The rain was coming down in sheets now, blinding and thick.

My phone buzzed again in my hand.

I looked down at the screen.

It was a video file from an unknown number.

My thumb hovered over the play button, a cold dread settling in my chest.

“What is it?” Nora asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I tapped the screen.

The video started playing.

It was a live feed of the street outside my bakery.

A white city inspector’s van was parked at the curb, its yellow hazard lights flashing in the dark.

Two men in orange vests were walking toward the front door of *The Daily Loaf*.

One of them carried a large, red sign.

I watched in silence as he pasted the sign directly onto the glass of my front door.

Even through the grainy video, I could read the bold, black letters.

*CONDEMNED.*

My breath left me in a sudden, painful gasp.

“He’s already doing it,” I whispered.

“What?” Nora asked.

“My bakery,” I said, holding the screen toward her. “They’re shutting it down right now.”