Skye looked around Daisy's kitchen before her gaze landed on me. "How are you holding up? Really."
"If I'm being real? Some days are better than others."
Amelia, Malakai’s wife, who'd joined us, nodded. "That sounds about right." She turned her back to the room, which told me she had something specific to say. "Can I tell you something? About what happened with us and the warehouse?"
I glanced at Skye, then said, "Please."
She told us. Not the version that had circulated around Coogan's Break, the broad strokes of a property dispute and some corporate interference. Instead, she told us what had happened after the venue on the bottom floors opened for business.
The pressure tactics that had started small and escalated fast. How she'd realized they weren't only after the building that had been in her family for generations. They were after her resolve.
"The thing about these operations," she said, "is that they're not really in the business of acquisition. They're in the business of attrition. They don't need to beat you. They need you to get tired."
"I won't get tired."
"We know that." She leaned forward. "But they don't. And when they figure it out, that's when it gets worse before it gets better."
"How much worse?"
"Personal," Malakai said from the counter. "When the business tactics stop working, they go after the person. Your reputation. Your relationships. Things that are harder to document and fight than a fake health complaint."
I thought about Samantha Morrison in the parking lot outside Law's Real Estate. Composed and watchful, taking her time. Already knowing more about my family than she should have.
"They've already started," I said.
Amelia's expression didn't change, which told me she'd expected that. "Then you're further along than we were when we realized." She reached out and covered my hand briefly. "But Nadia, everyone coming through that door tonight has their own version of the same story. That's your advantage. They came after us one at a time. You're making sure that stops tonight."
Malakai pushed off from the counter. "I'll pick you up later, sweetheart," he said to Amelia, kissing her lightly on the lips. He was halfway out the door when he stopped. "For what it's worth, the collective idea is smart. Harder to pick off a unit than individuals."
After he left, I stood frozen to the spot, his words ringing in my ears.
Harder to pick off a unit than individuals.
He wasn't wrong. I'd known that since the army. It was why you didn't send soldiers in alone.
I straightened the chairs, set out the pastries, and got ready to build something.
By seven, the kitchen out back of The Daisy Chain was full. Daisy had set out extra chairs thanks to people bringing friends along. Kelly had claimed a corner of the workbench with her laptop, three tabs open, a printed agenda face-down beside her keyboard.
Angie, the dance instructor, came in still wearing her studio clothes, a reusable cup of something that smelled like peppermint tea in hand. Four classes that afternoon, and she was ready for a fifth.
Sarah came in next, Tyler's mom, a tote bag over one shoulder that looked like it held a filing cabinet's worth of paper. Daisy hugged her at the door.
"Malakai asked me to sit in and keep a record," she said, settling herself at the end of the kitchen counter. "He thought you might want someone taking notes who isn't already in the fight."
She had a pen out before she'd finished the sentence.
Next, a woman I didn't recognize came in, though Daisy clearly did. Curvy, with natural hair pinned up and the confidence that came from knowing exactly who she was.
"This is Cherie Williamson," Daisy said. "She owns Lucky in Love, the bridal salon up the road. I thought she should be here."
"Custom gowns," Cherie said, shaking my hand. "I specialize in plus-size brides. I went out on my own six months ago." She smiled to herself. "Elevate approached me last month about working with them. When I said no, I had three consultations cancel within a week."
"Welcome," I said. "I'm glad you're here."
Others filtered in. Matthew Oliver, who ran a photography and videography studio out of a converted garage on the north side, had lost two wedding contracts to Elevate's preferred vendor list in a single month. Bea from Ezi-Rent arrived with a folder under her arm and a look that said she had things to say and had been waiting for the right time.
By seven-fifteen, we had twenty people. Daemon, who'd snuck back downstairs, had positioned himself against the back wall, arms crossed, watching without taking part.
