Chapter 13 - The Ovens Light Up

The clock on the bakery wall read 4:15 AM on Monday morning.

The kitchen was warm. The three-tier deck oven was humming at four hundred and fifty degrees, its cast-iron doors radiating a steady, comforting heat that chased away the damp chill of the winter morning.

I stood at the eight-foot wooden workbench, my hands coated in white flour, shaping twenty-four loaves of sourdough into oval banneton baskets.

The front door chimed.

Walter walked through the dining room carrying a fresh box of paper coffee cups and the morning newspaper. He wore a clean blue apron over his flannel shirt, his posture upright and easy.

"Deliveries are arriving at six," Walter said, setting the coffee on the counter. "Flour, butter, and five cases of local apples from the orchard in Pine Bush."

"How much did the new supplier quote us?" I asked, scoring the top of a loaf with a razor blade in three quick, confident strokes.

"Twenty percent less than what Tom was paying," Walter smiled, adjusting his glasses. "Turns out when you actually pay invoices within thirty days, suppliers don't charge you a delinquency markup."

The brass bell above the front entrance rang again.

A courier in a brown uniform stepped inside, holding a long manila envelope with an urgent delivery slip attached to the front.

"Roxanne Miller?" the courier asked.

"That's me," I said, wiping my hands on my apron and walking over to sign the digital pad.

I tore open the flap.

Inside was a single typed letter on formal legal stationery from the County Prosecutor’s Office:

“Re: State of New York v. Thomas Miller and Gregory Miller — Grand Jury Indictment Notification.”

Attached to the notice was a handwritten note on a yellow post-it from Arthur Pendelton:

“Tom just rejected the plea deal. He’s taking the witness stand to claim you were an active partner in the fraudulent loans. The deposition starts Thursday.”

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