But thoughts of Benny fade away the moment I hear Theresa’s announcement. “The Pancake Circus franchise deal has hit a wrinkle. More than a wrinkle. A wall.”
Theresa’s eyes seem to be looking right into the camera. I feel like she’s staring directly at me. She shakes her head. “It’s not the first time this has happened with a deal, but it is the first time this has come up on one of your deals, Willow.”
My stomach sinks even lower, like a stale biscuit dropping to the bottom of an empty trash bin. I swallow against the sour taste in my mouth and nod. “Okay,” I say. “What happened? What can I do?”
Theresa explains that the granddaughter who’d wanted to open the Ohio location wants out.
“Out?” I shake my head. “The deal has been signed. We’ve broken ground on the renovation. We’re three weeks into the build-out. There’s no getting out of this deal.”
Theresa sighs. “I know. Our lawyers are swapping letters, so for now, no changes. Business as usual. But I wanted you to have a heads-up.” She runs a hand down her cheek, her expression a little sad. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this amicably, but their lawyers have told me that whatever is going on in Florida is serious enough that the family is considering filing suit.”
“A lawsuit? Against us?” I shake my head. “They can’t do that. On what basis? What about the mediation provision?”
Our contracts take years to conclude, and every single one includes a long dispute resolution provision. Before anyone can sue anyone, everyone who is party to the agreement is bound to first try mediating the issues, which is basically a much less expensive process that would avoid the hundreds of thousands in legal fees and years of delays that a lawsuit would involve.
“I know that, Willow.” Theresa sounds tired. “They must be incredibly upset to already be talking litigation.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I was involved in every phone call, every Zoom meeting, every on-site visit with the family. They wanted this secondlocation. We didn’t put pressure on them. For God’s sake, they came to us.”
“Willow.” Theresa shakes her head and rubs a weary hand across her brow. “I know that. You didn’t do anything wrong. Something has happened, and…” She sighs. “Rather than calling us, they ran to their lawyers.”
“Have you called them?” I ask. “Voice to voice, to ask what’s going on?” I already know the answer to this question, but I want to know if Theresa even tried.
“I can’t call them now. You know that I can’t.” Theresa again shakes her head.
If the family has already retained a lawyer, it would be unethical for someone from Culinary Capital to speak to them directly.
If Theresa wants to contact them, the only thing she can do now is go through their attorneys.
“And we have no idea what changed? Why, all of a sudden, they just want out?” Acid is burning in my stomach, and I am half tempted to take myself off camera and go find some antacids.
If a lawsuit is filed, the first thing that will happen is the Pancake Circus family, the Kincades, will file an emergency injunction. That will stop us from building or spending any money or moving forward in any way on the second location. I know that because it’s happened to Culinary Creations exactly two times in the years I’ve worked here. Just never on a project that I was responsible for.
“I’ll share more when I know more,” she says, nodding. “I’m going to excuse myself for my next meeting, but Willow, I’ve asked their attorney to provide a formal demand letter explaining exactly what they want within two weeks. I’ll keep you posted.”
“And what should I do in the meantime?” I ask. “Business as usual?”
Theresa sighs, and she sounds as frustrated as I feel. “I wish I could say yes, but until we know what the problem is, I’d like you to slow down what you can. If they haven’t provided a written demand in two weeks, we’ll regroup and I’ll loop in counsel so we know we’re doing what we can to protect ourselves. Thanks, everyone.”
Theresa disappears from the call, leaving the six of us staff members quiet and looking lost. My assistant, Alex, immediately asks, “What can I do, Willow? Should I contact some of the contractors?”
“I’ll do it,” I tell her. I’m tremendously grateful for her, and the offer is so sweet, so generous. But this is something I have to handle personally. “It’s better that it come from me.”
Suddenly, something else hits me. “Alex,” I say, “I just thought of something I should have asked Theresa. I’ve already announced through the local SBA that the community development grant is open for applications. Should I shut that down? I need to know if she’s going to honor the grant if we pull out of Star Falls.”
Alex nods. “On it,” she says.
The rest of the team gives their condolences to me, letting me know they feel terrible and they’re happy to help with anything they can do. I love my team. We’re like family in so many ways. But there is nothing they can do. This is something I have to face myself.
After the Zoom is over, I chomp down three antacids and make some tea, then take the world’s hottest shower while I try not to panic.
This is just business.
I angle the rainfall showerhead so it envelops my face and hair with hot water. I hold my breath, then let it out slowly,letting the delicious steam soften the tightness in my shoulders. I lather my hair, trying to work out what could have happened.
I can’t understand what went wrong. I truly can’t believe this deal might end. A lawsuit could tie up the company for years in expensive litigation. All that time wasted. Money wasted.
By the time I’ve shaved my legs and rinsed my hair, I’m fuming mad.
