Hand over the bakery deed, Grandma, before you embarrass yourself in front of the

Tiffany slid the papers toward me with a smug little flourish. ‘Just sign here, Grandma. I’ll handle everything from now on.’ I picked up the pen, then paused. ‘Before I sign, Mr. Whitaker, could you confirm the current ownership structure of Sutter Street Bakery for my granddaughter? She seems confused.’ The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘Certainly. As of January of this year, Sutter Street Bakery LLC is wholly owned by the Eleanor Sutter Charitable Trust, with operational control assigned to Maria Delgado, your head baker of twenty-two years.’ Tiffany’s mouth fell open. ‘What? No — Grandma, you said —’ ‘I said I was thinking about the future,’ I replied gently. ‘I just didn’t say you were in it.’ I turned to the lawyer. ‘And the apartment above the shop? The one Tiffany has been staying in rent-free?’ ‘Deeded to Ms. Delgado’s family last month, ma’am. The new tenants move in Sunday.’ Tiffany shot up so fast her chair screeched. ‘You can’t do this! I’m your blood! I’ve been taking care of you!’ I tilted my head. ‘Sweetheart, you’ve been taking care of my checkbook. There’s a difference.’ I pulled a small folder from my purse. ‘These are the credit card statements. Three thousand at Nordstrom. Eighteen hundred at a spa in Napa. Charges you made on the card you found in my drawer.’ Her face drained white. ‘The bank already flagged them. I told them not to press charges — if you’re out of my house by Friday and out of my life by Saturday.’ She started to cry the loud, performative way she used to as a child when cookies were denied. This time, no cookies were coming. I stood, smoothed my cardigan, and tucked the unsigned papers into my purse. ‘I have a six a.m. croissant bake, dear. Some of us still work for a living.’ At the door I paused. ‘And Tiffany? Senile old women don’t outmaneuver lawyers. Remember that.’