Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Elliott
Since Ansel had no plans to attend the town hall meeting in the high school gym, he came over to my place to watch Baylor.
Irritation already scratches at my neck as I walk through the doors and find Uncle Roy in the crowd. He’s a few rows back and seated with the Thermos Crew, and there’s an empty seat beside him, so I make my way up the aisle to his row.
The council members are seated in the front row on the opposite side of the aisle. They’re the ones who will be voting on whether to sell the land to the developer and approve the developer’s plans for the parcel.
“Fellas.” I nod at the four men and bend down to lift a packet of papers off the chair and sit.
The package is the developer’s proposal, and it appears that one has been left on every chair in the place. My new bunkie renter is probably responsible for them.
A quick glance at the stage and I see that Emelia is seated on the stage along with the mayor. I wonder what he thinks of all this. Why the hell is he even giving her a platform to spread her bullshit?
Her hair is pulled back in a loose French braid, and she’s wearing a pair of light-blue dress pants and a cream blouse.
She looks professional, yet approachable.
Yet again, all I can think is that it’s part of her act.
They probably tell her in Boston to try to project an image that will suck the locals in and help them trust her.
The murmurs rippling through the crowd die down as Mayor Bassett approaches the microphone set up at center stage.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out tonight for this information session. I want to stress that nothing has been decided yet, and nothing is set in stone. Miss Greene is going to go through the presentation first, then she’ll take any questions or comments you may have.
And now I’m going to hand the microphone over to Miss Greene. ”
Emelia gets up from her seat, smiling, and approaches the microphone. Her smile slips a bit when our gazes cross paths, but she looks away quickly.
“Thank you so much for the warm welcome, Mayor Bassett. I appreciate you all giving me some of your time tonight so that I might go over what my firm is hoping to achieve here in Echo Lake. But before I do that, the first thing I would like to say is that this proposal is meant to be a win-win. It’s not about coming in here and taking over and changing things so drastically that in a few years, you don’t even recognize your home anymore.
” Her eyes shift to me and remain on me in a challenge.
“It’s about working with the people in Echo Lake and achieving our goals.
I’m here to get your feedback on what we’ve proposed, and I’ll be making my way around town over the coming weeks to hear your thoughts.
That said, if there’s anything we don’t cover tonight, or you think of something later, or just prefer to have a private conversation with me, I have a bunch of business cards up here I’ll be happy to pass out when I’m done. ”
She starts her presentation. I lean back in my seat, arms crossed, determined to wait for her to speak her bullshit so I can stand and tell this town what will really happen if this land sells.
She’s good. I’ll give her that. Emelia comes across as believable and earnest. The development she’s proposing would take the city-owned acres of land on the north shore of the lake and develop it into low-rise condo buildings with retail on the ground floor.
She has charts predicting the additional property tax income that would be brought in, the influx of population, and what that would mean for downtown businesses.
All the arrows on her charts point up, and she talks a lot about community-centered development and sustainable tourism, which to me is just code for we’ll do what we want, whether you like it or not.
But a good portion of the room nods along with her presentation, which is what worries me. The councilors might be the ones voting, but the residents will be the driving force behind their decision.
“I’ve had an opportunity to speak to some of the people I see here tonight, but not everyone yet.
I’d like to open up the floor for any questions you have for me, and I’d also like to take some notes on what your concerns are.
Anything I can’t answer on the spot, I’ll find out the information and circle back to it at the next meeting. ”
A few people in the room stand up from their chairs.
Dottie is the first one to ask a question. “Hi, Emelia.” She gives her a warm smile. So Emelia has already sunk her teeth into her. Good to know. “Do you have any idea how many jobs this project would create?”
Emelia returns her smile and taps something on her tablet, then breaks down the projection of how many jobs the project would create, both before, during, and after construction.
“Will local businesses be prioritized for contracts during construction, or are you going to bring in a bunch of big city contractors for everything?” Jeff Wilson asks. No doubt he wants the job since he’s a general contractor.
“We always prioritize contractors from the local area first when we’re working on a project. The process should be no different with this development.” Emelia smiles and thanks him for his question. There’s a smugness now as if she thinks this is going better than she expected.
When Jeff sits down, she’s already won him over. Dollar signs practically glow in his eyes.
Deacon is the next to ask a question. “Why would there have to be retail on the ground floor? That’s just going to draw people there, rather than downtown, and that doesn’t help me?”
“The idea isn’t to draw people out of downtown at all, but you make a good point.
” Emelia makes a note on the tablet at the podium.
