Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Lila had been inside a hundred times over the years. Birthday parties in the courtyard garden as a child. Scholarship interviews as a teenager. Foundation meetings as an adult, sitting at the long mahogany table while Warren and his board discussed grant applications and community projects.
Today, the familiar space felt different. Smaller, somehow. More claustrophobic.
She was shown into Warren's private office by his assistant, a polished woman in her fifties who offered coffee and disappeared. When Lila stepped into Warren's office, she was surprised to find they were not alone.
Harrison Montgomery rose from one of the leather chairs near the window, setting aside a coffee cup. Silver hair caught the afternoon light, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that had always reminded her of her grandfather.
"Lila." He crossed the room and took both her hands in his. "I was just telling Warren how impressed I've been with the centennial preparations. You've done remarkable work."
"Thank you, Mr. Montgomery."
"Harrison. Please." His grip was warm, his gaze genuinely kind. "I've known you since you were in pigtails, running around your father's office." Something softened in his expression. "Daniel would be so proud of what you've accomplished. Your mother, too. They would both be proud."
The mention of her parents hit harder than she expected. Harrison had been to her father’s funeral. He had spoken at her father's memorial service, his voice steady when everyone else's had broken.
"Thank you," she managed. "That means a lot."
"Well." Harrison squeezed her hands once and released them. "I'll let you two discuss business. Warren tells me there are some exciting opportunities on the horizon for you, Lila. I hope you'll give them serious consideration." He nodded to Warren. "Lunch next week?"
"Looking forward to it."
Harrison paused at the door, turning back with that grandfatherly smile. "The centennial is going to be wonderful. I can feel it." And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Lila stood in the sudden quiet, processing. Harrison Montgomery had always been a fixture of her childhood - the man who donated the playground equipment at the elementary school, who funded scholarships for local students, who showed up at every community event with a handshake and a kind word.
If Warren Caldwell was the power behind Blossom Springs, Harrison was its heart.
"Please, sit." Warren gestured to the chair Harrison had vacated. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?"
She shook her head. "No, thank you."
She sat. Folded her hands in her lap. Tried to look like someone who wasn't silently cataloging every document visible on his desk, every name on the spines of the books, every detail that might matter.
His name keeps appearing, Ronan had said. Adjacent to everything.
Warren settled into the chair beside her rather than behind his desk. A power move, though a subtle one. Creating intimacy. Establishing that this was a conversation between friends, not a formal meeting.
"I wanted to check in with you personally," he said. "The centennial is less than three weeks away, and I know the pressure you're under. How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine. Tired, but fine. Everything's on track."
"The security arrangements?"
"Mitch DeMario is now working with me. He's working with Chief Fielding on crowd control and access management. And Ronan Cross—the assessment consultant you recommended—has been very thorough."
Warren’s hand paused on his water glass. A tiny hesitation—the kind you’d miss if you weren’t watching for it. But Lila had spent two years watching.
"Cross. Yes. How has that been working out?"
"Well, I think. He's asked good questions. Pointed out some vulnerabilities we hadn't considered." She kept her voice neutral. "How did you know him? You said you'd worked with his firm before."
"A conference in Charleston, several years ago. Security assessment for a large donor event." Warren's smile was easy, relaxed. "His company came highly recommended. I was pleased I could make the connection for the centennial."
"We're grateful."
"Has he mentioned anything concerning? Any issues with the venues or the plans?"
The question was casual. The intention behind it was not.
"Nothing major," Lila said. "Standard security recommendations. Better lighting in some areas. More officers at certain chokepoints."
"Nothing about the town itself? The businesses, the organizations?"
She blinked, keeping her face carefully blank. "Should there be?"
"No, no." Warren waved a hand. "I'm just being thorough. You know how I am—I like to stay informed about everything that touches this community." He leaned forward slightly. "Lila, I asked you here because I wanted to talk about your future."
"My future?"
