Page 50 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

TWENTY-FOUR

GRAYSON

T he video conference call connects with four men in expensive suits arranged across my laptop screen like a tribunal preparing to deliver judgment.

Coastal Capital Development’s conference room serves as the backdrop, all polished mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame Baltimore’s harbor like a painting designed to intimidate small-town developers.

“Grayson,” Robert Steinberg’s voice carries through the speakers with arctic professionalism. “We understand you’ve had some time to consider our proposal.”

Their proposal. Remove Michelle from all aspects of the development project, restructure the grants to funnel through Coastal Capital, and watch Twin Waves transform into another characterless resort community that serves tourists instead of residents.

“I’ve considered it thoroughly,” I confirm, adjusting my laptop angle to include Michelle beside me in the frame. Her presence steadies me in ways that have nothing to do with business strategy and everything to do with the way she lifts her chin when facing impossible odds.

The reaction is immediate. Steinberg’s expression tightens while his associates exchange glances that suggest I’ve violated protocol by bringing the woman they’re trying to eliminate to her own execution.

“Mr. Reed,” Steinberg’s tone turns condescending, the verbal equivalent of patting my head while explaining simple concepts. “We discussed the importance of maintaining professional boundaries. Allowing personal relationships to influence business decisions rarely ends well.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I agree, watching confusion flicker across their faces. “Personal relationships can complicate business decisions tremendously.”

Michelle’s hand finds mine under the camera’s range, her fingers intertwining with mine in silent support. The contact sends electrical current straight through my nervous system, reminding me why I’m about to torch my relationship with investors who could make or break my career.

“Which is why,” I continue, savoring the moment before the bomb detonates, “I need to inform you that Michelle Lawson and I have decided to make our partnership official in every possible way.”

Steinberg leans forward with predatory satisfaction. “Excellent. Our legal team has prepared?—”

“We’re restructuring Reed Development Corporation to include Lawson Preservation as a full partner. Equal decision-making authority, joint project management, and shared profits on all community development initiatives.”

Silence descends like a curtain dropping. Four faces freeze in expressions ranging from confusion to horrified disbelief, as if I’ve announced my intention to build condominiums on the moon using sustainable materials and good intentions.

“Joint partnership,” Steinberg repeats slowly, like he’s testing a foreign language.

“Full collaboration,” Michelle confirms, her voice carrying calm certainty that makes my pulse accelerate. “Which means any attempt to exclude preservation considerations would be excluding half of the development team.”

The word ‘half’ hits the call like a perfectly aimed grenade. One of Steinberg’s associates actually chokes on whatever he was drinking, while another starts typing furiously on his keyboard—probably researching legal implications of equal business partnerships.

“Mr. Reed,” Steinberg’s voice turns sharp enough to cut glass. “This is highly irregular. Our contracts specifically?—”

“Our contracts,” I interrupt, pulling up the digital documents I’ve been reviewing since dawn, “include provisions for partnership restructuring, joint asset management, and collaborative decision-making between business partners. Michelle’s preservation expertise isn’t a complication—it’s what makes this project financially viable. ”

“This appears to be a maneuver designed to circumvent our legitimate concerns about project management.”

Michelle leans into the camera with the smile of a woman who’s about to destroy someone’s entire argument using facts and charm.

The slight forward movement brings her closer to me, close enough that I can smell her perfume and feel the heat radiating from her skin, and my concentration threatens to scatter entirely.

“Actually,” she says with deadly politeness, “Grayson and I have been building this professional collaboration for months. The personal relationship simply confirms what was already a successful business partnership.”

“The grants were awarded based on community preservation goals,” I add, forcing myself to focus on Steinberg’s increasingly pale face instead of the way Michelle’s proximity makes my pulse hammer.

“Michelle’s involvement isn’t a complication—it’s the reason the project has federal backing and community support. ”

“This is unacceptable,” Steinberg snaps. “Reed Development Corporation was contracted to manage development, not to facilitate some romantic fantasy about small-town preservation.”

