The game begins.
I slide a neatly bound stack of reports across the table toward him. He doesn’t even glance at it. His eyes stay locked on mine.
“Thank you, Ms Ng,” he says, his lips curving into that faint, maddening smile again. “I’m always open to hearing community concerns.”
Liar.
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. We both know this meeting is more about appearances than solutions. He’s here to pacify us, maybe throw out a few empty promises.
“We’re not just here to express concerns. We want a solution that protects this community without sacrificing what makes it special.”
Clara murmurs her agreement, and I hear Thomas mutter, “Exactly.”
Ben leans back in his chair, tapping a finger thoughtfully on the table. “Collaboration is always… valuable,” he says slowly. “But there are limits to what can be negotiated in business. Not everything can be preserved.”
Translation: You can fight this all you want, but it won’t change the outcome. The air crackles with unspoken tension. The quiet hum of the cafe feels deafening now, the espresso machine hissing softly in the background.
I refuse to blink. “We’re asking for fairness. A development plan that considers the community you’re affecting, not one that bulldozes over it without a second thought.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’strying to solve. “Fairness is subjective. What one person sees as fairness, another sees as interference. Business decisions require pragmatism, not emotion.”
My jaw tightens. The nerve of this man.
“We’re not speaking emotionally,” I counter. “We’ve backed everything with data. Statistics on foot traffic, customer demographics, economic impact. All of which shows that small businesses like ours are crucial to the area’s long-term stability.”
I push the report toward him again. “It’s all in there, if you’d like to verify.”
He finally picks it up, flipping through the pages with maddening calmness. His lips twitch, but there’s no humour in the expression, just calculation.
“Impressive work,” he says, setting the report down with a soft thud. “But numbers don’t always reflect reality. Sentiment can’t be quantified, and nostalgia rarely pays the bills.”
The words hit harder than they should, but I hold my ground.
“It’s not nostalgia,” I say evenly. “It’s community. Something you seem to think is negotiable. It’s not.”
Clara leans in. “These businesses are our lives. Our homes.”
Ben’s gaze flicks to her, then back to me. For the briefest moment, something shifts in his expression, but just as quickly, his mask slides back into place.
“I understand that,” he says, his voice as smooth as ever, but there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “Which is why all businesses affected by the development will be financially compensated at a fair market price.”
The words land like a calculated move, controlled. A statement meant to sound reasonable, even generous.
My chest tightens. He thinks money can fix this. Like a payoutmakes up for years of blood, sweat, and sacrifice. Like you can put a price tag on a legacy.
“Fair market price?” I repeat, forcing my voice to stay even. “Who decides what’s fair? A corporate valuation team with no ties to this town? Numbers on a spreadsheet that don’t account for history, for loyalty, for the community that depends on these businesses?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Compensation ensures that no one walks away with nothing.”
Clara scoffs. “We don’t want to walk away at all.”
Ben exhales slowly, like he’s explaining something obvious to a stubborn child. “I respect what you’ve built here, but progress requires movement. No one is being forced out without options.”
This isn’t about options. It’s about erasure.
Thomas exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You think throwing money at us makes it better? You really have been gone too long, Ben.”
“I don’t expect everyone to be happy with change. But this project isn’t about pushing people out, it’s about growth. The town benefits in the long run.”
