Scarlett’s POV)
The morning starts wrong. I know it the moment I see Mrs. Chen standing outside my bakery at seven–thirty, holding a bag of my honey wheat bread like it’s contaminated waste. <fn4617> Latest content published on find~novel</fn4617>
“I want my money back,” she says the second I unlock the door. “This bread made my whole family sick.”
My stomach drops. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Food poisoning. All night long.” She shoves the bag at me. “My grandson couldn’t even keep water down.”
Before I can respond, Mr. Rodriguez appears behind her, waving a receipt. “Me too. That cinnamon roll from yesterday? Worst stomach bug I’ve had in years.”
Then Mrs. Patterson. Then the young mother who bought cupcakes for her daughter’s ydate. Then five more customers, all demanding refunds, all iming my food made them violently ill.
“I don’t understand,” I stammer, staring at the growing crowd outside my shop. “Nobody got sick yesterday. Or the day before. I use the same recipes, the same suppliers-”
“Maybe you need better suppliers,” Mrs. Chen snaps. “Or better hygiene standards.”
My hands shake as I unlock the register, processing refund after refund while more angry customers gather outside. This can’t be happening. I’m careful about everything- temperatures, storage, expiration dates. I’ve never had a singleint in six months of operation.
“There’s a post going around online,” the young mother says, showing me her phone. “About how this ce is unsanitary.”
My blood turns to ice as I read the review. A detailed ount of someone getting violently ill after eating my bread,plete with warnings about “dangerous conditions” and “health vitions.” The post has been shared dozens of times already.
“I need <i>to </i>close early today,” I announce, my voice barely steady. “To investigate this properly.”
The crowd disperses, but <i>not </i>before several more customers cancel their weekend orders. I watch my regr customers walk away shaking their heads, and my heart shatters a little more with each departure..
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By nine o’clock, I’m alone in my empty bakery, staring at the social media post that’s destroying everything I’ve worked for. The ount that posted it is clearly fake–no profile picture, created just yesterday. But the damage is spreading faster than I can track.
That’s when I see the official van pulling up outside.
Health Department.
Three people in suits climb out, carrying clipboards and wearing expressions that could freeze hell. The lead inspector, a stern woman with silver hair, shes her badge at me through the ss door.
“Ma’am, we need you to open up. We have reports of food poisoning linked to this establishment.”
My hands fumble with the lock. “Of course. But I should tell you, I’ve never had anyints before today-”
“We’ll determine that,” she cuts me off, already pushing past me into the shop. “I’m Inspector Martinez. These are my colleagues, Dr. Kim and Mr. Thompson. We’ll need ess to your kitchen, storage areas, and all food preparation surfaces.”
“Absolutely. I want to get to the bottom of this too.” I lead them toward the back, my mind racing. “I use only the freshest ingredients, follow all safety protocols=<b>” </b>
“Ma’am, please don’t interfere with our investigation,” Dr. Kim says coldly, snapping ontex gloves. “We’ll ask questions if we need rification.”
They swarm through my kitchen like locusts, swabbing surfaces, taking samples, marking everything with numbered tags. Each movement feels like a vition, like they’re dismantling my life piece by piece.
“What’s the shelf life on this?” Inspector Martinez holds up a container of flour.
“It expires next month. Everything’s clearlybeled with purchase and expiration dates.”
She makes a note without acknowledging my answer.
“Temperature logs?” Mr. Thompson demands.
I show him my meticulous records, but he barely nces at them before moving on to the next vition he’s hoping to find.
Two hourster, they emerge from my kitchen with sealed evidence bags and grim
expressions.
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“We’re shutting you down pending investigation results,” Inspector Martinez announces, pping a bright red closure notice on my front window. “Could be a week, could be a
month.”
“A month?” My voice cracks. “But I have orders, regr customers-”
“Should have thought of that before you poisoned half the neighborhood,” Dr. Kim mutters.
“I didn’t poison anyone!” The words explode out of me. “I’ve been baking for six months without a single problem!”
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” Inspector Martinez says, not even looking at me as she packs up her clipboard. “Don’t remove that notice. Don’t attempt to operate. We’ll be in
touch.”
They leave me standing in my empty shop, staring at the red notice that might as well be a death sentence. Sunrise Bakes – CLOSED FOR HEALTH VIOLATIONS.
I call Chloe with shaking fingers.
“They shut me down,” I whisper when she answers.
“What? Who shut you down?”
“Health department. Someone posted online that my bread made them sick. Multiple people are iming food poisoning.” My voice breaks. “Chloe, I’ve never had a singleint. Something’s wrong.”
“I’ming over.”
Twenty minutester, Chloe storms into the bakery like an avenging angel, herwyer instincts already in full gear.
“Show me the post,” she demands, settling beside me at one of the small tables.
I pull up the review on my phone, watching her face darken as she reads.
