12/19/2025
https://gofund.me/c7aca2da9
When the System Fails the Small Business Owner
A story of legacy, health, and the cost of misplaced trust
By Anika Thompson-Staples
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I have been a business owner since 2004.
For more than two decades, I have built, curated, and sustained successful salon spaces rooted in creativity, professionalism, and community. I have never been late on rent, never abandoned a property, and have consistently transformed every space I occupied into a beautiful, welcoming environment for clients and staff alike.
I have served an extraordinary clientele—clients who believed in my vision and supported my work year after year. I have also built people. Many of the professionals who worked under my leadership went on to become successful salon owners themselves. That legacy matters to me.
It is from that place of experience and credibility that I share this story.
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Rooted in Place
This story is not just about a lease—it is about home.
I grew up in this community. I have been part of Germantown since kindergarten. My grade school is just around the corner. The salon where I learned the rhythms of this work—the place I spent my days growing up—sat on the corner of Mount Pleasant, directly across from the building I would later occupy as a business owner.
This was not a random commercial address to me. It was familiar ground.
Every day, I saw faces I had known for years—neighbors, parents, longtime residents, people who watched me grow up and later trusted me with their hair, their stories, and their time. The space functioned as more than a business; it was a gathering point, a place of continuity in a neighborhood defined by relationships.
That sense of community is what shaped how I treated the space—with care, pride, and responsibility. I wasn’t just maintaining a storefront. I was preserving a piece of the neighborhood I grew up in.
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A Relationship That Became Unsafe
Early in the tenancy, an incident occurred that permanently altered how safe I felt.
While I was crossing the street behind the salon to take my infant daughter to daycare, the landlord approached in his vehicle and appeared to accelerate toward us, then slammed on his brakes just before reaching us. He rolled down his window and laughed, speaking to me as if the moment were a joke or a familiar exchange between friends.
To me, it was terrifying.
I was holding my child. I was caught off guard. I feared losing my footing or dropping her. When I later tried to explain how shaken and frightened I was by what had happened, my reaction was minimized and dismissed as an overreaction.
That moment drew a clear line for me. It fundamentally changed how I experienced the space, the relationship, and my sense of safety.
In the immediate aftermath, I confronted him emotionally and angrily—a response rooted in fear, shock, and instinctive protection of my child. From that point forward, our interactions shifted into a pattern that felt increasingly passive-aggressive, inconsistent, and intrusive.
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The Space and the Commitment
The commercial space at the center of this situation was one I occupied for seven years. It was located just five minutes from my home in Germantown, allowing me to remain deeply connected to my community while supporting my family.
During my tenancy, I made substantial improvements to the building, including:
• a full overhaul of the electrical system
• major upgrades to the plumbing
• installation of a brand-new hot water heater
• construction of a new bathroom system
• new stairs leading to the second level
• updated lighting throughout the space
• new flooring and continuous cosmetic upkeep
These were not superficial changes—they were infrastructure investments that improved the functionality and value of the property.
As always, I paid rent consistently, including throughout COVID, when many small businesses struggled to survive.
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The Lease I Trusted
When I signed my commercial lease, I did so in good faith and with legal representation. I relied on my attorney to review the agreement and protect my interests. At no point was I advised that the lease structure—listing me personally as “doing business as” rather than clearly as a corporate entity—could expose me to personal liability.
This distinction is not widely understood by many small business owners, and it was never explained to me. I would never have knowingly agreed to terms that placed my personal assets at risk.
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Mounting Stress and Health Impact
As the tenancy progressed, financial and operational pressures increased. Rent was raised, pass-through expenses escalated, and maintenance issues arose that were beyond my control.
During this period:
• a water heater failure in the unit above caused damage to newly installed flooring
• water intrusion from a leaking exterior door led to ongoing moisture issues in the basement—concerns I repeatedly raised
• at home, a plumbing failure revealed black mold, requiring extensive renovations
• I was the primary breadwinner for a family of five
• my business was still recovering from the long-term effects of COVID
• I was experiencing serious, ongoing cardiac symptoms that ultimately required heart surgery
The cumulative stress was overwhelming.