"The centennial is a massive undertaking. You've handled it beautifully—better than anyone expected. After it's over, there will be questions about what comes next for you."
"I'm happy in my current position."
"Of course you are. But there's a seat opening on the town council next spring. Evelyn Marsh is retiring. The committee has been discussing potential candidates, and your name has come up."
Lila stared at him. "Town council?"
"You know this community better than almost anyone. You're respected. Trusted." Warren's eyes were warm, grandfatherly. "Your father would be so proud of what you've accomplished. I know he would want to see you continue his legacy of service."
The mention of her father hit like a punch to the chest. She had to work to keep her expression steady.
"That's very generous, Warren. I'm honored that you thought of me."
"Think about it. There's no pressure, no deadline. But I wanted you to know that there are people in this town who see your potential." He reached over and patted her hand. "People who want to help you succeed."
His palm was warm. His grip was firm. And something about the way he held her gaze made her want to pull away.
"I'll think about it," she said. "Thank you."
"That's all I ask." He released her hand and stood, signaling that the meeting was over. "Now, I won't keep you any longer. I know you have a hundred things to do. But let's have dinner soon, shall we? After the centennial. We can celebrate your success."
"I'd like that."
She walked out of his office with a smile fixed on her face, nodded to his assistant, and took the elevator down to the lobby. She didn't let the smile drop until she was outside, standing on Main Street in the afternoon sun.
Town council. A seat at the table where decisions were made. Where permits were approved, budgets were allocated, and land-use policies were set.
It could be exactly what it seemed—a powerful mentor offering a hand up to someone he'd known since childhood.
Or it could be something else entirely.
Mitch DeMario was waiting for her at the town hall when she returned.
He was leaning against the front desk, chatting easily with the receptionist, who was laughing at something he'd said. He straightened when Lila walked in, offering a professional nod.
"Ms. Bennett. I was hoping to catch you. Do you have time to go over the parade route one more time?"
"Now?"
"If it's convenient. I've got some questions about sight lines and crowd barriers that I'd like to walk through on-site."
She glanced at her watch. Two-thirty. She had a vendor call at four and approximately forty-seven unread emails. But Mitch was looking at her with the steady patience of someone who knew his request was reasonable and was prepared to wait.
"Sure. Let me grab my bag."
They walked the parade route together, starting at the park and moving down Main Street toward the harbor. Mitch had a clipboard with diagrams and notes, and he stopped every few blocks to mark something or ask a question.
"The floats will stage here?" He pointed to the parking lot behind the fire department.
"Yes. They'll line up starting at seven, parade begins at nine."
"And the viewing stands are along Main Street?"
"Three locations. In front of the courthouse, at Main Square, and at the intersection before the harbor."
Mitch made a note. "VIP seating?"
"Main Square. Town council, founding families, major donors. Warren Caldwell is giving the opening remarks from the bandstand."
"Security for the VIP section?"
"Two officers. Plus whatever you recommend."
He nodded, still writing. "I'd suggest adding a perimeter check before guests arrive. And a credential system—wristbands or badges—so we can easily identify who belongs in the restricted area."
"That sounds reasonable."
They continued walking. Past the shops and restaurants, past the spot where she'd met Ronan two days ago, past Hendricks' office with its brass plaque gleaming in the afternoon light.
"Can I ask you something?" Mitch's voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
"Of course."
"How long have you lived in Blossom Springs?"
"My whole life, except for college. I came back eight years ago."
"So you know everyone."
"Pretty much."
"And everyone knows you."
"That's how small towns work."
He was quiet for a moment, looking at the storefronts. "Small towns have layers. The surface is friendly, welcoming. Everybody knows everybody. But underneath, there are always currents. History. Grudges. Things people don't talk about."
Lila's step faltered slightly. "Is there something specific you're asking?"
"Not specific. Just—" He shrugged. "I've been doing this job for a long time. I know what normal event stress looks like. And I know what it looks like when someone is carrying more than event stress."
She stopped walking. "Are you saying I seem stressed?"