I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Growth for who? Certainly not the businesses you’re displacing. Not the families who rely on them.” I lean forward, my hands pressing against the cool surface of the table. “Tell me Mr. Ashcroft, why Silverbeck? There are plenty of other areas nearby that are better suited for large-scale developments. So why here?”
He remains perfectly neutral. “Because Silverbeck presents the best opportunity.”
“For your investors,” I correct. “Not for the people who live here.”
His jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of something behind his eyes, annoyance? Amusement?
“There are factors at play that go beyond sentiment,” he replies smoothly. “Infrastructure, accessibility, projected returns. This location made the most sense.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You expect us to just… accept that? To sit back while you wipe out the businesses that make this town what it is?”
He exhales, slow and measured. “I expect you to understand that change is inevitable and that no one here is being left without options.”
“Options?” Paul, the hardware store owner, scoffs. “Being bought out isn’t an option. It’s a last resort.”
Clara folds her arms. “A fair market price doesn’t replace thirty years of building relationships, of customers who trust us, of livelihoods passed down through generations.”
Ben doesn’t flinch. “It ensures stability. A fresh start. An opportunity to reinvest elsewhere.”
A fresh start. Like the one he gave himself when he left this town behind.
I inhale sharply, forcing my voice to stay steady. “What about the people who can’t just pick up and start over? The ones who have nowhere else to go? Who built their entire lives here, only to have it taken from them in the name of ‘growth’?”
His gaze darkens, the faintest flicker of something beneath the surface—hesitation? Regret? But then it’s gone, smoothed over with that infuriating corporate calm.
The cafe falls silent again, the weight of my words hanging between us.
His gaze sharpens, a flicker of something darker flashing in his eyes. He opens his mouth to respond, but Thomas cuts in.
“You’ve got all the power here,” Thomas says, his tone gruff but steady. “We get that. But power doesn’t mean you can’t do the right thing.”
Ben pauses, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, before leaning back in his chair once more. Ben’s fingers drum once against the table, his expression unreadable. The weight of the room presses in, thick with tension. He exhales, slow and deliberate, then reaches down beside him.
A sleek black briefcase clicks open.
I watch as he methodically pulls out a neat stack of envelopes. Each one thick, heavy, the kind of thing that carries finality inside.
My stomach tightens. What now?
“I understand emotions are running high,” Ben says smoothly, completely composed once again. “But I’m not here to debate sentiment.”
He places a stack of envelopes onto the table.
“These contain further details on the development,” Ben continues. “Along with individual offers for each business owner affected. You’ll find that they are…” He pauses, just long enough for it to feel intentional. “…generous. More than fair market value.”
A hush settles over the room. The rustling of envelopes being picked up, the hesitant glances exchanged.
I don’t look away from him. I won’t.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” I say flatly.
He tilts his head, as if considering. “It’s a choice.”
I scoff. Bullshit.
Ben rises from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket with a practiced, effortless motion. He’s already decided he’sdone here.
“I won’t pressure anyone,” he says, his voice smooth, measured. “You have time to consider your options.”
