PART 4

Beatrice looked at the folder.

Then she turned toward Giselle.

“Would you like to explain why you collected $150 from Linda for a cake Naomi never received payment for?”

Giselle looked around the room.

“That was between Linda and me.”

Linda, who had been standing near the front table, spoke up.

“No, Giselle. It wasn’t.”

Everyone turned.

Linda walked forward.

“You told me the money was going to Naomi. I paid you because I thought you were helping her manage her orders.”

Giselle’s mouth opened.

Linda continued.

“You did the same thing with my anniversary cake. And when I thanked you for arranging it, you told me Naomi was lucky to have someone like you bringing her customers.”

A man near the back shook his head.

Another woman whispered something to her husband.

Giselle looked trapped.

Then she did something I hadn’t expected.

She pointed directly at me.

“This is ridiculous! Naomi agreed to make those cakes for free! I never forced her!”

I nodded.

“You’re right.”

She blinked.

I continued.

“I did agree to make many of those cakes for free. That’s my mistake, and I’ve accepted it.”

Giselle seemed relieved.

Until I added:

“But I never agreed to let you charge people for them while pretending to represent my business.”

The room fell silent again.

I looked at Beatrice.

“That’s the difference.”

Beatrice nodded slowly.

Then she turned back to Giselle.

“One more question.”

Giselle looked exhausted.

“What?”

“How much did you collect from everyone?”

Giselle gripped the silver knife.

“I don’t know.”

I opened my folder.

“I have records for at least $2,640. That’s only from the customers who responded to me this week.”

A gasp came from somewhere behind us.

Giselle stared at me.

Then she whispered something that made my stomach tighten.

“You’re making a terrible mistake, Naomi.”

I looked at her.

“No. I made the mistake three years ago when I let you convince me that my work wasn’t worth paying for.”

She looked toward Zion.

“Your son is going to regret allowing you to do this.”

Zion finally stepped forward.

“Mom, stop.”

She turned sharply.

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way!”

“I’ve been listening to you disrespect my wife for years. I’ve watched her spend nights baking cakes for your friends while you laughed about her business.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Then explain the money.”

She said nothing.

Zion took my hand.

“Mom, you owe Naomi an apology. And you owe those customers an explanation.”

Giselle looked around the ballroom.

For the first time that evening, she seemed to understand that nobody was going to rescue her.

But Beatrice wasn’t finished.

She reached into her handbag again.

This time, she pulled out her phone.

“I have something else.”

Giselle’s eyes widened.

“What?”

Beatrice looked at her.

“An advertisement you posted on Facebook three months ago.”

She turned the screen toward the guests.

It showed a photograph of a beautiful wedding cake.

My wedding cake.

My work.

And beneath it was Giselle’s caption:

Giselle’s Signature Cakes — Taking Orders for Spring and Summer.

My stomach dropped.

I had never seen that advertisement before.

Beatrice looked at me.

“Naomi, did you know she was advertising cakes under her own business name?”

I couldn’t answer immediately.

Because below the photograph were several comments.

One person had written:

“Can you make a wedding cake for 120 guests?”

Giselle had replied:

“Absolutely. I can do custom orders. Deposit required.”

And beneath that comment was a payment instruction.

Her personal bank account.

I looked at Zion.

He looked just as shocked as I felt.

Then I turned back toward Giselle.

“How many orders have you taken?”

She gripped the knife more tightly.

“That’s none of your business.”

Beatrice’s expression hardened.

“After what you’ve done, I think it is.”

And then Linda said something that made the entire room go quiet.

“Giselle, I think you should know something.”

She paused.

“My nephew is getting married next month. He paid you a $500 deposit for his wedding cake.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

I had never heard about that order.

Linda looked directly at me.

“Naomi, I don’t think she ever intended to tell you.”

Giselle’s lips parted.

For several seconds, she looked as though she might collapse.

Then she put the silver knife down.

And whispered:

“Fine. If everyone wants the truth, I’ll tell you exactly why I did it.”

But what Giselle revealed next was far worse than the money she had stolen.

Because she hadn’t simply been taking payments for Naomi’s cakes.

She had been making plans to take over Willow & Crumb entirely.

And she had already promised someone a business that didn’t belong to her.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Giselle stood beside the birthday cake, her champagne-colored dress looking suddenly out of place beneath the ballroom lights.

The silver knife lay on the table.

Beatrice folded her arms.

“Well, Giselle? We’re listening.”

My mother-in-law looked around the room, searching for someone willing to defend her.

Nobody moved.

Then she turned toward me.

“Naomi, you have no idea what you’ve started.”

I took a breath.

“I think I’ve finally figured out what you started.”

Her expression hardened.

“You’ve always been ungrateful. I brought you customers. I introduced you to wealthy people. I gave you opportunities you never would have had on your own.”

I almost laughed.

“By collecting their money and keeping it?”

“That isn’t what happened!”

“Then explain the $500 wedding deposit.”

Giselle looked toward Linda.

“Your nephew wanted something special. I was helping him.”

“Helping him do what?” Linda asked. “You took his money for a cake you cannot make.”

“I can make a cake!”

The words came out louder than she intended.

A few guests exchanged uncomfortable looks.

I stepped forward.

“Can you?”

She glared at me.

“Of course I can.”

“Then why have you been asking me to make every cake?”

For the first time, Giselle had no immediate answer.

