Chapter 3
Rocco visited Vance Family Bakery the next morning.
Not disguised this time.
The shop sat four blocks from the club on a street that had seen better years.
The sign over the door was hand-painted.
One window had been repaired with a temporary wooden frame.
Inside, the smell of yeast and cinnamon nearly erased the cold outside.
Maeve was sitting at a small table drawing circles on the back of old order forms.
She looked up.
“Wheelchair man.”
Her father nearly dropped a tray.
“Maeve.”
Rocco smiled faintly.
“I’ve been called worse.”
Evan Vance came around the counter.
He was thirty-two, thin from working too many hours, with flour on both sleeves.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“For what?”
“My daughter bothered you.”
“She didn’t.”
Claire emerged from the kitchen.
She looked less frightened than she had inside the club.
That interested Rocco.
He took a seat.
“I’m reviewing your termination.”
Evan immediately shook his head.
“We’re not asking for charity.”
“Good. I’m not offering it.”
That changed the conversation.
Rocco wanted records.
Delivery receipts.
Emails.
Complaints.
Evan produced everything.
The four late deliveries existed.
But each had an explanation.
On two dates, the club receiving gate had been closed during the contracted delivery window.
On another, Dominic’s office changed the delivery time with forty minutes’ notice.
The fourth involved a snowstorm that delayed almost every supplier in Chicago.
The quality complaints were stranger.
One alleged mold in bread delivered on March 8.
Evan pulled up the production record.
“We didn’t deliver bread March 8.”
Rocco looked at him.
“What did you deliver?”
“Desserts for a private event.”
Claire brought out the invoice.
No bread.
The sanitation report claimed a club employee had seen rodents inside the bakery storage area.
Evan laughed once without humor.
“The health department inspected us three days later because somebody filed an anonymous complaint.”
“What happened?”
“We passed.”
“Do you have the report?”
He did.
Rocco read it.
No evidence of rodents.
No critical violations.
Maeve wandered over and placed a small cookie beside Rocco’s hand.
“For your money.”
“I didn’t give you money.”
“You had my coin.”
“Temporarily.”
She thought about that.
Then pushed the cookie closer anyway.
Rocco took it.
As he ate, he noticed a stack of envelopes behind the register.
Past-due utility notices.
He looked away before the Vances noticed.
He had not come to humiliate them with sympathy.
Before leaving, he asked Evan one final question.
“What happened after the club canceled your contract?”
Evan’s face tightened.
“We lost almost thirty percent of our monthly revenue.”
“And?”
“A man came by two weeks later.”
“What man?”
“Real-estate broker.”
Rocco stopped.
“What did he want?”
“To buy our building.”
Second clue.
The offer had arrived immediately after the club removed the bakery’s largest account.
Evan continued.
“We said no.”
“What company?”
Evan handed him the letter.
North Harbor Urban Partners.
May you like
Rocco had never heard the name.
But he knew enough about business to recognize timing that deserved attention.
