual background hum of his busy office. “What’s up? You sound… tense. Everything okay with the Gold offer? We need to finalize?—”
“I need the name of a real estate litigator. A shark. Someone who rips people apart for breakfast and comes back for more.”
A beat of silence follows. I can practically hear the gears turning in Paul’s head. He’s used to me talking contracts, bonuses, endorsement deals. Not real estate litigation.
“Real estate?” Paul finally asks, cautious. “Denton, what’s going on? Is this about… that bakery situation?” His tone dips, implying he’s heard the rumors.
My jaw clenches.
“Yes. Taviani Holdings. Predatory buyout. Illegal pressure tactics. I need help with this. Fast.”
Another pause. Longer this time. I can picture Paul leaning back in his ergonomic chair, steepling his fingers. “Denton… this sounds complicated. Expensive. And this Taviani guy doesn’t seem willing to let up. Are you sure?—”
“I’m sure,” I cut in, my voice dropping low. “Can I get a name?”
He sighs. “Alright. Meredith Vance. Levy & Croft. She’s… formidable. Handles high-stakes commercial disputes. But she’s not cheap. You could easily spend your entire signing bonus on this.”
“Text me her contact info.”
I end the call before he can ask more. The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the thrum of the engine and the rhythmicthwap-thwapof the wipers clearing snow. That’s one piece in motion.
But it’s not enough. Not against an eviction notice ticking down like a game clock in the final period.
At the next light, I find my contact for Finch Advisory and hit call.
Benjamin Finch answers on the second ring. “Mr. Blake. Good to hear from you. How’s the shoulder holding up after that hit against Vancouver?” His voice is warm, polished, the practiced ease of a man who manages obscene wealth without breaking a sweat.
“Fine, Ben. Listen, I need you to run some numbers for me.” I weave through traffic. “Commercial real estate valuation for a specific block in Wicker Park. Current market rate, potential redevelopment upside. And… a specific valuation for a standalone retail property on that block. Bakery called Sugar Rush.”
“Sugar Rush?” Ben’s tone shifts, a note of professional curiosity replacing the pleasantries. “Interesting choice. Primelocation, but small footprint. I believe that’s where the ‘Village Square’ project is going. You thinking of investing?”
“Thinking leverage,” I clarify, pulling into the underground garage of my building. The tires squeak slightly on the smooth concrete. “I need the highest defensible valuation for theentire blockas a unified parcel. And a separate valuation for just the bakery.”
“You want the bakery to look like the crown jewel, worth fighting for. And the whole block… you’re thinking consortium?”
The man’s sharp. “Exactly. A community land trust model. Non-profit ownership structure. Long-term leases for existing tenants at stabilized rates. I need the financials to make it look like a better investment for the developer, Taviani, than his soulless condo boxes. Or at least, a PR nightmare if he refuses.”
Ben whistles softly. “Ambitious. And expensive. You’re talking significant capital to anchor this. Eight figures, easily, just to make Taviani blink.”
“I’ll anchor it. But I need other investors. Deep pockets who care about Chicago, hate predatory developers, or just want a tax write-off with good optics.” I park the car and turn off the engine.
“Okay,” Ben says. I hear the rapid clack of keys on the other end. “Let me work the numbers. The valuation angle is smart – hit Taviani where he lives, his profit margin. I’ll have preliminary figures and a target investor list by… say, 3 PM?”
We end the call and I feel better than I have all day.
My apartment is silent. Mom took Tabby out, a desperate attempt at distraction.
I head straight for the sleek, minimalist desk in the corner of the living room that serves as my home office. I open the laptop and start a new document. My mind races, mapping plays, anticipating counters.
Leverage.Meredith Vance will find it. Legal pressure. Code violations, environmental issues, undisclosed liens – Taviani’s empire must have cracks.
