Ficorpio
Chapter 1
“Twenty-eight thousand a month. Sign it, or get out.”
Vanessa Cross was certain she had me trapped. I had poured more than a million into renovating the place. In her mind, there was no way I could leave.
I looked at the smug certainty on her face just as my phone vibrated quietly in my pocket.
A WhatsApp message from my husband, Daniel, lit up the screen.
“Honey, it’s done. New storefront is $3,500 a month. Eight-year lease.”
Slowly, I smiled.
“Vanessa,” I said, “this is a big decision. I’ll need to go home and talk it over.”
“Ms. Bennett, I’ll make myself clear.”
Vanessa Cross crossed one polished leg over the other and lifted her chin. “Four connected storefront units. Twenty-eight thousand a month. Not a penny less.”
She tapped one crimson nail against the lease agreement on the table. “Sign, and we renew. Don’t sign, and I want every last thing of yours cleared out by the end of the month.”
With an elegant flick of her fingers, she brushed at a nonexistent speck of dust on her mink coat.
She could barely be bothered to look at me.
Behind her stood the four units I had spent three full years building into a business. The space was bright, busy, and warm with life. Customers came and went in a steady stream. On a tired stretch of Old Market Street that had once looked half-abandoned, my store had become the brightest spot on the block.
The sheer nerve of her almost made me laugh.
“Vanessa, our lease says very clearly that after three years, rent can be adjusted to match the market rate.”
I kept my voice even, though anger was already rising in my chest. “And right now, rents on this entire street are going down. Leonard Carter’s unit next door is in a better position than mine, and even his rent dropped from five thousand to four.”
I slid my own proposal forward. “I’m willing to keep the original total rent at fifteen thousand and add ten percent. Sixteen thousand five hundred. That’s already more than fair.”
“Market rate?”
Vanessa laughed as if I had told the funniest joke she had heard all year.
“Claire Bennett, get one thing straight. Who do you think created the market on this street?”
She pointed one red-tipped finger toward the traffic outside, where cars crawled past and pedestrians filled the sidewalks.
“What did this place look like three years ago? A cracked-up road, dark windows, and not even decent streetlights at night.”
A sour, burning anger surged through me.
“Exactly. It was me. I was the one who took over these four leaking shells. I was the one who sank more than a million into them and built this place up inch by inch.”
Chapter 2
My fingers curled against my palm. “Now that the street is busy and people are coming in, you want to squeeze me out after profiting from my work?”
“Oh, listen to you.” Vanessa’s mouth twisted. Her eyes were full of naked contempt and calculation. “You make yourself sound like some great savior.”
She leaned back, smiling. “If you’re the one who made this street, then move. Go ahead. Let’s see where you put all your inventory without my storefront. Let’s see whether those loyal customers of yours can still find you.”
Her words landed like a poisoned blade, precise and cruel.
Six months ago, I had renovated the entire store from top to bottom. New layout, new fixtures, new lighting, upgraded everything. I had believed completely in the next few years of growth.
And now the holiday rush season was almost here, the busiest time of the year for our business.
Move? Find a new location? Renovate again?
Time, money, energy—I couldn’t afford to burn any of them.
Vanessa knew it. She was certain that the money I had invested had nailed me to this place.
That was why she dared to make such an outrageous rent grab, forcing the rent on each unit from the original thirty-eight hundred to seven thousand.
For the past two weeks, she had barely bothered to negotiate. She would not even pick up the phone. Her replies to my messages were always cold, clipped, and smug.
“If you can afford it, rent it. If you can’t, plenty of people can.”
Even through a screen, I could picture that triumphant expression of hers.
“Claire, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Vanessa rose from her chair and looked down at me as if she were doing me a favor by standing in my presence.
“You’ve spent so much on renovations. If you move now, all of that money goes down the drain.”
Her smile sharpened. “It isn’t easy for a woman to run a business. Don’t let pride make you gamble everything over a little money.”
She tapped the lease again. “Twenty-eight thousand. Pay it, and I guarantee your business will only get better from here.”
I stared at that face, at the greed and arrogance written plainly across it, and the last bit of sentiment I had held for our old relationship vanished.
I said nothing.
I only looked at her with complete calm.
She mistook my silence for the final struggle before surrender.
A victor’s smile spread across her face—the smug, lazy pleasure of a cat playing with a mouse.
At that moment, my phone trembled softly in my pocket.
The faint vibration hit me like an electric current straight to the heart.
I took it out.
Daniel Reed’s message was waiting on the screen.
“Honey, it’s done.”
“The Southside Storefront—the one from that property swap—has eighteen-foot ceilings, and the deeded area is the same size as your current place.”
Chapter 3
“I had someone draw up plans. It can be divided into four levels. Your usable floor space will double, and the outdoor display area is bigger too.”
“Guess the rent.”
My heart gave a hard jump. For half a second, I forgot to breathe.
The next message came in.
“$3,500 a month. Arthur Whitmore was incredibly straightforward. He signed an eight-year lease with us. No rent increase for the first five years.”
“He said he’s leaving the country soon to spend time with his daughter, so we can do whatever we need with the place. His exact words were: don’t waste time on messy people.”
My fingers trembled slightly as I typed back one word.
“Good.”
Then I slowly lifted my head and met Vanessa’s eyes, the ones still gleaming with absolute certainty that she had won.
I smiled.
Warm. Harmless. Almost apologetic.
“Vanessa, this is a big decision,” I said. “I’ll need to go home and discuss it with my husband.”
I let my brows draw together just enough, adding the perfect trace of hesitation to my voice.
“Could you give me… three days?”
“Of course.”
Vanessa waved one hand generously, as if she were granting me an enormous favor.
“But you’d better think carefully. An opportunity like this won’t come around again.”
She turned and walked out with a sway of her hips, leaving me with the sight of her proud, satisfied back.
She had no idea.
I wasn’t the one about to miss an opportunity.
She was the one I was about to leave behind in yesterday.
From the moment she laid her cards on the table, the game she thought she had already won was over.
The moment Vanessa Cross left, I called my husband, Daniel Reed.
“How did it go? Is Arthur Whitmore reliable?”
I kept my voice low as I hurried into the stockroom and shut the door behind me.
“Relax, honey,” Daniel said, excitement barely contained in his voice. “I had someone check him out. Whitmore’s an old property owner from the redevelopment days. He has several storefronts under his name. He’s not hurting for money.”
“His daughter settled overseas, and this trip is about getting his long-term residency sorted. Odds are, he won’t be back for years.”
“I had a friend in legal look over the lease agreement line by line. It’s airtight.”
“And before he left, he added me on WhatsApp. Said if any idiot tries to make trouble, I should just block them and not let it interfere with business.”
The weight that had been hanging over my chest finally dropped away.
“Beautifully done, husband.”
“Of course,” Daniel said, smug enough that I could hear his grin through the phone. “Look who you married.”
Then his tone sharpened.
“That woman really thinks we’re an easy target. Like she can squeeze us however she wants.”