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“Hey, man I’m not trying to rush you, but I’ve got to head out soon. I have a big day lined up. I’ve got to run over to the site.”
Grey stepped back inside, and I closed the sliding door. “See you tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll bring a case or two.”
“Sounds good.”
He left and I realized how normal that exchange had been. It was possible we were actually becoming friends. I jumped in the shower.
I adjusted my collar and the sleeves on my jacket. A crowd had already gathered near the picnic tables. I stayed close to the road, out of sight. The sun beat down on the crowd. I noticed Commissioner Rodriguez moving to the front of the group.
Next to her were two men and two women. Their T-shirts were decorated with pictures of sea dunes. I assumed they were from the activist group. This should be interesting. I folded my arms and waited for the press conference to start.
The microphone squeaked and the onlookers pressed their hands to their ears. It was already a rocky start.
Janet smiled. “I’d like to welcome everyone today. I have a few people I should introduce. If you’re not familiar with the Custodians of the Dunes, a few of their representatives have joined us today. Cecilia, Bailey, Hamp, and Doug.”
“You all know this piece of land we’re standing on has been purchased. And some of you are probably thinking this is a good thing for our island. You’re thinking about the jobs it will bring in. But what I want you to think about is what the development of Beach Combers Cove will do to the beach. Do you know how many species of animals live in the dunes that border this tract?”
This is the part of the speech that always irritated me. Janet started throwing out statistics about animal endangerment, beach erosion, and tossed in the number of accidents that occurred on construction sites. That one was unnecessary, but I knew what she was doing. She needed to build citizen unity. The message was clear. The development was dangerous and unsafe for everyone.
I hung my head and started back for the car. I didn’t need to hear the words from the Custodians of the Dunes to know what the pushback was going to be. They were going to fight the development.
It wasn’t the first battle I would face against environmentalists.
I heard the ding on my phone and pulled it from my pocket to check the email. From the corner of my eye I saw her. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was late to the press conference. She didn’t see me. She rushed to the group, her bag slung over her shoulder, her reporter’s pad clutched in one hand.
The skirt she was wearing showed off her tan legs and the taunt muscles in her calves. I scowled. Not for me. I had my taste. It wasn’t going to happen again.
I hesitated. I wanted to walk over. But why? I had cut her loose. It was best this way. Within a few seconds she was buried in the crowd. I started the engine and slowly drove away from the trailer park. I tried to forget I was leaving Sydney behind. I turned up the radio as I picked up speed. Yes, this was best.
The condo was cool the way I liked it. I typed out an email. I needed the preliminary numbers on a warehouse in Fort Worth. I would fly out in a few days. I wanted the information before I was back in Dallas.
Early on, people told me I grew my business too fast. They said Lachlan Corporation wouldn’t be able to sustain the rate of growth I pushed on it. But it didn’t stop me. I kept the pace I wanted. Followed my instincts. Ignored the warnings.
If the next purchase went through I would be closing in on my thirtieth acquisition. It felt good to know I didn’t let the concerns stop me. I kept going regardless of the resistance.
My phone buzzed next to the laptop. It was Mark.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Have you seen the article in the News & Record?”
I closed my email. “No. Which one?”
“It came out about fifteen minutes ago. It’s an in-depth feature on one of the residents in Beach Combers Cove. A mother and little girl who will be displaced when the demolition begins.”
I typed in the website. “Who wrote it?”
“Same reporter who released your exclusive. Sydney Paige.”
I breathed into the phone, gripping it tightly. “I’ll find it.”
It appeared on the front page. I scanned the headline. The picture was of a young woman looking on while her daughter played in an inflatable pool. The dunes were behind them.
I knew what it would say before I started reading it. Shawna Douglas, a young mother barely making ends meet working at the Pancake House, was scrambling to find a place she could afford for her five year old daughter, Lindy. I shook my head. This was going to hurt. Not only did the article make it sound like they were going to be homeless, but also that the millionaire mogul who had bought the land hadn’t made any conditions for the residents to move.
I ran my hands through my hair. Damn it. This wasn’t the first time people had to move because of rental property I purchased.