The insult hangs in the digital space between us, and I feel Michelle’s grip on my hand tighten. But instead of the defensive anger I expect, she radiates calm confidence that suggests she’s been waiting for exactly this moment.

“Mr. Steinberg,” she says with deadly politeness, “I think there’s been a fundamental misunderstanding about this project’s scope and purpose.”

She reaches for the folder we prepared during our pre-call strategy session, and her movement brings her shoulder against mine. The contact is brief, professional, and absolutely devastating to my ability to think clearly about anything except the way she feels pressed against me.

Michelle extracts documents that she spreads across the table within camera range. Evidence of David Norris’s predatory practices, testimonials from previous victims, documentation of the systematic exploitation Coastal Capital has been funding across three states.

“These are communications from twelve communities where your previous developments have resulted in local business displacement, federal grant manipulation, and economic devastation,” Michelle continues with prosecutor-level precision.

“Communities that trusted Coastal Capital to enhance rather than exploit their development opportunities.”

Steinberg’s face goes pale. “I don’t know what you’re implying?—”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating directly that Coastal Capital has a pattern of using small-town partnerships to gain access to federal funding and community assets, then restructuring projects to benefit corporate profits while leaving local partners destroyed.”

“Where did you get those documents?” one of the associates demands.

“From the communities you’ve devastated,” I answer. “Communities that documented everything and have been sharing information through networks you apparently didn’t know existed.”

The power dynamic in the call shifts visibly. Steinberg and his team exchange increasingly panicked glances while Michelle continues laying out evidence.

“Twin Waves isn’t another hunting ground,” Michelle says, her voice carrying steel wrapped in silk.

“The federal grants are protected by oversight requirements that prevent the kind of exploitation you’ve practiced elsewhere.

The community has documentation of every project decision, every financial exchange, every partnership agreement. ”

“And,” I add, watching Steinberg’s desperation mount, “the preservation requirements mean that any development must serve community needs rather than corporate extraction. You can’t strip-mine Twin Waves the way you’ve strip-mined other coastal towns.”

Steinberg’s composure finally cracks. “Mr. Reed, if you proceed with this partnership restructuring, Coastal Capital will withdraw all funding and terminate our contract immediately.”

The threat should terrify me. Coastal Capital represents millions in investment capital, connections to major development projects, and career opportunities that could take decades to replace. Losing them means starting over professionally, potentially sacrificing everything I’ve built.

Instead, I feel nothing but relief.

“Mr. Steinberg,” I say, leaning into the camera with Michelle beside me, “Coastal Capital is welcome to withdraw from any project that prioritizes community benefit over corporate extraction.”

“You’re making a significant mistake,” Steinberg warns.

“The only mistake,” Michelle interjects, her voice carrying the kind of quiet confidence that makes my chest tight with pride, “would be allowing Coastal Capital to destroy Twin Waves the way you’ve destroyed twelve other communities.”

“We have legal recourse?—”

“You have legal exposure,” I correct. “Exploitation of federal grant programs is a federal crime. Communities you’ve victimized have been coordinating with authorities who are very interested in Coastal Capital’s business practices.”

The call ends abruptly as Steinberg cuts the connection, leaving Michelle and me staring at a black screen in sudden silence.

“Well,” Michelle says after a moment, “that could have gone worse.”

I close the laptop and turn to face her fully, awareness crackling between us like electrical current. She’s close enough that I can see the triumph in her dark eyes, close enough that the space between us feels charged with everything we’ve just accomplished together.

“Any regrets about torching my relationship with major investors?” I ask.

Her smile could power municipal lighting. “Only that we didn’t do it sooner.”

The admission hits me like lightning. Michelle has been ready to fight beside me, ready to choose community over corporate profits, ready to risk everything we’ve built for the chance to build something better.

Ready to choose us over every safe, profitable alternative.

“Michelle,” I start, but she’s already moving, already reaching for me with the same certainty that carried her through the investor confrontation.