Page 27 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

The smell of coffee would permeate the air by now, Tita Sol unlocking the classrooms for morning ESL practice while asking me in her usual loud voice—she never did learn the art of an inside voice—about whether I’d eaten breakfast yet.

Rosa would be arranging chairs in the main hall, humming old Filipino lullabies while Carlo tested the sound system and Mrs. Valdez claimed her favorite corner table for citizenship test review.

Today is demolition day. Today, my father’s dream becomes dust.

My phone buzzes with a final email from Kemp & Associates, the community development law firm I hired two weeks ago.

Maya, all community land trust documentation has been finalized and filed with the city. Preliminary approvals are in place. Unfortunately, without the capital to purchase the property, we cannot proceed to implementation. We’re sorry we couldn’t help save Highland in time.

Two hundred thousand dollars. My father’s entire life insurance policy, spent on the best legal team in California for community land trust establishment. All of it useless without the fifteen to twenty million dollars needed to actually buy Highland from Pierce Enterprises.

I delete the email and slide my phone back into my pocket.

The legal framework exists—sitting in some lawyer’s filing cabinet like a blueprint for a house that will never be built.

If I’d had more time, more money, if I’d discovered community land trusts six months ago instead of after Pierce Enterprises’ board vote sealed Highland’s fate.

If, if, if.

“Maya, anak, you shouldn’t be here alone.

” Rosa’s voice cuts through the morning silence.

She’s standing in Highland’s doorway, her face etched with worry.

Behind her, the parking lot is empty, surrounded by the chain-link fence Pierce Enterprises installed yesterday to keep people away from the demolition site.

“How did you get in?” I ask, though I’m grateful for her presence.

“Same way you did—through the gap behind the dumpster.” Rosa steps inside, closing the door behind her. “I saw your car from the street and knew you’d found a way inside. I couldn’t let you face this alone.”

“I needed to be here when the bulldozers come. I needed to be the last person to say goodbye.”

Rosa settles beside me on Highland’s worn wooden floor. “He would be proud of how you’ve fought for this place, anak. Even if we couldn’t save the building, you saved what matters most.”

“Did I?” The question comes out raw, honest. “Highland is about to become rubble, and I couldn’t stop it.”

Through Highland’s front windows, I can see the first news van pulling up across the street. Channel 7, probably here to document the demolition for a human-interest segment about community displacement in downtown LA.

“Have you heard anything from Declan?” Rosa asks quietly.

The question I’ve been dreading for three weeks.

“He tried to call the first few days. I didn’t answer.

” I pause, using the silence to rebuild emotional walls that threaten to crumble every time someone mentions his name.

“Rosa, it doesn’t matter what Declan is doing.

Highland’s programs are thriving in their new locations, the community is adapting beautifully, and we’ve proven that Highland’s value was never about this building. ”

It’s true, practical, and completely inadequate for describing the way my chest aches every time I drive past Pierce Enterprises’ tower.

“Then trust me when I say that Alejandro would be proud of how you’ve led Highland through this crisis. But he would also want you to leave room in your heart for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness for what? For not being able to save Highland?” I say. “Maybe this is just the way things work. You win some. You lose some.” And sometimes you try everything but it’s just not meant to be.

“Maybe. Or maybe that young man is fighting battles you can’t see from here.”

Before I can tell Rosa she’s wrong about Declan, my phone buzzes with an incoming call.

“Maya, where are you?” Lianne’s voice carries an urgency that makes my pulse quicken.

“Highland. Saying goodbye before the demolition crew arrives. Why?”

“Because Channel 7 just reported that Pierce Enterprises’ demolition has been indefinitely postponed. Something about ‘new development complications’ and ‘alternative acquisition arrangements.’ Maya, what if Declan found a way to save Highland?”

The possibility hits like cold water. For three weeks, I’ve been operating under the assumption that Highland’s demolition was inevitable, that even my attempt at setting up the land trust was simply a case of too little, too late.

“Lianne, Pierce Enterprises doesn’t change their minds about multimillion-dollar development projects based on last-minute guilt or romantic gestures.”

“Maybe they do when their CEO makes them an offer they can’t refuse. The kind where he buys Highland himself.”

