The florist who told Kingston our emergency vehicle routes are better planned than half the county.
The caterer who offered to walk him through our sanitation protocols.
The hardware store owner who handed him our permit paperwork and offered to fax it to whatever lawyer he trusted, if he thought he could read it without help.
By the time we adjourn, we don't have a festival committee, we have a movement.
People file out buzzing with purpose. Swapping numbers. Volunteering to cover shifts. Reworking checklists. Organizing donations. It's not chaos, it's momentum.
Mason falls into step beside me as we head outside. "That," he says, "was either the best grassroots organizing I've ever seen, or we declared war on one of the most powerful men in New York."
"Why not both?"
He glances at me, more serious now. "You know there's no going back from this, right? Richard doesn't let go of public humiliation. Whatever comes next, it's personal now."
"Good," I say. "Because it always was. He threatened my family. My community. My future. He made it personal the second he decided River Bend didn't matter."
He nods, eyes fixed on mine. "In that case, I should warn you, I've never fought a battle like this before. Not in the court of public opinion."
I smile, standing on my toes to kiss him. "Lucky for you, I have. Stick with me, Counselor. We're going to show Richard Kingston what he's up against."
As we step into the evening, I catch sight of a black sedan idling across the street. No lights. No movement. But I see it.
And I wave.
Then I lace my fingers through Mason's and walk toward my car.
Because tomorrow, the real fight begins.
And River Bend is ready.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MADDY
A week has passed since the community meeting, though it feels endless. Seven days of watching Richard Kingston dismantle everything we've built, one bureaucratic attack after another.
I'm sitting at my usual spot in the barn, surrounded by cancellation emails and notices of "additional review required," when Mason walks in looking like he's been personally defeated by the entire government.
"That bad?" I ask, though his expression tells me everything I need to know.
"The county pulled our special events permit," he says, settling into the chair beside me. "There were irregularities in our application that require a full administrative review. The timeline for resolution is six to eight weeks."
I stare at him. "He still has that amount of pull?"
Mason’s mouth tightens. "Even after everything that came out? Yeah. Turns out when you spend your career collecting favors, and leverage, you don't lose it overnight. He's got files on half the decision-makers in this county. Maybe more."
"But the festival is in five days."
"I know." Mason pushes off the wall and runs a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled in a way that would normally make me want to smooth it down. Today, it makes him look exhausted. "They also revoked our temporary liquor license, citing concerns about public safety protocols. And the county fire marshal wants to reinspect our entire setup, but the earliest available appointment is three weeks from now."
I stare at him, feeling the familiar sensation of the ground shifting beneath my feet. "So we can't serve alcohol, we can't operate as a public event, and we can't have any setup that requires fire department approval."
"Which is basically everything larger than a backyard barbecue."
"What about the vendors?"
"Half of them got letters yesterday questioning their business licenses for temporary sales. The other half are too scared to participate without proper event authorization." He leans back in his chair, staring up at the barn rafters like they might hold answers. "The insurance company also pulled our event coverage this morning. They cited 'elevated risk due to pending litigation.'"
