“Your written testimony, evidence B3, advises that you’ve been going to Gates’ Cakes as long as you can remember, and is the reason why you brought the idea of purchasing the business to Wardorff-Messen when you learned of the forthcoming sale.”
“That’s correct, your honor,” I reply, clearing my throat. “It was pretty much a weekly ritual, one I had with my parents and sister for years. We’d ski, stopping to buy cake, or often eating it there and then in the store. Afterward, once we were back in the village, we’d do a bit of shopping. It was our routine.” One that involved purchasing hats for my sister and me, a tradition I try and maintain. I think that’s why I have so many; I buy for Clara still, wishing she were with me. “When Wardorff-Messen told me they would not be pursuing it, I was too upset and ashamed to tell Mr. and Mrs. Gates the awful news. I was heartbroken. A few days later, I was fired, and moved to Vail at the end of July last year for work. I didn’t speak to the Gates’ until January tenth, shortly after returning to Aspen. I was hopeful my new employer, the Balthazar Hotel Group, would see the opportunity. That’s when Brecken Sainz and I learned of the sale.”
“Thank you, you may take your seat.” I follow her instructions as she continues, “Mr. Gates.” He stands, a serious expression edging out the customer-friendly smiles he normally favors. “I have read your statement but would welcome your summary.”
“Well, your honor, my wife and I have watched Winter—often with her late family—come to our cake store and cafe for years. We’ve seen her grow from age five, right into a grown woman. We knew all the family’s birthdays. We knew the schools they attended, and where Dan and Ivy Harris worked. They were regular customers for sure, apart from the times they lived out of state of course,” he tacks on. “Winter even helped us in the kitchens a few times. She loved our creations, taking great care in their preparation. And with no daughter or other family to take the helm, we were overjoyed when Winter urged Wardorff-Messen to buy our company. Selling it to the other interested parties seemed nonsensical and plain stupid with her in management there. We were devastated to learn we’d been tricked by her former colleagues. We want nothing to do with such a devious business.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gates.” Judge Freeman looks toward the defendant. “How do you respond Mr. Donald?”
There’s not much for Mr. Donald, the opposing lawyer, to respond with. He can’t deny any wrongdoing because the proof is there in hardcopy. All he can argue is that they would proceed with the sale in good faith. That building permits have been secured, and work is scheduled to start in eleven weeks.
After briefly questioning Janelle and Simon, tension bites at my soul as I await the judge’s verdict.
“My ruling,” Judge Freeman, begins, “is that this sale breached the conditions of the contract. I find for the plaintiff.”
My heart lurches with joy. With a broad smile on his face, Brecken and I reach for each other at the same time, and then I’m hugging Louis, Tricia, Reuben, and all The Moms in celebration.
When a defeated Janelle walks past, I glance her way for all of a split second, and then I disregard her. My life may have derailed because of her actions, but I’m in a much stronger position now, professionally, emotionally, and physically.
Brecken shields me from David Trent as he strolls past. I don’t need to see his face to know that my boyfriend is staring down my former boss with a look that could kill. Keeping my eyes trained on him over Brecken’s shoulder, a victorious smile edges onto my face.
I did it.
“Balthazar’s gonna be stoked,” Reuben tells me, his hand on my waist. “I’ll call Luca. This is your project, Winter. Your fight. Your memorial to your family,” he acknowledges softly. “So let the big boss know we’ve won, and ask for a bonus while you’re at it.”
I’m not sure whether I want to laugh or cry. But before I make that call, I suggest, “Why don’t you call him?” I’ve noticed that Roo and his dad aren’t as close as they should be. It’s understandable given the circumstances, but Balthazar has a good reason for his long absence. He didn’t know about his son left behind in England.
“I’m not asking him for a raise. You have to do that yourself.”
Considering what I was earning at Stein Hotel, I’m rich in comparison. A raise doesn’t bother me. “I don’t care. Call your dad and tell him,” I encourage, choosing to name Balthazar specifically by that title, even though I know Reuben doesn’t. Hopefully, it might rub off on Roo.
Not giving him the chance to rebuff me, I turn and hug Louis and Tricia again. Finally, I’ve reached a point I always aspired to professionally. But the celebrations won’t truly begin until I see the first gateau restaurant open. “Thank you for believing in me. In Balthazar Wolfford. We’re going to take care of your legacy. We’re going to make you so proud.”
“Winter,” Tricia tells me, her voice laced with affection. “We don’t doubt it.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Winter
Our destination is top secret.It’s far enough away that we leave at 3PM on the company jet, Reuben, Luca, and Brecken kicking back in the luxury, cream leather seats around me as we slice through the star-filled early evening.
For two days, the team at Chateau B has been celebrating our victory, but now the hard work starts. To commemorate the win, Louis and Tricia made me a bespoke vanilla and white chocolate gateau. Each slice is smothered in a luxuriously smooth, champagne-flavored ganache, piped white chocolate in neat, artistic lines decorating the top, along with three white chocolate snowflakes.
Winter’s Dreamthey called it, and it tastes like heaven.
“I’ve never had a cake named after me,” I say awed, finishing my second slice of the day. I brought what remains of the entire twenty-inch square cake with me on our Valentine’s trip. There was no way I was leaving it behind for three days.
“You’ve got a whole season named after you,” Luca points out. “I don’t think you get to complain that it’s only just happened.”
I chuckle. “Well, you’ve got a city.”
“It’s got twoCs. L-U-C-C-A.”
“Ah, too bad,” I quip. “Guess you’re not so special after all.”
Wryly, Reuben says, “Oh, I don’t know. He shares a name with an ancient king from the orient. He got to see little baby Jesus. I think he wins.”
I bust out a laugh, Reuben grinning mischievously across at his brother.