“This is bullshit,” she says tly. “Look at this ount. Created yesterday, no followers, no other reviews. This is clearly fake.”
“But people are getting sick, Chloe.”
“Or so they im.” She screenshots the post, her fingers flying across her phone. “I’m forwarding this to my tech guy. If this is coordinated, he’ll find the connection.”
“What if it’s not fake? What if I really did make people sick?” The thought makes me nauseous. “What if I missed something, contaminated something-”
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“Stop.” Chloe grabs my hands. “You’re the most careful person I know. You check expiration dates twice, sanitize everything, keep detailed records. This isn’t on you.”
“Then who?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
The front door chimes, and Lily runs in from school, her backpack bouncing against her small frame. She stops short when she sees our serious expressions.
“Mama? Why do you look sad?”
I force a smile, not wanting to worry her. “Just some grown–up problems, sweetheart. Nothing for you to worry about.”
But Lily’s too smart for her own good. She looks around the empty bakery, noting theck of customers, the closed sign I had to put up.
“Is the bakery sick?” she asks quietly.
“Something like that.” I pull her onto myp, breathing in her strawberry shampoo scent. “But we’ll figure it out.”
“Remember when I got sickst month and you made me soup and read me stories until I felt better?” Lily looks up at me with those wise brown eyes. “Maybe the bakery just needs soup and stories too.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Maybe it does.”
“I can help. I make very good pretend soup.” She hops down and pretends to stir an invisible pot. “There. All better!”
If only it were that simple.
My phone rings, Dorian’s name shing on the screen. My heart lurches. He must have heard about the closure by now.
“Hello?”
“Scarlett? I just drove past the bakery. What’s going on?”
The concern in his voice makes my chest tight. “There were someints about food poisoning. The health department shut us down for investigation.”
“Food poisoning? That’s impossible. I eat there almost daily, and the quality is impable.”
“Tell that to the twelve customers who demanded refunds this morning.” I can’t keep the
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bitterness out of my voice.
“This doesn’t make sense. When did theints start?”
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“This morning. All at once. Like they coordinated it.” I pause, the thought hitting me for the first time. “Actually, that’s exactly what it was like. Coordinated.”
“Have you seen the social media posts?<b>” </b>
My stomach sinks. “Posts? Plural?”
“There are at least six different ounts posting simr stories. All iming food poisoning from your bakery, all using almost identicalnguage.”
I close my eyes, the pieces starting to fall into ce. “Someone set me up.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Scarlett, I deal with corporate sabotage regrly. This has all the hallmarks of a coordinated attack.”
“But who would do this? And why?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Can you forward me the posts? I have people who can trace the source ounts, find IP addresses.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course.” His voice is warm, reassuring. “I also have connections at the health department. Friends who can expedite the investigation, make sure you get results quickly instead of being tied up for weeks.”
Relief floods through me so intensely I have to sit down. “Dorian, I… thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“You don’t need <i>to </i>repay me. I’m not doing this as a favor, Scarlett. I’m doing this because I believe in you. Because what you’ve built here matters.”
Tears blur my vision. When was thest time someone believed in me like this? When was thest time someone fought for me instead of expecting me to handle everything alone?
“The health inspectors were awful,” I admit. “They treated me like I was already guilty. Like they’d made up their minds before they even walked in.”
“Unfortunately, that’s how these things often work. Guilty until proven innocent. But with the right connections, we can speed up the process and get you reopened as soon as possible.”
“What if the tests show something wrong? What if I really did make people sick?”
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“Then we’ll deal with that when it happens. But Scarlett, I’ve been eating your pastries for weeks. If there was a contamination issue, it would have shown up before now.”
His confidence in me is staggering. I’ve been doubting myself all morning, wondering if I missed something, if I’m not as careful as I thought. But Dorian’s certainty steadies me.
“Send me everything,” he continues. “Screenshots of the posts, contact information for the health inspectors, any documentation you have. I’ll make some calls tonight.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your help.”
“You don’t have to deserve kindness, Scarlett. Sometimes people help because it’s the right thing to do.”
After we hang up, I forward him all the social media posts, watching as more negative reviews appear in real time. Someone is working very hard to destroy my reputation.
“Mama, who was that?” Lily asks, appearing at my elbow.
“A friend. He’s going to help us figure out what happened.”
“Good. I like him. He makes you smile.”
She’s right. Even in the middle of this nightmare, Dorian’s voice made me feel less alone.
“Why don’t you go color while I finish up here?” I suggest, not wanting her to overhear any more adult conversations.
<i>“</i>Okay. But Mama? The bakery isn’t really sick, is it? It’s just pretend sick, like when I fake a cough to stay home from school?”
Her innocent question hits too close to home. “Something like that, sweetheart.”
As she settles at a corner table with her coloring books, I start screenshotting every negative post I can find. The pattern bes clearer with each one–too simr, too coordinated, too perfectly timed.
Someone wanted to destroy my bakery. The question is who,
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