My pulse kicked so hard that the desk edge pressed into my palm before I realized I'd grabbed it.
I turned to the revised access appendix.
The map loaded in my head before I wanted it to: Larch Bend P-Patch at the city edge, the south fence, Zane's strip of scrub grass and pines beyond it, Beargrass Lake flashing blue through the trees.
Zane's voice came back to me, steady and rooted.
Through my land, yes.
I swallowed and bent over the page.
The appendix used cleaner language than Fletcher had probably used with Zane. It called the proposed route a natural access connection. It described the adjacent McCrae parcel as a viable acquisition or easement path for Beargrass Lake access. It noted that broker outreach was active and that owner engagement was anticipated within the current project window.
Owner engagement.
Anticipated.
Current project window.
My skin went cold under my blouse.
Zane hadn't sounded engaged yesterday when Fletcher called. He'd looked at the phone like it had crawled out from under a rock. He'd silenced the call with his jaw tight and his hand still careful around my water bottle.
I didn't know what Fletcher had said to him on any other call.
But I'd seen Zane's face every time Fletcher's name appeared. I'd felt the shed cool around him.
I kept reading.
The language didn't say, If Zane McCrae agrees.
It didn't say, Pending owner interest.
It didn't say, Long-shot access under active refusal by the actual person who owns the land and has already told the broker no.
It said the McCrae parcel created a preferred lake access path. It said the route strengthened the project's viability. It said the broker had identified a practical approach to the Beargrass frontage.
A practical approach.
I almost laughed, but the sound would've been ugly and too loud for a workplace where people discussed betrayal in twelve-point font.
I flipped to the land-use map.
There it was.
The P-Patch wasn't colored as part of the acquisition. The city garden sat beside the plan, marked as a community amenity, a cheerful little green block that looked safe because no one had drawn a line through it.
But the access route curled right past it.
Zane's land was the hinge. Beargrass Lake was the prize. The P-Patch was the pretty neighbor that made the whole thing look community-friendly while the route slid around its edge.
I could see what would happen even without being a strategist. More traffic on the road. More pressure around the south side. The quiet strip of pines turned into access. The garden still technically standing while everything that made it feel tucked away and protected got pressed between development language and lake money.
Zane had been saying no.
Fletcher had made it look like no was only a stage before paperwork.
My chair rolled back when I stood too fast.
