The Sponsor Packet War Room #2
Grant set his untouched coffee down. "That brings us to the historical packet."
Marissa's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. "I said current operations first."
"Of course. But current confidence is being influenced by a public story." Grant turned to Emily, not Nathan. "The community's response to your engagement has affected vendor behavior, donor pledges, and sponsor optics. That makes the timeline relevant."
She opened the gray folder.
"Then let's keep the timeline factual," she said.
Nathan didn't move.
Good.
Emily handed Marissa the first page. "We located the ledger line marked B.C.H.
yesterday during review of prior-year festival support.
The old invoice and letter indicate B.C.H.
referred to Brooks Coastal Holdings in connection with deferred event-space credits and pavilion-related support.
The documentation is incomplete, so we are not drawing conclusions beyond what the documents show. "
Grant's gaze sharpened. "When did you know B.C.H. meant Brooks Coastal Holdings?"
"Yesterday afternoon, after comparing the ledger with the invoice and letterhead."
"Before or after the Harbor Books donor reception?"
"Before."
The word fell cleanly.
Grant tilted his head. "And before donors increased pledges after hearing Mr. Brooks speak in support of you?"
Nathan's hand shifted at his side.
Emily slid one finger along the edge of the folder. Not a touch. Not a signal anyone else would see. But Nathan went still again.
"Before donors signed bridge pledges," Emily said. "And the preliminary documentation was already in process for Marissa. We didn't raise an incomplete historical matter in the middle of a donor reception because panic disclosure isn't transparency. It is noise."
Marissa looked up from the page. "That is a fair distinction."
Grant's expression remained pleasant. "Unless the historical matter informs whether the current public relationship is being used to reassure donors without disclosing a prior Brooks-Hart financial connection."
Emily could answer all of it. She had prepared answers. Three versions, actually: concise, banker, and polite enough to put in minutes.
But one part of the question wasn't hers.
She took the Brooks Coastal Holdings draft from the gray folder and slid it across the table until it rested between her clipboard and Nathan's empty place at the edge of the discussion.
Not in front of him.
Beside her.
Then she looked at him.
Nathan waited.
Emily nodded once.
He stepped forward.
"The prior Brooks-Hart connection should be documented," Nathan said.
His voice was level, not loud enough to perform innocence.
"The documents show that Brooks Coastal Holdings proposed support connected to Inn event-space credits and festival infrastructure.
They don't show current Brooks funding, hidden consideration, or any condition tied to Emily's leadership. "
Grant turned toward him. "Did Brooks Coastal Holdings benefit from the old arrangement?"
"Possibly."
A less careful room would have gasped. Harbor Cove went quiet instead.
Emily's pulse kicked once.
Nathan continued before Grant could enjoy it.
"The draft language is too broad. It frames community support in a way that could have benefited my father's position in later Inn negotiations.
I am not asking anyone to ignore that. I am saying the current festival packet separates present operations from historical asset context and gives the committee a record to review. "
Marissa's pen moved.
Grant wasn't done. "Mr. Brooks, are vendors being reassured by festival leadership or by your private relationship with the festival chair?"
"Festival leadership," Nathan said.
"You can say that while standing beside your fiancée?"
Emily felt the word hit differently in daylight.
Nathan didn't look at her for rescue.
"Yes," he said. "Because I have watched Emily do the work. She secured the vendor confirmations. She prepared the sponsor plan. She set the disclosure sequence. My role is documented where it exists and limited where it should be."
Grant's smile thinned. "Limited."
"Yes."
"And if the committee determines you should recuse yourself from any Brooks-adjacent support discussion?"
"Then I will." Nathan glanced at Emily, but only after he answered. "Emily has already built that into the governance note."
Emily turned the note toward Marissa.
"Any current or future item involving Nathan, Brooks Coastal Holdings, Inn access, or Brooks-adjacent support gets identified in minutes before discussion," she said.
"If my participation creates a conflict, I recuse from that item.
I am not recusing from festival leadership because Grant dislikes the optics. "
Grant's face didn't change. That was how Emily knew the sentence had landed.
Marissa accepted the governance note. "This is the right framework. I will need the written timeline by three. I also want the supplemental packet uploaded before my final recommendation goes up."
"You'll have it by two-thirty," Emily said.
Nathan looked at her.
"Three," Marissa said. "Don't make speed the point. Make accuracy the point."
That, unfortunately, was good advice.
"Three," Emily agreed.
The walkthrough continued because Friday refused to stop for emotional developments.
They walked the festival grounds under a sky too blue for paperwork.
Marissa inspected the pavilion repair, the vendor map, the Atlantic Coast banner placement, and the children's craft tent that currently contained one collapsible table, six boxes of paint, and Mabel guarding the scissors like a border crossing.
At the pavilion, Owen confirmed the brace schedule again. Tyler demonstrated the lights by plugging in the test strand, which flickered once and then held steady.
Marissa marked the repair as acceptable for temporary use. "This looks better than it did in the photos."
"It is better," Emily said. "Owen led the repair. Tyler did the light checks. Nathan identified the bracket problem and helped source the safe temporary brace through Mercer Supply, under committee approval."
Nathan's gaze cut to her.
Emily ignored it. Facts were facts, even when they belonged to inconvenient men.
Grant heard it too. "So Mr. Brooks did provide operational support."
"Documented operational support," Emily said. "Approved, limited, and not financial consideration. Harbor Cove accepts help during festival week. We write it down when the help can affect governance."
Grant could weaponize procedure.
Marissa closed the blue packet and tucked it under her arm. "Here is where I am. Current operations are materially improved. Vendor confidence has stabilized. Bridge pledges are strong. The community response is, from a sponsor perspective, positive."
Emily didn't exhale.
"However," Marissa continued, because bankers were trained to locate cliffs, "the historical Brooks Coastal Holdings material must be documented before I file my recommendation.
Not resolved. Documented. I need the timeline, the supplemental upload, and a note stating how the committee will handle any Brooks-adjacent items going forward. "
"By three," Emily said.
"Not me," she said quickly. "My aunt. The Gazette editor wants a short festival-preview photo at two. Atlantic Coast banner, committee chair, maybe sponsor representative if Marissa approves."
Marissa's expression became the careful blank of a woman mentally moving three meetings. "A controlled preview could help if the documentation is in progress. It would show normal operations."
Grant smiled faintly. "And the happy couple?"
There it was again. The phrase Harbor Cove kept feeding until it grew teeth.
Emily could say no. She should say no. A photo before final bank approval, with B.C.H. not fully reviewed and Grant counting timestamps, was a risk wearing a ribbon.
But refusing would create a different story by lunch.
Emily looked at Marissa. "A festival-preview photo. Not an engagement photo. Atlantic Coast banner, festival map, committee representation, vendor presence. Nathan only if his documented site support is relevant to the pavilion repair."
Becca lifted one hand. "I can shoot that clean."
"You will shoot it boring," Chloe said.
"Boring but flattering."
"Boring first."
Marissa considered the banner line, the pavilion behind them, the volunteers trying not to look as if they were listening.
"Two-thirty," she said. "If I have confirmation that the timeline is nearly ready."
Emily's day rearranged itself with a hard click. Timeline by three. Photo at two-thirty. Bank at five. Festival opening in three days. Grant smiling like a man who had just been handed a camera and a fuse.
"Fine," Emily said. "Two-thirty. Controlled preview."
Grant looked at Nathan. "Try not to create any new metadata."
Nathan's jaw moved once.
Emily stepped in before he could answer. She trusted him enough to let him stand there. This answer still belonged to her.
"Grant," she said, "if you have a procedural concern, put it in writing for the committee file. If you have a personal comment, save it for someone with free time."
Grant's smile remained. "Of course."
Marissa checked her watch. "I have another call. Send the timeline to me and copy the committee archive. I will hold final recommendation until five."
"Thank you," Emily said.
Marissa left with the blue folder, the gray folder summary, and the expression of a woman who still believed the festival could be saved if everyone stopped being interesting.
Grant followed a minute later, already typing on his phone.
Nathan came to stand beside her near the pavilion steps. Not too close. Close enough that she could see the crease in the archival folder where he had gripped it too hard that morning.
"You gave me the question," he said.
"It was your fact to answer."
"You didn't have to."
"I know."
Emily looked toward the Atlantic Coast banner, now secured with two extra ties and more town attention than any piece of fabric deserved.
"I still don't forgive you for leaving," she said quietly.
"I know."
"And I am not defending you because of last night."
"I know that too."
"I am defending the process."
"Yes."
"And the festival."
"Yes."
She looked at him then. "And maybe the part of the story Grant doesn't get to write because he likes clean villains."
Nathan didn't answer quickly.
Good.
"What do you need next?" he asked.
No apology. No speech. No attempt to turn the question into tenderness.
Emily handed him the supplemental packet index.
"Find me the current Inn access agreement signature page. The one that proves pavilion site support is committee-approved, not a romantic favor. Send it by one-thirty. Then come back here at two-fifteen for the preview photo and don't improvise."
He took the index. "Anything else?"
"And Nathan?"
"Yes?"
"Two-thirty is a festival-preview photo. Not a couple photo."
He looked toward the pavilion, where Becca was already testing angles and Chloe was already threatening her with decaf.
Emily tucked her clipboard against her ribs and started back toward Town Hall to write the timeline that might save the festival or hand Grant a sharper knife.
Behind her, Nathan didn't follow until she said, "Coming?"
He fell into step beside her.