Page 26 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

“Dec, can I ask you something? And I need you to answer honestly.”

“Of course.”

“Do you actually want to save your career at Pierce Enterprises, or do you want to save your reputation in an industry that’s fundamentally opposed to what you’ve learned matters?”

The question cuts straight to the heart of everything I’ve been avoiding.

For two weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how to honor what Maya taught me about building things that matter while maintaining my position within Pierce Enterprises’ corporate structure.

But maybe the real problem isn’t finding ways to change Pierce Enterprises—maybe it’s accepting that Pierce Enterprises and my principles are fundamentally incompatible.

“I want to build something meaningful,” I tell Elliot. “I want to prove that business success and community preservation can coexist. I want to create developments that strengthen neighborhoods instead of displacing them.”

“Then why are you trying to do that from within a company that just asked you to systematize community displacement?”

Because it’s the only professional identity I’ve ever known. Because walking away from Pierce Enterprises means walking away from my father’s legacy. Because starting over at thirty-two feels terrifying when I’ve spent my entire adult life building expertise in a specific approach to development.

“Because I don’t know how to build something meaningful outside Pierce Enterprises’ structure,” I admit.

Elliot leans forward, his expression growing more animated. “What if you didn’t need this structure? What if you had enough capital to operate independently?”

“Elliot, I have the money, but I don’t have the infrastructure. Projects like Highland require development teams, legal frameworks, regulatory relationships that take years to build?—”

“Dec, you’re overthinking this,” Elliot interrupts. “Highland isn’t a massive development project—it’s a single property purchase. About fifteen to twenty million. And here’s what you don’t know—Maya’s been working on this problem too.”

I set down my coffee cup. “What do you mean?”

“You know why Maya isn’t answering your calls?

She’s not wallowing or giving up. She hired a specialized community development law firm to research community land trusts.

She’s been at City Hall every day for two weeks getting preliminary approvals.

She’s coordinated community input sessions and drafted legal frameworks. ”

The words hit me like cold water. “She’s been doing all this alone?”

“She’s been preparing to save Highland herself. The only thing she can’t do is come up with the money to actually buy the property, at least not in time to stop the demolition. But Declan, she’s built the entire legal structure. All the paperwork is ready to go.”

I stare at Elliot, processing what he’s telling me. While I’ve been wallowing in corporate guilt and trying to find words to apologize, Maya has been working toward the same solution I never thought to consider.

“How do you know all this?”

“My contact at the planning commission mentioned seeing Highland Community Center filings for community land trust establishment. I did some digging.” Elliot pulls out his phone.

“Maya spent her father’s life insurance money—about two hundred thousand—to hire Kemp & Associates, the firm that specializes in community land trusts.

She’s been preparing to save Highland through community ownership. ”

“Her father’s life insurance money.” The magnitude of what Maya has sacrificed hits me. “She spent her inheritance trying to save Highland.”

“She spent it preparing the legal framework that could save Highland, if someone could provide the capital.” Elliot leans forward.

“She couldn’t afford to hire just anyone—Kemp & Associates charges premium rates because they’re the best at navigating these complex legal structures.

But their work means everything is ready to go. ”

The idea is elegant, radical, and suddenly possible. Maya has already done the hardest part—navigating the legal complexities, getting community input, securing preliminary approvals. I could provide the capital that would activate her months of preparation.

“You’re suggesting I buy Highland from Pierce Enterprises using Maya’s legal framework?”

“I’m suggesting you honor the work she’s already done while proving that some things are worth more than corporate loyalty.” Elliot’s voice grows more passionate. “She built the road, you provide the car. It’s not rescue—it’s partnership.”

I walk to my office windows, looking out toward the arts district where Highland Community Center sits, scheduled for demolition in three wees.

The building is still intact, still structurally sound, still perfectly suited for community programming.

And somewhere in the city, Maya has been working tirelessly to create a legal structure that could save it permanently.

“What about Maya’s reaction? She’s spent two weeks thinking Highland was lost forever while secretly preparing to save it herself. How do I tell her I could have provided the missing piece all along?”

“You tell her you learned something from watching her refuse to give up. That you realized preserving communities shouldn’t depend on corporate generosity—it should be guaranteed through community ownership.

” Elliot joins me at the windows. “And you tell her you want to be her partner in creating something better than what Pierce Enterprises offers.”

“And if she sees it as too little, too late?”

“Then you’ve still created a model for community land trusts that could protect other gathering places from suffering Highland’s fate,” Elliot says. “But Declan, Maya’s been working toward the same solution you’re considering. That’s not coincidence—that’s compatibility.”

It’s a compelling vision, but it’s also terrifying in its implications. Buying Highland would mean breaking completely with Pierce Enterprises, with the business model my father built, with the only professional identity I’ve ever known.

It would also mean proving to Maya that some things—communities, principles… even love—are worth risking everything to protect.

“How quickly could something like this happen?” I ask.

“Property acquisition? One to two weeks if Pierce Enterprises is motivated to sell. Community land trust establishment? Maya’s already done the groundwork. Highland could be back in community hands before demolition is scheduled to begin.”

Before demolition begins. Before Highland’s families lose their gathering place forever, I could restore it with guarantees that it would never be threatened again.

“Elliot, this is insane.” I turn to face him, my heart pounding with something I haven’t felt since before the board meeting—hope. Real, actionable hope instead of the helpless dread that’s been eating at me for days.

“This is exactly what your grandfather would have done.” Elliot’s smile is knowing, affectionate. “Community investment, supporting local organizations, proving that business success can strengthen neighborhoods rather than displacing them. He’d be proud of you for considering it.”

My grandfather, who believed a man’s worth was measured by what he contributed rather than what he accumulated.

Who would have understood Highland’s value the moment he walked through its doors.

Who would have appreciated Maya’s determination to save her community through legal innovation rather than corporate charity.

“And my father? What would Maxwell Pierce think about his son walking away from Pierce Enterprises to buy back a community center?”

“Your father built Pierce Enterprises to create lasting value,” Elliot says carefully. “Maybe he’d understand that some kinds of value can’t be measured in quarterly reports.”

Maybe. But sitting in this office, reading Harrison’s plans to systematize community displacement while learning that Maya has been working tirelessly toward the same solution I never considered, I realize I care less about my father’s theoretical approval than about honoring Maya’s extraordinary effort.

The person Maya fell for during Highland’s heritage festival wouldn’t help Harrison target three more communities for destruction.

That person would find another way.

“I need to make some phone calls,” I tell Elliot.

“Financial advisor?”

“Legal team. If I’m going to buy Highland using Maya’s community land trust framework, I want to coordinate with her legal work, not override it.” I pick up my phone, scrolling through contacts. “This needs to be a true partnership from the beginning.”

Elliot’s grin is pure satisfaction. “Now you’re thinking like your grandfather.”

“I’m thinking like someone who learned what really matters from a woman who never stopped fighting for community preservation, even when it seemed hopeless.

” I pause, considering the magnitude of what Maya has accomplished while I’ve been wallowing in corporate guilt.

“Even if she never speaks to me again, Highland’s community deserves to benefit from the legal framework she’s created. ”

“She’ll speak to you again,” Elliot says confidently. “Especially when she realizes you’re not just saving Highland—you’re honoring months of work she thought was pointless.”

Maybe. But even if Maya never forgives me for not thinking of this solution sooner, even if Highland’s restoration doesn’t bridge the gulf between us, buying Highland using her legal framework is still the right thing to do.

Some things matter more than romantic outcomes.

Some things are worth risking everything to protect.

And some partnerships are worth fighting for, even when you have to prove you deserve them.