Beatrice picked up her phone.

“Actually, I think we should discuss that wedding order.”

She turned toward Linda.

“Your nephew paid Giselle a deposit?”

Linda nodded.

“Five hundred dollars. He wanted a three-tier white wedding cake with gold details. Giselle told him she had a bakery business and could handle everything.”

I looked at Giselle.

“Did you tell him Willow & Crumb would be making it?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“Did you use photographs of my cakes to advertise your services?”

Silence.

“Did you tell people you owned a bakery?”

More silence.

Finally, she whispered, “I was going to make it happen.”

That sentence stayed in the air.

I looked at her.

“What does that mean?”

Giselle swallowed.

“I was planning to open a proper bakery. I just needed enough money to get started.”

Zion’s face changed.

“Mom, where did you get that money?”

She ignored him.

“I have friends with money. People who would invest. I knew I could make something successful if I had the opportunity.”

I stared at her.

“You had an opportunity. You had my business.”

Her expression twisted.

“Your business is tiny, Naomi! You bake in a kitchen! You don’t understand how business works.”

I felt something inside me settle.

For three years, I had tried to convince this woman that what I did mattered.

Now she was standing in front of sixty people, explaining why she had stolen from me because she believed my business wasn’t important enough to respect.

I looked at her calmly.

“You’re right about one thing. My business is small. But it’s mine.”

Then I turned toward Beatrice.

“Thank you for letting me speak tonight. I don’t want your birthday celebration to become something unpleasant. I have said what I needed to say.”

Beatrice reached for my hand.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t create this situation. You simply stopped hiding it.”

That was when Giselle began crying.

Not quietly.

Not the kind of tears that come when someone realizes they have hurt another person.

These were angry tears.

“You’ve humiliated me!”

Linda shook her head.

“No, Giselle. You humiliated yourself.”

The party ended differently from how anyone had expected.

Some guests left early.

Others stayed with Beatrice, trying to comfort her and understand what had happened.

I helped the staff move the gifts away from the cake table.

Zion stayed beside me.

As we were preparing to leave, Giselle approached us.

Her makeup was smudged, and her expression had changed from anger to something resembling desperation.

“Zion, I need to talk to you.”

He looked at her.

“About what?”

“Privately.”

He glanced at me.

I touched his arm.

“It’s okay. I’ll wait by the car.”

But Zion shook his head.

“No. Whatever you need to say, you can say it here.”

Giselle looked offended.

“I’m your mother.”

“And Naomi is my wife.”

She sighed dramatically.

“Your wife has destroyed something I’ve been working toward for months.”

Zion stared at her.

“You mean the business you were building with her money?”

“I was going to repay everything!”

“With what?”

She looked away.

“I just needed time.”

He shook his head.

“Mom, you took money from people who believed they were paying my wife. You advertised her work as your own. You accepted deposits for orders you couldn’t fulfill. What exactly did you think would happen?”

Giselle wiped her cheek.

“I was trying to help the family.”

I couldn’t remain silent anymore.

“Which family, Giselle? The family you told people I was lucky to belong to? Or the family whose money you were collecting without permission?”

She looked at me.

“You always make everything about money.”

I shook my head.

“No. You made it about money when you decided my work had a price for everyone except me.”

Zion opened the car door.

“Mom, we need to go.”

Giselle grabbed his sleeve.

“You’re going to abandon me over a few cakes?”

He gently removed her hand.

“No. I’m stepping away because you refuse to take responsibility.”

Then we left.

The following Monday, I received a phone call from an unknown number.

It was Linda’s nephew, Daniel.

“Hi, Naomi. My aunt gave me your number. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. How can I help?”

He explained that he had paid Giselle $500 as a deposit for his wedding cake.

He had recently discovered that she had no bakery, no registered business under the name she had advertised, and no agreement with Willow & Crumb.

He wanted to know whether I could still make the cake.

I checked my calendar.

His wedding was in six weeks.

It would be difficult, but possible.

“Daniel, I can make it. But I want to be clear about something. I won’t be accepting the deposit you paid Giselle. That transaction was between you and her. I’ll send you my own written quote, and you can decide whether you’d like to book with me.”

He was quiet.

Then he said, “That’s fair. Honestly, I appreciate you being straightforward.”

I sent him a quote.

He accepted.

He also contacted Giselle to request the return of his deposit.

According to Linda, Giselle initially claimed the money had already been spent on supplies.

Daniel asked for receipts.

She stopped responding.

That was when the situation became much more serious.

Over the next two weeks, I received messages from seven different people.

They had all paid Giselle for cakes advertised under her supposed business.

Some had received cakes from me without knowing who actually made them.

Others had paid deposits for future orders.

I began organizing everything.

Every customer.
Every date.
Every amount.
Every message.

I consulted a local attorney about my options and learned what steps I could take to protect my business name and address the unauthorized use of my photographs.

The attorney also advised me to preserve all communications and let the customers pursue their own claims for money they had paid Giselle.

I wasn’t interested in revenge.

I wanted the truth documented.

And I wanted the people who had trusted my work to know they could contact me directly.

Three weeks later, Zion came home with an expression I recognized.

Something had happened.

He placed his keys on the counter.

“Mom called.”

I continued washing a mixing bowl.

“What did she want?”

“Money.”

I stopped.

“How much?”

“She says she needs $3,000.”

I slowly turned around.

“For what?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART…