Chapter 21
The conference room above the county planning office had no windows, which was probably intentional. Three hours without natural light had a way of making a person feel like whatever was happening in the room was the only thing happening anywhere.
Julie sat at the far end of the table. Beside her, Cole’s attorney, Madeline Forsythe, had the careful stillness of someone who’d been in worse rooms than this.
Across from them sat two county commissioners, the building inspector, and a man from the insurance carrier’s regional office who’d introduced himself as Randall Voss and hadn’t spoken since.
It was Cole who occupied most of Julie’s attention.
He sat at the head of the table, his hands resting flat on the surface in front of him. From the moment the commissioners had confirmed that the county was suspending the Finley Point permits pending a full review, Cole had been very still.
And that worried Julie.
Pete Sawyer was in jail. As soon as Cole and Julie had spoken to Sheriff Thompson, she’d brought him into the station for questioning. He’d told them everything, and he’d been charged with a number of serious offenses.
The Sargeson Group had funneled money through a shell company to cover the cost of someone damaging the equipment. Pete had been the one willing to take the money. Marcus Harmon, who ran the Group, was already working with a lawyer in Missoula and hadn’t been charged with anything yet.
There was an arrest, evidence, and a clear line from Harmon to Pete Sawyer, but none of it had stopped this meeting from happening.
“The complaint filings were submitted before any arrests were made,” one of the commissioners said. “The review process is procedural at this point. It operates independently of the criminal investigation.”
Madeline frowned. “My client has invested fourteen months and substantial capital in a project your county fast-tracked. The permit suspension, regardless of what triggered it, halts all construction activity effective immediately.”
“We understand the inconvenience—”
Madeline set her pen down. “It’s not an inconvenience, Commissioner. It’s a financial crisis.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
Voss, the insurance man, cleared his throat. “Regarding the arson claim. Our initial assessment suggests there are questions around the security protocol in place at the time of the incident.”
Cole looked at him. “We had a contracted overnight security firm on-site.”
“Two guards. For a four-acre development site with significant materials storage.” Voss flipped a page in the folder in front of him. “Our policy language specifies reasonable precautions proportional to risk. We may need to revisit what constitutes reasonable in this context.”
The words landed without drama. That was the worst kind.
Julie had sat in rooms like this before, covering stories about other people’s disasters. She’d always been able to separate herself from what she was witnessing. The notebook in her hand, or the absence of one, today, had always been the thing that kept a clean line between her and the wreckage.
There was no notebook today, and no line.
After another twenty minutes and language that meant the insurance payout was in dispute, and the permits were suspended, Madeline requested a brief recess. The commissioners stepped into the corridor. Voss remained seated, studying his folder.
Noah leaned across Cole. “The investors got wind of a potential permit suspension this morning. Jensen just sent me a text. He wants us to call him this afternoon. He used the word reassess.”
Cole sighed. “That’s what I’ve been worried about.”
Julie said nothing. Outside in the corridor, someone’s shoes made a slow, deliberate sound on the tile.
The recess stretched to fifteen minutes. When the commissioners returned, Gerald Petrie sat down and looked directly at Cole.
“We’ll work as fast as we can,” he said. “But the review period is sixty days minimum. Our regulations don’t allow us any flexibility.”
Sixty days. Julie did the math against the timeline Cole had given her. Sixty days of suspended permits meant no construction draws, continued loan interest on capital not moving, and investors who’d already started making contingency plans.
Cole thanked the commissioners and shook hands.
They walked out into the pale November morning together. Madeline went ahead to make some calls and Noah fell back.
Cole and Julie reached his truck first, and he stood beside the driver’s door without opening it.
Julie waited.
Cole’s gaze moved across the parking lot without settling on anything. A delivery truck rumbled past on the street beyond the building. Somewhere behind them, Madeline was speaking in low, clipped sentences into her phone.
“I have to decide today,” Cole told her. “Whether to draw down my personal reserves and carry the project through the review period, or—”
He stopped.
“Or walk away,” Julie said.
Cole didn’t answer that directly. “If I use my own money, and the insurance claim doesn’t come through, I’m in trouble. If Jensen pulls his funding, the resort won’t be built.”
Julie was devastated for Cole and Noah, not only because the resort would have been an incredible asset to Sapphire Bay, but because of what it meant to Cole.
Noah walked up to Cole. “I just spoke to Jensen. Does a two o’clock call suit you?” He studied Cole’s pale face. “I can handle it if you need more time.”
“I’ll do it.” Cole reached for his keys. His hand was steady. His voice was steady. Everything about him was steady in the way that cost something.
Julie watched him unlock the truck.
She’d spent her entire career learning to read the space between what people said and what they were carrying. She recognized it in Cole’s silence. She’d seen it before, in rooms where people decided whether to keep going or stop.
Cole held the passenger door open for her.
She got in and said nothing, and told herself it was only the cold air making it hard to breathe.