Page 33 of The Breakup Broker

“The building that houses River Bend Books?” His lips curved, but it wasn’t his usual warm expression. This was the calculated grin that had made him a legend in New York real estate. “Your father thinks he controls everything in this city. But he forgot that genuine power isn’t about what you own—it’s about who you know.”

My phone buzzed again.

Mason

He filed them. Moving faster than he threatened.

“He’s not even waiting the hour,” I said, anger rising. “He’s not bluffing about closing the store.”

“No.” My grandfather took his phone from Linda as she returned. “He never bluffs. But neither do I.” Into the phone, he said, “Charles? James Morrison. Remember when you helped my daughter plan her wedding? And I helped your son get into Yale? I need a favor...”

I watched in awe for the next forty minutes as James Morrison dismantled my father’s plan with nothing but a phone and forty years of meticulously nurtured relationships. Every time my father’s name appeared on my phone, another call went out from my grandfather’s.

“Your father,” James said between calls, “never understood the difference between being feared and being respected.” He gestured to the tablet. “Look at the names, Henry. Really look at them.”

I scrolled through the list—building inspectors, city council members, bank executives, but also doormen, secretaries, and maintenance workers—people my father would have dismissed as irrelevant, but James had treated them as equals.

“Sandra Martinez,” I read aloud. “Isn’t she?—”

“The woman who cleaned my office for twenty years? Yes.” He leaned back, a calculated ease in his posture. “And her daughter now heads the city’s building inspection department. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”

He set the phone down. “The inspection reports have been ... temporarily misplaced. The review board is suddenly jam-packed.” He leaned back, his focus shifting tothe window as his expression grew more thoughtful. “I’ve had years to plan for this,” he said, a trace of exhaustion evident in his voice. “Ever since you walked away from that girl to protect her, I knew your father would eventually make his move.

“The marina will be harder—he’s had more time to fortify his position there. But the bookstore?” He closed his eyes briefly, as though bracing himself. “Consider it a down payment on my apology for not stopping him sooner.”

I stared at him. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The man who’d spent most of my life building and strategizing, who had been ahead of everyone, was still in there. Beneath the weariness and years of battling a diagnosis that had stolen so much, he was still fighting—for me.

“Thank you,” I said, the words catching in my throat. Gratitude wasn’t enough for what he was doing, for what this moment meant, but it was all I could manage.

He nodded. “I wasn’t going to let him win, Henry. Not this time.”

For the first time in years, I experienced a glimmer of hope. “Tell me about the marina deal,” I said, leaning forward. “What exactly has my father set up?”

“Ah.” James’s eyes took on that sharp focus that meant he was fully present, his mind as sharp as ever. “Your father’s had his eye on that marina. He’s had people working for him—or paying off assessors—to keep the property undervalued. When the time was right, he planned to scoop it up for a song.”

My stomach churned. “So, when he swoops in with an offer?—”

“It looks like he’s doing Paul Honeysucker a favor.” James nodded. “Offering above marketvalue for a ‘struggling’ business. On paper, it’s perfect. Clean. Undisputable.”

“But the marina’s not struggling. I’ve seen their books.” The memory hit hard—Savvy showing me the ledgers with pride, explaining how they’d modernized the accounting system while keeping her grandfather’s old business principles. “They were doing better than ever.”

“It doesn’t matter what’s true.” James’s voice carried a note of sadness. “Only what the paperwork says. And your father’s had five years to make the paperwork tell exactly the story he wants it to tell.”

My phone buzzed. Mason again.

Mason

Your father’s called an emergency board meeting for tomorrow morning—9 a.m.

“He’s moving faster than I expected,” James said, reading the message over my shoulder. “Good. That means we’ve rattled him.”

“How is that good?”

“Because Richard makes mistakes when he’s angry. When things don’t go according to his perfect plans.” A trace of that shrewd businessman showed in James’s expression. “And right now, he’s furious.”

Through the window, in the distance, Manhattan’s lights began twinkling on, a constellation of power and money that had seemed so far from River Bend’s quiet charm. I’d spent years trying to bridge those two worlds, never realizing that my grandfather had built those bridges, one relationship at a time.

“About Savvy,” I said. “What exactly did you tell her?”

---