Page 28 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush
"They can try." He set down my phone carefully, like it might explode. "But this changes things, Maya. One week isn't going to be enough time to build the legal protections you need. Not if they're moving this fast."
My chest felt tight. "So, what do we do?"
Ethan looked at me, and I saw something shift in his expression—determination replacing uncertainty.
"We go to war," he said quietly. "And we make sure they regret underestimating you."
Chapter nine
Discovery
Ethan
Ispent Monday night in my hotel room, surrounded by legal documents and property records, searching for the weakness in Gerald Hutchins's case. The easement dispute hinged on a boundary survey filed six months ago—a survey that claimed Maya's bakery encroached on Hutchins's property line, blocking his legal right of access.
On paper, it looked airtight. Professional surveyor, certified measurements, official county filing.
But something felt wrong. This case was too perfect, too convenient, like someone had built a house of cards and hoped no one would look too closely.
So, I looked closely. I'd spent twenty years learning to spot the almost-invisible seams in legal arguments, the places where facts had been carefully arranged to hide uncomfortable truths.
At 2 AM, I found it. A notation buried in the surveyor's notes, so small I'd missed it on the first three passes:Measurements taken from adjusted baseline per client specification.
Adjusted baseline.
I pulled up the original property survey from when Maya's grandfather had purchased the building in 1985. Then the one from 2005 when he'd done renovations. Then the current one from Hutchins's filing.
The baseline had been moved. Not dramatically—just three feet south, enough to make Maya's parking area look like it encroached on Hutchins's property instead of being clearly on her own land.
It was fraud. Deliberate and calculated.
And I had proof.
Tuesday morning, I arrived at the bakery at 6:15 AM, early again because I needed to see Maya’s face when she realized this wasn't just corporate pressure—it was criminal.
I knocked on the back door, and Maya opened it looking exhausted. She'd probably been here since 4 AM, working through the anxiety and fear that came from reading that email yesterday. I recognized the coping mechanism—when life felt out of control, you worked.
"You're early," she said, but she held the door open.
"I found something." I stepped inside, pulling out my tablet. "In the property survey. They falsified the baseline measurements."
Her eyes went wide. "What?"
"The surveyor moved the property line three feet south to make it look like your parking area encroaches on Hutchins's land. But if you compare it to the original surveys—the ones from when your grandfather owned the building—the parking area is clearly on your property. It always has been."
I pulled up the documents on my tablet, showing her the side-by-side comparison. Maya leaned in close, her shoulder brushing mine as she studied the measurements, and I caught the scent of flour and something floral—her shampoo, maybe.
Focus, Caldwell.
"They faked it," Maya said quietly, her voice tight. "They deliberately falsified a legal document to create a dispute they could exploit."
"Yes. And that's fraud. Not just civil liability—criminal fraud." I zoomed in on the surveyor's notation. "See this? 'Adjusted baseline per client specification.' That's the surveyor documenting that Hutchins told him to move the line. It's evidence of intent."
Maya was silent for a long moment, her jaw clenched. "Can we use this? To stop the sale deadline?"
"We can do more than that. We can file a motion to dismiss the entire case with prejudice, which means Hutchins can't refile. We can report the surveyor to the state licensing board. And we can potentially file criminal charges for fraud and extortion." I met her eyes. "This doesn't just protect your bakery, Maya. This destroys their entire strategy."
Something shifted in her expression—relief mixed with something fiercer. "When can we file?"