“What do you think of the idea of restricting the ground floor retail to professional businesses only, rather than retail establishments? Things like dentists’ or lawyers’ offices. Nothing that sells commercial goods.”
Deacon mulls that over before he nods. “A good compromise.”
A chorus of agreement rings throughout the room, and irritation skitters across my skin like spiders.
Old man Gilroy is the next to speak up. “My family has lived on this lake for three generations. I don’t want to live by some resort.”
Finally, someone else with some common sense.
“I can assure you it’s not going to be a resort. These will be low-rise residential condos. We’re talking hundreds of people moving into the area and setting up a life here, not thousands of people coming into town during the summer months and abandoning it as soon as the snow hits.”
Every one of her answers is smooth, practiced. She’s done this before, sneaking into a town with her friendly smile and approachable demeanor before sticking the knife in their back.
One of the older residents gets up and asks her to explain where exactly the development will be because he didn’t bring his reading glasses and, in his words, he can’t see shit without them.
Emelia brings up a slide onto the projector screen that is a map of the area. “The development focuses here.” She points at the northeast shore on the screen. “Primarily undeveloped or underutilized lakefront with strong potential for mixed-use development.”
Underutilized.
I let the word sit for a minute. Unable to sit, I raise my hand and stand.
Emelia sees me, and something shifts in her expression. It’s a steeling of sorts, a bracing. “Yes, Mr. Mercer?”
I don’t know why, but the fact that she doesn’t use my given name when she knows it feels like a silent fuck you.
“Can you define that for me? Underutilized?” I keep my voice even, though you couldn’t mistake it for conversational.
“Of course.” She doesn’t miss a beat, as if I’m asking in the nice tones of everyone else in this room. “It means parcels of land that are currently unoccupied or operating below their economic potential relative to comparable properties.”
I nod, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets. “Below their economic potential…by whose measure?”
“There’s a standard assessment model that’s used in development planning.”
“My camp operates for eight weeks during the summer. The rest of the year, I rent it out to small hunting or snowmobiling groups. Sometimes for corporate retreats. By your assessment model, would that make it underutilized?”
The energy in the room shifts. Nothing dramatic, but everyone stills, and the low-grade murmur that’s always present whenever you get this many people in a room together quiets.
Emelia’s chin lifts a bit. “The current proposal targets the town-owned property on the northeast side of the lake. It doesn’t target any other residential or—”
“Respectfully, that’s not what I asked.” Our gazes hold. “I asked if, based on your criteria, would my property be considered underutilized?”
She continues to hold my gaze, storm clouds gathering in her eyes now. I watch her mentally calculate how she should answer. Should she lie, tell the truth, a mix of both?
“Technically, a seasonal operation could fall within the definition of underutilized, yes. But that’s not the intent of this proposal.”
“Can you show me where it says that in the documents?” I arch an eyebrow.
Silence. Just for a beat, but it’s telling enough.
“The proposal, as currently drafted, focuses on the town-owned property on the northeast shore of the lake. Projections for other existing properties would be part of the community engagement process, which is exactly why we’re here tonight—to identify concerns and build them into the framework before anything moves forward. ”
“So those protections don’t exist yet.”
“They’re being developed as part of the community engagement process, like I just said.”
“Which means that right now, as it stands, there’s nothing preventing the developer from expanding the scope.”
She doesn’t blink, doesn’t back down, and doesn’t flinch when I press her. “You’ve raised a valid point, and it’s one that I will take back to our team. There is the possibility of adding restrictive covenants to the development.”
Everyone in the room seems to relax a bit.
But I don’t because I realize how good she is. She managed to turn my questions into proof that the developer’s process is working as intended—that by engaging the community, everyone’s voices are being heard.
It’s not as if they can just come and take my property, and God knows I’d never sell it to them.
But if their intent is to expand beyond what’s being presented here, and they start approaching other people on the lakefront, someone will cave, whether out of desperation because taxes go up or just because they see dollar signs.
And pretty soon, my camp, my house, will all be swallowed up by new development.
I narrow my eyes at Emelia, and a flicker of something passes over her face before she turns to address someone else’s question.
It looks like anger, but I don’t get the sense that it’s directed my way.
No, I think she’s mad at herself. Because she hadn’t caught it.
She hadn’t thought about my point until I thought to ask it.
No, she’s not pissed at me. She’s pissed at herself. Maybe even at her employer.
Jimmy leans across Roy and whispers to me, “She’s sharp.”
I don’t bother responding.
Emelia Greene might be sharp, but she’s hiding something that she’s not telling us, and it’s my job to find out what.