Chapter 27 Emma #2
“To Duck!” everyone echoes, and then there’s a chuckle when Poppy adds, “To spell check!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Duck grumbles. “I’ll make sure you’ve got a job proofreading my work, Poppy.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” she says, raising her glass again.
We toast Duck again, and for a minute, all the tension about the hearing and the new contract and whatever else is lurking in the dark corners of Stoneheart gets drowned out by the sound of our own optimism.
Lee smears ketchup on a fry and holds it up like a pointer, launching into a campaign strategy as if he’s Duck’s official manager.
Duck scowls and flicks a cocktail napkin at him, but I catch the flicker of pride that cracks his usual gruffness.
We roll out of the bar in a weirdly dignified group, with Lee leading, Poppy and Axel next, Kya and Andi flanking the rear, and Bones and I in the middle, holding hands like tourists on a field trip. Josie and Stone linger behind, making sure everyone’s out before they lock up Devil’s.
By the time we arrive at the municipal building, the parking lot is already packed, cars spilling onto the grass, bikes lined up along the fence.
Inside is worse. Every seat is taken, people standing three-deep along the walls, more clustering in the doorway.
I recognize half the faces—Erica Olsen near the front, clutching her purse like a life raft.
Mr. Rooney from the corner store. Mrs. Joy with what looks like half her book club.
The local news crew has cameras set up in the back, and when their lights hit, the whole room washes out in harsh white.
“Christ,” Bones mutters, scanning the crowd. “This is a fire hazard.”
“Good thing Tank’s standing by the exit,” I say, spotting him near the back door, arms crossed, looking exactly like the kind of deterrent you want when things might get messy.
Bones somehow manages to find us seats in the third row. I settle in carefully, propping my boot on the chair rail in front of me while he takes the seat beside me, his hand immediately finding mine.
Stone’s a few rows over with Josie, both of them still reviewing documents. Duck and Maggie are closer to the front. The rest of the club is scattered throughout—not obvious, not coordinated, but definitely present. A wall of leather and loyalty.
The planning commission files in like they’re heading to their own execution. Five of them, looking grim. Mayor Roberts is off to the side, probably wishing he’d retired last year.
The gavel comes down, and the chairman calls the meeting to order before reading the agenda.
People are restless—there’s murmuring, coughing, shifting. The first few items are nothing, just business licenses and trash pickup for the coming season. Then finally, agenda item #7: Stoneheart Infrastructure Improvements, Phase Two.
The room goes silent.
The chairman clears his throat. “Councilman, you’re the project lead on this. Please proceed.”
The councilman is thin, balding, and has a way of looking at his own hands like he’s checking they still exist. He stands, voice tremoring slightly.
“The council has been reviewing the proposed rezoning of the east-side neighborhood for Carolina Properties Group. We’ll hear public comment before deliberation. ”
A man in an expensive suit stands up. I recognize him from the town meeting—one of Vernick’s lackeys.
“Good evening. I’m here representing Carolina Properties—”
“You mean Summit Development,” someone yells from the back.
The room erupts. The gavel comes down hard.
“Order! One more outburst and I clear this room!”
The suit guy continues like nothing happened. “Carolina Properties is committed to revitalizing the east side with quality development that benefits the entire community—”
“By kicking out everyone who lives there?” Mr. Thompson shouts.
More yelling. More gaveling. I’m starting to think this whole thing is going to devolve into a bar fight minus the fun parts.
Then it’s Josie’s turn to talk, and the room goes quiet.
She’s wearing a charcoal suit, hair pulled back, carrying a laptop and a thick folder. When she walks to the front, she moves with the kind of confidence that commands instant respect, and I can see why my dad is so infatuated with her.
“Mr. Chairman,” she says, voice clear. “May I present evidence relevant to tonight’s decision?”
The chairman looks relieved to have someone who isn’t yelling. “Please, Ms. Bright.”
Josie sets up her laptop and connects it to the projector. An image appears on the screen behind the commission—a corporate structure chart that looks like someone tried to map out a conspiracy theory and accidentally got it right.
“Good evening. I’m Josephine Bright, representing the East Side Neighborhood Coalition.” She clicks to the next slide. “I’d like to submit several documents that are relevant to tonight’s vote.”
The chart expands, showing layers of companies nested inside other companies like Russian dolls made of legal bullshit.
“Carolina Properties Group was registered eight months ago with a mailing address that turns out to be a UPS store in Charlotte.” Another click.
“Its sole owner on paper is Piedmont Development Partners. Which is owned by Southeast Regional Investments. Which is owned by—” Click. “—Summit Development.”
The room remains silent, waiting for what’s next.
