Hand over the bakery keys, Grandma, before you embarrass yourself any further in front

I wiped my hands slowly on a linen towel, the one Walter embroidered with magnolias the year before he passed. Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Don’t make this dramatic, Grandma. The land is worth four million. You’re sitting on a goldmine baking cupcakes. Sign the transfer, take your little retirement check, and go knit somewhere.” The investors chuckled. One of them, a man named Brennan, slid a contract across my display case, right next to the lemon tarts I’d frosted at four that morning. “Mrs. Whitfield, your granddaughter has power of attorney, correct? This is just a formality.” I tilted my head. “Power of attorney?” I repeated softly. Tiffany’s smile tightened. “The papers you signed last Christmas, remember? When your eyes were bothering you?” I nodded slowly, then reached under the counter and pulled out a slim manila folder. “You mean these papers?” I laid them gently on the glass. “The ones I had my attorney, Maribel Cortez, review the very next morning? The ones I never actually signed, Tiffany?” The color drained from her face. I slid a second document forward. “This is the deed to Sweet Magnolia. It was transferred into an irrevocable charitable trust eleven months ago. The bakery now belongs to the Charleston Culinary Foundation for at-risk youth. It cannot be sold. Not by me. Not by you. Not by anyone.” Brennan’s jaw dropped. “Tiffany, you said this was clean.” I looked at my granddaughter, the little girl who once kissed my cheek covered in powdered sugar. “I noticed the forged signature back in January, sweetheart. I didn’t say a word because I wanted to see how far you’d go.” Brennan was already gathering his folio, muttering about fraud charges. Tiffany’s voice cracked. “Grandma, please—” I picked up a warm lemon tart, wrapped it in wax paper, and held it out to her. “Take this for the road. It’s the last thing you’ll ever get from this kitchen.” The bell above the door chimed as they left. I turned the sign to OPEN and started a fresh pot of coffee. Walter would’ve been proud.