A young woman named Priya with glasses and a tattoo of the Raleigh skyline on her forearm took one look at Marisol’s folder of photos, Hector’s rough sketches, and the half-eaten fig-rosemary roll she’d brought as a peace offering.

“For a retroactive commercial permit in Raleigh? With the current backlog?” He glanced at his watch, as if calculating the orbits of distant planets. “Six to eight months.”

Marisol held her breath.

She stayed up until 3 a.m., navigating the labyrinth of the City of Raleigh’s online permit portal. She discovered the “Express Commercial Permit” for minor structural work—tucked away under a dropdown menu labeled Miscellaneous -> Partition Modifications (Non-Bearing) . She found a list of pre-approved structural engineers who did flat-fee retroactive stamps for $450. She learned that the electrical outlet could be “amended” onto the same permit for an extra $87.

“How long?” she whispered.

“You’re the one who knocked down the wall on Martin Street?” Priya said, grinning. “Gerald mentioned you. Said the bread smelled incredible.”

Marisol Vega stood on the cracked linoleum floor of her new bakery, Sweets & Solace , and stared at the wall. Not just any wall—the wall she had knocked down three weeks ago without filing a single form.

Then the letter came.