The planning commission files in like they’re heading to their own execution. Five of them, looking grim. Mayor Roberts is off to the side, probably wishing he’d retired last year.
The gavel comes down, and the chairman calls the meeting to order before reading the agenda.
People are restless—there’s murmuring, coughing, shifting. The first few items are nothing, just business licenses and trash pickup for the coming season. Then finally, agenda item #7: Stoneheart Infrastructure Improvements, Phase Two.
The room goes silent.
The chairman clears his throat. “Councilman, you’re the project lead on this. Please proceed.”
The councilman is thin, balding, and has a way of looking at his own hands like he’s checking they still exist. He stands, voice tremoring slightly. “The council has been reviewing the proposed rezoning of the east-side neighborhood forCarolina Properties Group. We’ll hear public comment before deliberation.”
A man in an expensive suit stands up. I recognize him from the town meeting—one of Vernick’s lackeys.
“Good evening. I’m here representing Carolina Properties?—”
“You mean Summit Development,” someone yells from the back.
The room erupts. The gavel comes down hard.
“Order! One more outburst and I clear this room!”
The suit guy continues like nothing happened. “Carolina Properties is committed to revitalizing the east side with quality development that benefits the entire community?—”
“By kicking out everyone who lives there?” Mr. Thompson shouts.
More yelling. More gaveling. I’m starting to think this whole thing is going to devolve into a bar fight minus the fun parts.
Then it’s Josie’s turn to talk, and the room goes quiet.
She’s wearing a charcoal suit, hair pulled back, carrying a laptop and a thick folder. When she walks to the front, she moves with the kind of confidence that commands instant respect, and I can see why my dad is so infatuated with her.
“Mr. Chairman,” she says, voice clear. “May I present evidence relevant to tonight’s decision?”
The chairman looks relieved to have someone who isn’t yelling. “Please, Ms. Bright.”
Josie sets up her laptop and connects it to the projector. An image appears on the screen behind the commission—a corporate structure chart that looks like someone tried to map out a conspiracy theory and accidentally got it right.
“Good evening. I’m Josephine Bright, representing the East Side Neighborhood Coalition.” She clicks to the next slide. “I’d like to submit several documents that are relevant to tonight’s vote.”
The chart expands, showing layers of companies nested inside other companies like Russian dolls made of legal bullshit.
“Carolina Properties Group was registered eight months ago with a mailing address that turns out to be a UPS store in Charlotte.” Another click. “Its sole owner on paper is Piedmont Development Partners. Which is owned by Southeast Regional Investments. Which is owned by—” Click. “—Summit Development.”
The room remains silent, waiting for what’s next.
“Summit Development,” Josie continues, her voice level and factual, “is currently under federal investigation for fraud, racketeering, and illegal land acquisition practices. They’re the same company that attempted to force Stoneheart residents out last year through intimidation and arson. Not to mention their questionable infrastructure overhaul that tore up our roads and made the east side almost impassable.”
She projects more documents—bank statements, corporate filings, things with official stamps that look impressively damning.
“Furthermore, Mr. Daniel Vernick”—she doesn’t even look at him, just keeps her eyes on the commission—”has received over $240,000 in campaign donations from entities that trace backto Summit Development. These donations were deliberately obscured through shell companies to avoid disclosure requirements.”
Now she does look at Vernick, who’s gone the color of old oatmeal.
“Mr. Vernick failed to report these connections, which violates state campaign finance law. I have copies of all documentation here for the commission, for the press, and for the district attorney’s office.”
The room explodes. People are shouting, the cameras are swinging toward Vernick, and the chairman is banging his gavel like he’s trying to break it.
“ORDER! We will have ORDER!”
