A few people nodded sympathetically. Someone in the back murmured, “That poor woman.”
Then I stood up.
My knees were shaking. I could feel every eye in the room on me.
“She’s right about the garage,” I said.
Vanessa’s head snapped toward me.
“Our garage was never approved for commercial use,” I went on. “We thought it was. It wasn’t. That’s our responsibility, and nobody else’s. I’ve stopped baking there completely. I’ve refunded my customers. I’ve rented a licensed kitchen across town, and we’ve started the proper approval process with the city.”
Then I looked directly at her.
“So there’s nothing left for you to bargain with.”
Vanessa recovered quickly. I’ll give her that.
“This isn’t about the garage,” she said, turning to the room. “This is about her husband leading me on for months.”
I sat down. And Irvin stood up.
