Others follow. Mr. Rooney talks about his corner store that’s been family-owned for three generations. Mrs. Yu describes how the neighborhood came together after her husband died. A young mother explains how affordable her rent is and how she’ll be priced out if development happens.
Then Duck stands.
He looks uncomfortable in the spotlight—this man who’s spent decades working on vehicles for the entire town, keeping his head down, being the club’s steady presence. But he makes his way to the microphone with the same deliberate calm he brings to everything.
“I’m Duck,” he says simply. “Most of you know me. I’ve lived in Stoneheart my whole life. Sixty-eight years. I’ve watched this town change—some good, some bad. But the thing that’s always stayed the same is the people. We take care of each other. When Devil’s Bar burned last year, the community helped rebuild it.When Summit first showed up, they tried to force folks out with fake violations, we fought back. When they tried to dig up our roads, we fought that too. Together in this very room. But now we face a new problem.”
He pauses, looking around the room.
“These developers, they don’t care about Stoneheart. They care about profit. They want to tear down homes that have stories in every room, memories in every corner. They want to build something shiny and expensive that no one in this town can afford. That’s not progress. That’s erasure.”
The room is dead silent.
“So I’m asking you all to stand with us,” Duck continues. “Come to the zoning hearings. Speak up. Make them know that this community won’t be bullied or bought. We’re worth more than their money. We’ve been through hell and back in the last year. Fire. Threats. People getting hurt and homes nearly lost. But I’m telling you, Stoneheart is stronger than any of that. Stronger than anything these assholes or their money can toss at us. We’re more than a town. We’re a defense system. We’re a wall they can’t breach, and if they try, they’re going to learn what a community really looks like. So don’t give up your homes. Don’t sell your memories. Because nothing they build will ever be as permanent as what we’ve built together.”
Duck steps back, head high, and the applause is so loud it’s almost violent.
People are on their feet, clapping, shouting agreement. I see several people wiping their eyes. Someone in the back yells, “Duck, you should run for mayor!”
Others pick up the call. “Yeah! Duck for mayor!”
Duck waves them off, embarrassed, but he’s smiling slightly. Mayor Roberts looks uncomfortable, shifting in his seat.
“All right, all right,” the mayor says, tapping his microphone. “Let’s maintain order. We have other speakers.”
A man in an expensive suit stands. He’s probably in his fifties, with perfect silver hair and the kind of tan that comes from golf courses, not construction sites. He makes his way to the microphone with easy confidence.
“Daniel Vernick,” he introduces himself. “I’m a businessman here in Stoneheart. I own several properties downtown, and I serve on the chamber of commerce. I want to address some of the concerns I’ve heard tonight.”
His voice is smooth, practiced. This is someone who’s used to being listened to.
“First, I want to say I understand the emotional attachment to your homes. I grew up in a small town too. I know what community means.” He smiles, and it looks genuine. “But I also know that towns need to grow. Need to evolve. The development proposals for the east side would bring jobs, tax revenue, and new opportunities to Stoneheart.”
“At what cost?” someone yells from the crowd.
“At the cost of progress,” Vernick says calmly. “Change is hard. But stagnation is worse. These new developments would revitalize the east side?—”
“We don’t need revitalizing,” someone else interrupts. “We need to be left alone!”
“Order,” Mayor Roberts says weakly, but no one’s listening.
Vernick holds up his hands. “I understand your concerns. But Carolina Properties has made very fair offers to homeowners. More than fair. They’re not trying to force anyone out. There’s nothing nefarious going on here. They’re simply a development company trying to build Stoneheart into the kind of town that gets noticed on a map.”
“Bullshit!”
Bones stands up and the room goes pin-drop silent.
He doesn’t shout, but the way his voice cuts the air, it might as well be a gunshot.
“Bull. Shit,” Bones says again, firmer this time. Everyone is staring at him, but it’s like he doesn’t notice. He gives me this tiny, lopsided grin, before he squares his shoulders and strides to the microphone at the center aisle. He passes Vernick, who tries for a handshake. Bones ignores it, steps right up to the mic, and looks out at the crowd.
“My name is Nick Holt. But people who know me call me Bones. I grew up here, bounced around between foster care and Stoneheart for most of it. I have lived on the east side. I know exactly what these neighborhoods actually mean to the people in this room.” He looks dead at Vernick. “And I know a shell company when I see one, which is what Carolina Properties is.”
Bones pulls out his phone, taps something, and the image projects onto the screen behind the council table—a corporate structure chart.
“Carolina Properties Group,” Bones says, his voice carrying clearly. “Registered business, looks legitimate. But if you follow the ownership structure—” He swipes, and the chart expands. “Carolina Properties is owned by Piedmont DevelopmentPartners. Which is owned by Southeast Regional Investments. Which is owned—after a few more shell companies—by Summit Development.”
The room erupts in gasps and chatter.
