Story code: ST-001160
Part 4: Locking the Screen
The next morning, the bakery kitchen was cold and quiet when I arrived at five. I didn’t turn on the Pro-series Ring Light. Instead, I walked straight to the digital keypad on the kitchen door. Using the master administrator code our parents had set up years ago, I deleted Chloe’s access PIN and programmed a new, private entry sequence.
Next, I sat at the prep table with the bakery’s primary router hub. Because Chloe had set up her streaming tablet using the bakery’s business internet, the master administrative controls were tied to the bakery’s network email-an email I managed. Within ten minutes, I changed the network password, revoked access for her streaming devices, and changed the recovery options on her creator login portal, locking her out of the stream dashboard.
At seven, the heavy metal handle of the kitchen door rattled violently.
Through the frosted glass window, I saw the silhouette of Chloe carrying two large equipment bags, her ring light stand slung over her shoulder. She tapped her PIN into the keypad. A sharp, red error light flashed, followed by a double beep. She tried again, harder this time. The lock remained solid.
She banged on the glass. “Maya! Open up! My code isn’t working, and the stream is supposed to go live in an hour!”
I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door just a few inches, blocking the entrance with my frame.
“Your code doesn’t work because I changed it,” I said, my voice quiet and steady.
Chloe gasped, her eyes darting to the locked door behind me. “What? Maya, stop playing. I have a live broadcast. The sponsors are waiting. Let me in!”
“No,” I said. “This is a working kitchen, not your personal studio. And you are no longer welcome to film here.”
I reached behind the door, picked up the massive Pro-series Ring Light, and pushed it gently through the gap, placing it in her hands.
“Here is your birthday gift,” I said. “Take it. I don’t owe you five thousand dollars, and you don’t owe me a present. We are even.”
“You can’t do this!” Chloe hissed, her face contorting as she gripped the metal stand of the light. “I can’t log into the channel either! The tablet says the network password was changed. You’re ruining my career!”
“You ruined your own career when you decided to steal my recipes and charge me for the privilege,” I told her. “I’m not exposing your theft to your followers on your stream. I’m not going to post a call-out video. But you are officially cut off. You will find another kitchen, buy your own ingredients, and write your own recipes.”
“I’ll tell Mom and Dad!” she threatened, her voice cracking as she stood in the hallway, holding her bags and the ring light. “They’ll make you give me back the access!”
“I already sent them the tax registration documents showing you kept all the channel revenue for yourself,” I replied. “They’re on my side, Chloe. They don’t like being lied to any more than I do.”
Chloe stared at me, the final realization of her loss settling over her features. She looked at the ring light, then at the closed door keypad. Without another word, she turned and dragged her equipment bags down the hallway, the heavy plastic wheels squeaking against the tile.
I closed the heavy wooden door, turning the deadbolt until it clicked firmly into place. I walked back to the prep table, picked up my pastry bag, and began to pipe cream onto the fresh tarts in the quiet, undisturbed kitchen. The air was clean, the light was soft and natural, and for the first time in months, I could finally breathe.