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The Decision to Exit
Knowing my health required immediate attention, I made the difficult decision to leave the lease. I provided over 60 days’ notice and disclosed that I was dealing with significant health issues.
I vacated the property over Fourth of July weekend, leaving the space fully operational, immaculate, and ready for immediate occupancy.
I was presented with three exit options—each costing over $4,000. None were financially feasible given my circumstances.
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Marketing, Re-Rental, and the Basement Issue
Despite my early July departure, the property was not professionally marketed for months. No commercial signage was placed on the building until October, and even then, it was a small, non-professional sign. More formal marketing did not appear until November.
This is notable because the property could have been shown while I was still occupying it, and there is a duty in commercial leasing to mitigate losses through timely re-rental efforts.
Regarding the basement, the only items left behind were paper goods and a few miscellaneous items that had been exposed to moisture. Mold growth was present, caused by the same ongoing leak from the exterior door that I had reported. Removing and handling mold-affected materials posed a health concern and was directly related to unresolved building issues—not neglect.
The remaining documented charges consisted of a small basement clean-out and a lock change.
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The Legal Breakdown
Compounding everything was a failure in legal representation. The attorney I hired:
• missed the scheduled court hearing
• failed to communicate filings and outcomes to me
• did not disclose that he lacked professional liability insurance
As a result of his failure to appear, a judgment was entered without my case being argued on its merits. This was not due to refusal or avoidance on my part—I was deprived of the opportunity to be heard.
Since then, communication has deteriorated, leaving me feeling powerless in a process I trusted him to manage.
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An Escalation Without Proportion
It is also important to understand the timeline.
I exited the space in 2022. What began as a disputed request of approximately $4,000 has since escalated into years of litigation, enforcement actions, and mounting legal fees.
The costs incurred in pursuing this matter now far exceed the amount initially sought. More time, money, and legal resources have been spent attempting to enforce this claim than could reasonably be recovered through it.
From my perspective, the persistence and intensity of the legal pursuit felt disproportionate and destabilizing—especially given my long history as a tenant, the condition in which I left the space, and the documented re-rental of the property.
This prolonged escalation compounded the fear, exhaustion, and lack of safety I had already been experiencing. It mirrored the same dynamic I had felt throughout the tenancy: an inability to disengage, de-escalate, or find resolution, even after I had left the space entirely.
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After the Exit
The security deposit and last month’s rent were never returned nor clearly credited toward the balance claimed. Meanwhile, the property was eventually leased at more than 20% higher than my rent. The new tenant moved in with minimal changes and described it as one of the easiest commercial transitions she had experienced.
Since my departure, the building has been condemned.
This is not an accusation—it is a documented fact. It raises serious questions about habitability, maintenance responsibility, and how risk is allocated in commercial leasing.
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The Financial Consequences
The consequences of how this lease was structured—and how my case was handled—have been devastating.
Because the lease listed me personally as a “doing business as,” a lien of more than $19,000 has been placed against me personally, not against my business entity. In addition, a levy has been issued against my business, placing my livelihood at immediate risk.
Sheriff’s deputies have entered my business space to mark items for a sheriff’s sale, including equipment essential to my ability to operate. My personal bank accounts were also levied, with nearly $1,000 removed in October without warning.
This has not only affected my finances—it has destabilized my ability to continue working, earning, and supporting my family.
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What Is Being Taken
What makes these enforcement actions especially painful is not simply the threat to business equipment or income—it is the targeting of items that are irreplaceable parts of my life and identity.
The items marked for seizure are not inventory. They are not décor chosen from a catalog.
They are my history.
Some date back to when I was seven years old. One in particular is the first picture my mother ever hung over my bedroom—a piece titled Never Afraid to Try, depicting a dancer. The frame is damaged now. The glass sometimes slips out. There is a small crack at the bottom. Yet it has followed me through every chapter of my life as a reminder of who I am and how I was raised.
Other pieces were created by my son during high school when he was an Arts Honor Society student. His work hangs not as decoration, but as testimony to his creativity and growth.
There are images donated by local artist Amir Lyles, pieces that move between my home and my salon depending on the season or the energy of the space—symbols of community, generosity, and shared creativity.
