“I understand,” Anna said. “By ten a.m., I want every debt action filed. Freeze any accounts you can through emergency motions.”
“I want them waking up bankrupt.” She ended the call without waiting for an answer. Then she looked up at Gregory.
He gave a slight nod, and the corners of his mouth twitched in grim approval. Anna stepped out of the glass booth into the break room. The drivers moved aside, making a path for her.
She stopped in the middle of the room. She no longer looked like the crushed woman who had walked in wearing a soaked black dress after the funeral. She stood straight, shoulders back, and there was something in her gaze that made hard men lower theirs.
“Uncle Joe,” she said loudly, addressing the old driver, “how many cars are on the road right now?” “Fifty-two, Annie. Plus the ones here. We can pull together about eighty cars if we need to.”
“We need to,” Anna said, her voice carrying like steel through the smoky room. “Cancel every nonessential fare and call a full assembly. I want every car at the central market by six in the morning.”
“You’ll block every access point—the main gates, service entrances, loading zone. No car, no truck, nobody gets onto that property without my personal approval.” A low, approving murmur ran through the room.
They had been waiting for this. Waiting for their dispatcher to finally let them protect her. “Done, boss,” Uncle Joe said shortly, grabbing his radio.
Anna turned to Gregory. “Let’s go to the market.” They entered the administrative building through the back entrance.
The hallways were dark and quiet, smelling of old plaster and dust. Gregory led her upstairs to the “red room”—Grandma Vera’s hidden office, known only to a handful of people. It smelled of dried lavender and old paper.
A green banker’s lamp sat on the massive oak desk. Shelves lined the walls, filled with thick ledgers—the real books of the market, the private accounting Vera had kept for decades. About twenty people were already waiting inside.
Shift supervisors from security, senior managers from the market halls, the chief accountant—people who formed the invisible backbone of the whole operation. They looked at Anna cautiously, sizing her up. They knew her as Vera’s quiet granddaughter. But now a woman stood before them with cold fire in her eyes.
Gregory stepped to the desk. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy ring of keys. Not the brass keys Michael had given her for the safes.
These were master keys. A large ring of worn steel keys that opened every door, gate, lock, and shutter on the entire market property. A symbol of absolute authority.
Gregory turned to the room. Silence settled hard. He held the keys out to Anna.
She looked at the steel edges glinting under the green lamp. She understood at once that this was more than a gesture. It was a transfer of the crown.
The moment she took those keys, there would be no going back. She would be taking responsibility for hundreds of livelihoods, for this whole world that smelled of produce, coffee, and diesel. Anna reached out and took the ring.
The keys clinked heavily in the quiet room. She looked around at the waiting faces. “Tomorrow morning,” she said, and her voice echoed off the walls, “Gloria Vargas plans to hold the grand opening of her beauty salon on the main market square.”
“She invited city officials, local business owners, and the press. She thinks it’s her victory lap.” Anna paused, gripping the steel keys until her knuckles whitened.
“We’re going to let her do it. We’re going to let her cut the ribbon. And then we’re going to show this town who actually holds the keys.”
“I’m not going to fight Stan over an apartment. I’m going to take the ground out from under his feet. By noon tomorrow, the Vargas family will be finished in this town.”
“Get your people ready, Gregory. Tomorrow, we take back what’s ours.” Wednesday morning dawned unexpectedly bright, as if the town itself were preparing for a celebration…
