Chapter5
The afternoon sun beat down on the dock as Bryan stepped out of the harbormaster’s office and onto the weathered planks.He’d spent the last two hours listening to Rod Harris from the Coast Guard station explain catch limits, new regulations, and environmental impact studies that might shut down three more fishing routes by next season.
Might as well have been listening to a eulogy.
Bryan walked toward his boat, theMary Catherine, named after his grandmother.The thirty-foot commercial vessel had belonged to his father before him.Before that, his grandfather.Three generations of Lucas men had hauled nets from this deck.Now both his father and grandfather were gone, and it was just him.
He checked the mooring lines out of habit.Everything was secure.If only the rest of his life had the same guarantee.
“Bryan Lucas?”
The voice came from behind him.Smooth.Professional.The kind of voice that belonged in an office building, not on a working dock.
He turned.A man in a pressed white shirt and khakis stood at the edge of the pier.No tie, but he might as well have been wearing one.Everything about him screamed money and mainland.
“That’s me.”
The man extended his hand as he approached.“George Morton.I’m with Oceanside Development.Do you have a few minutes?”
Bryan shook his hand because that’s what you did, even when every instinct said to walk away.“Depends what you’re selling.”
Morton smiled.It was the kind of smile that probably worked on investors and city councils.“I’m not selling anything.I’m here to make an offer.”
“On what?”
“Your dock rights.”Morton pulled a folder from under his arm.“And your restaurant space.We’re in the process of acquiring waterfront properties along this section of the harbor for commercial revitalization.Businesses like high-end retail, boutique restaurants, and a resort component.”
“The Sandpiper has been in our family for years.”
“Of course.”Morton’s smile didn’t waver.“And it’s a charming establishment.Very authentic.But we’re talking about something that would bring significant revenue to this community.It would bring jobs, tourism, and real economic growth.”
Real.As if what he did every day wasn’t real work.Fishing.Working in the restaurant.
“My family’s been fishing these waters since before you were born.Before your company existed.”
“I understand the emotional attachment.”Morton opened the folder.“That’s why we’re prepared to make a very fair offer for your cooperation.”
He turned the folder so Bryan could see the number written on the top page.
Bryan looked at it.Looked at Morton.Looked back at the number.
It was insulting.“That’s what you think my livelihood is worth?”
“It’s a starting point for negotiation.The truth is, Mr.Lucas, the fishing industry is dying.You know it.I know it.This harbor can either evolve or become obsolete.”
Bryan’s hands clenched at his sides.He wanted to throw Morton off the dock and watch him splash into the water in that pressed white shirt.
But that wasn’t how things worked anymore.You couldn’t just punch problems in the face and watch them sink.
“I’m not selling,” Bryan said.
“I understand you need time to consider.”Morton pulled a business card from his pocket.“But I should mention that we’re acquiring multiple properties in this area.With or without your cooperation, this waterfront is going to change.The only question is whether you’re part of that change or fighting against it.”
He held out the card.
Bryan didn’t take it.
Morton set it on the dock railing.“Think it over.We’ll be in touch.”He walked away.His shoes made clean, precise sounds on the planks, like he was already measuring the space for whatever sterile replacement he had planned.