One painting holds particular meaning. In my first year of business, in 2004, a client urged me to leave work to retrieve a piece her father had painted that was about to be discarded after a flood. I brought it home that day.
The image depicts a man, a woman, and a child. At the time, it represented the future I hoped for.
Shortly after hanging it, I met my husband. Twenty-eight days later—twenty-eight days from the moment we first met—we were married. Sixteen years later, we remain married, with two additional beautiful children. That painting has stood as a quiet witness to the life I built.
Other items carry quieter meaning: a Matisse print that once hung in my grandmother’s bathroom, preserved exactly as it looked in my childhood; handwritten sayings about the sanctity of marriage; messages that remind me—and my clients—to smile, to persist, and to remember that we are bigger than what happens to us.
Most of the furniture in my salon was thrifted, found on the side of the road, refurbished by hand, or brought from my home. I am a minimalist by nature. The only items without deep personal meaning were the refrigerator, coffee pot, shampoo bowl, dryer, television, and standard salon equipment.
What is being targeted for sale are not luxuries.
They are pieces of me.
There are parts of my history, my lineage, and my life that cannot be liquidated. And I cannot accept that those pieces should be taken to satisfy a process I was never fully given the chance to defend myself in.
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A Fundamental Question of Fairness
One of the most confusing and distressing aspects of this situation is the inconsistency in how liability is being applied.
The lawsuit names me personally under a “doing business as” designation, and enforcement actions have been taken against me as an individual—resulting in a personal lien and the levy of personal bank accounts.
At the same time, enforcement has extended into my business operations, with levies placed against business accounts and essential business equipment marked for sheriff’s sale.
I do not understand how both layers can be pursued simultaneously.
If I am being sued personally, I am unclear how my business assets—used to generate income and operate day to day—are also being seized. If the action is against the business, I do not understand how personal assets are being targeted without a clear finding that pierces corporate protections.
This lack of clarity has left me unable to meaningfully defend myself or even understand the scope of what I am being accused of owing.
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A System That Leaves No Exit
Legal fees, compounded by enforcement actions, have left me with no financial ability to retain new legal counsel to protect myself or properly challenge what has occurred. The very systems designed to offer recourse—courts, counsel, and due process—have become inaccessible due to cost.
As a result, I am now facing the possibility of bankruptcy, not because my business failed, but because a combination of:
• an improperly understood lease structure
• a missed court appearance by counsel
• escalating enforcement actions
• and personal health crises
has left me without viable alternatives.
I am left navigating impossible questions:
How do I remain in my profession?
How do I protect what remains of my livelihood?
How does a business owner survive when personal liability is triggered without informed consent?
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Why This Matters Beyond Me
This is not just my story.
It is the story of countless small business owners—especially women—who operate in good faith, trust professionals, reinvest in their communities, and assume they are protected, only to discover too late how fragile those protections truly are.
I did not refuse to pay rent.
I did not abandon my space.
I did not evade responsibility.
I followed the process as I understood it—and paid a price I never knowingly agreed to.
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Resilience, Not Recklessness
I have weathered many storms in my life and in business. There have been moments—more than once—when I found myself with my toes at the edge of the cliff, facing circumstances that felt impossible.
And every time before now, I found a way to stand back up.
I rebuilt. I adapted. I created again. I have always triumphed—not by cutting corners, but by working harder, thinking smarter, and staying rooted in purpose. That history of resilience is why this moment matters so deeply.
This is not a story about collapse. It is a story about endurance—and about what happens when even the strongest, most responsible business owners are pushed beyond what one person can reasonably absorb.
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Why I’m Speaking Out
I am sharing this story not to inflame, but to educate and protect others.
If my experience teaches anything, it is this:
• understand exactly how you are named in every contract
• confirm your attorney’s credentials and insurance
• document everything—even when things seem “fine”
• advocate early, before health and finances collapse
No entrepreneur should be forced into bankruptcy because they trusted professionals who failed to protect them.
No business owner should lose both their livelihood and personal security without ever being heard in court.
I am still standing—but I am speaking now so others don’t have to stand where I am.
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For professional or media inquiries:
anikalee.thompson@gmail.com
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