I stare at my phone, trying to process what Lianne just said. “How do you know that?”

“Because Tita Sol’s niece works in Pierce Enterprises’ accounting department, and she just texted that paperwork came through this morning for Highland’s sale to something called the Navarro Community Trust. Maya, Declan bought Highland. He actually bought it.”

I stare at Rosa, unable to move, barely able to process what I’m hearing.

Declan bought Highland?

Not Pierce Enterprises, not some corporate entity looking for tax write-offs, but Declan Pierce personally purchased the building that was supposed to be demolished this morning?

“Maya?” Lianne’s voice seems to come from very far away. “Are you there?”

“I’m here. I just—I need to understand what this means.”

“It means Highland is safe. Permanently safe.”

Highland is safe. The words should fill me with joy, relief, the kind of celebration that comes with winning impossible battles. Instead, I feel something closer to shock mixed with an emotion I can’t name.

For three weeks, I’ve been building Highland’s future around the assumption that this building was lost forever. I’ve created new partnerships, established alternative programs, proven that Highland’s community could thrive anywhere.

And now Declan has unilaterally decided that Highland’s building should be preserved after all.

“Maya, anak, what’s wrong?” Rosa asks, noting my expression. “This is good news, yes? Highland is saved.”

“Highland was already saved. The programs are running successfully in four different locations, the community is more connected than ever, and we’ve proven that Highland’s value isn’t dependent on this specific building.

” I’m pacing now, energy coursing through me that feels like anger mixed with something I don’t want to examine too closely. “We didn’t need rescuing.”

“But if Highland can come home?—”

“Highland is home wherever the community gathers. We learned that over the past three weeks.” I stop pacing and stare at Rosa. “Rosa, what if I don’t want Highland to be saved by Declan Pierce’s checkbook? What if I want Highland to succeed because of community strength, not corporate charity?”

Rosa studies my expression with the kind of maternal insight that sees through defensive reactions to the hurt underneath. “What if Highland being saved isn’t about you or Declan, but about giving the community choices they didn’t have before?”

Before I can respond, Highland’s front door opens and Carlo walks in, carrying his laptop and wearing the kind of excited expression that means he has important news to share.

“Maya! Did you hear about Highland?”

“I heard that Declan bought Highland. What I don’t understand is why.”

Carlo opens his laptop and pulls up what appears to be a news article. “It’s all over the news. Look at this headline.”

He turns the laptop toward me, and I find myself reading a LA Times article with the headline: “Tech Billionaire Saves Community Center from Demolition.”

Tech billionaire. The phrase stops me cold. I scan the article, noting details about Declan’s personal wealth from his early social media investments, his decision to purchase Highland independently from Pierce Enterprises, his resignation as CEO to pursue “community-focused development.”

“Maya,” Carlo says quietly, “there’s something else. The article says this isn’t just about Highland. Declan Pierce left Pierce Enterprises completely. He’s starting his own company focused on community preservation.”

I stare at the laptop screen, trying to process what I’m reading. Declan hasn’t just saved Highland—he’s walked away from everything. His family’s company, his father’s legacy, the world that shaped him into who he thought he had to be.

It’s a complete transformation from the corporate CEO I met a couple months ago.

“Where is he?” I ask Carlo.

“I don’t know. The article just says Highland’s ownership transfer is being finalized today.”

“I need some air,” I tell Rosa and Carlo, heading toward Highland’s back exit.

Highland’s small parking lot overlooks the arts district, with downtown LA’s skyline visible in the distance.

Pierce Enterprises’ tower rises among the glass monuments to corporate power, but this morning it looks different.

Less like a threat, more like a reminder that sometimes the most unexpected solutions come from the places you least expect them.

My phone rings with a call from Tito Ricky, who’s probably been fielding legal questions since the news broke.

“Maya, I assume you’ve heard about Highland’s change in ownership status?”

“I heard that Declan Pierce bought Highland. What I don’t understand is how something like this happens overnight.”

“It doesn’t happen overnight. Community land trust establishment requires significant legal preparation, property appraisal, financial documentation, community input processes.

” Tito Ricky’s voice carries the satisfaction of someone who’s been working on complex legal arrangements.

“Maya, this has been in development for at least two weeks.”