“Summit Development,” Josie continues, her voice level and factual, “is currently under federal investigation for fraud, racketeering, and illegal land acquisition practices. They’re the same company that attempted to force Stoneheart residents out last year through intimidation and arson.
Not to mention their questionable infrastructure overhaul that tore up our roads and made the east side almost impassable. ”
She projects more documents—bank statements, corporate filings, things with official stamps that look impressively damning.
“Furthermore, Mr. Daniel Vernick”—she doesn’t even look at him, just keeps her eyes on the commission—”has received over $240,000 in campaign donations from entities that trace back to Summit Development.
These donations were deliberately obscured through shell companies to avoid disclosure requirements. ”
Now she does look at Vernick, who’s gone the color of old oatmeal.
“Mr. Vernick failed to report these connections, which violates state campaign finance law. I have copies of all documentation here for the commission, for the press, and for the district attorney’s office.”
The room explodes. People are shouting, the cameras are swinging toward Vernick, and the chairman is banging his gavel like he’s trying to break it.
“ORDER! We will have ORDER!”
It takes a full minute for people to calm down. Vernick stands, looking like he’s about to throw up or pass out or both.
“These are baseless accusations,” he says, but his voice shakes. “Ms. Bright is clearly biased—”
“I have documentation for every claim,” Josie cuts him off smoothly. “Bank records. Corporate registrations. Wire transfers. Donor disclosures. All available for review.”
She holds up the folder like it’s a weapon. Which technically, it is.
The councilman who’s supposed to be leading this thing looks at the chairman, who looks at the other commissioners, who all look like they’d rather be literally anywhere else.
“We’ll take a recess,” the chairman announces. “Fifteen minutes to review the materials.”
Fifteen minutes turns into thirty. Then forty-five.
We’re all standing outside now because the building is too hot and too tense. Bones has me propped against the wall, making sure I’m taking the weight off my ankle. Around us, people are talking in whispered clusters.
“Think they’ll vote it down?” I ask.
“They’d be idiots not to.” Bones glances at the door. “Josie just handed them everything they need to cover their asses legally. If they approve it now, they’re opening themselves up to lawsuits.”
Stone appears with Josie, who looks tired but satisfied. There’s this moment where his hand touches her lower back—just briefly, just enough—and then he steps away like nothing happened.
“Good work,” Stone tells her.
“Not over yet,” she says. “But I think we’ve got them.”
Duck is surrounded by at least a dozen people, all of them talking at once about his campaign. He looks overwhelmed but not entirely miserable about it.
Then we’re called back inside.
The commission members file back in looking grim. The chairman takes a deep breath.
“After reviewing the documentation provided by Ms. Bright, and given the serious allegations regarding Carolina Properties Group and its ties to Summit Development, this commission votes to deny the rezoning proposal.”
The room erupts in cheers.
“Furthermore,” the chairman continues over the noise, “we are referring all documentation to the district attorney’s office for review. This meeting is adjourned.”
The gavel comes down one final time, and that’s it.
We won.
People are hugging, crying, celebrating. Erica Olsen is sobbing into Mr. Rooney’s shoulder. Mrs. Joy looks like she might actually levitate from sheer relief.
Bones pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Told you.”
“We did it,” I whisper, still not quite believing it.
“Josie did the heavy lifting,” he says, but I can see the pride in his eyes. His research. His paper trails. His Intel patch, earned back one shell company at a time. “But yeah. We won this round.”
Around us, club members are filtering out with quiet nods and handshakes. This is their victory too—protecting their town, their people.
I watch Stone and Josie surrounded by grateful residents. His hand finds her lower back again, steadying her as someone reaches in for a handshake. Jesus, Dad. Just go for it, already.
Duck is still getting mobbed, and I catch bits of conversation that make me smile.
“You’ve got my vote, Duck.”
“When are you filing?”
“Can I volunteer for your campaign?”
Lee catches my eye from across the room and grins. I grin back.
This is what home feels like. Not just a place, but people fighting for each other. People who show up. People who stay.
“Come on,” Bones says. “Let’s get you home. Reckon you’re all sweaty and need a shower again.”
He waggles his eyebrows at me and I laugh, letting him lead me outside.
The night air hits my face, cool and clean, and I stop on the steps to look back.
Through the doors, I can see them—my dad with his hand on Josie’s back, Duck being mobbed by future voters, Lee arguing with Kya about something that’s making them both laugh.
Bones’s hand finds mine, warm and steady, and I think about all the years I spent running from this place.
I thought Stoneheart was a cage. Turns out it was the key.
Not because of my surname or because I was born here. But because I chose it. Chose them. Chose this messy, complicated, sometimes scary, but beautiful life.
And I’m never leaving again.