Then Farmer Hank stands.
His chair scrapes loud against the linoleum. Every head turns.
"I've been farming this land for forty-three years," he says. His voice cracks on the number. "My father farmed it before me. My daughter wants to farm it after."
He looks at Webb's lawyer, sitting stone-faced in the back row.
"That developer's money would let me retire. Fix my knees. Maybe buy a place somewhere warm." Hank's jaw works. "But what would I do there? Who would I be without dirt under my nails?"
He turns to Rogan and me.
"I'm in. Whatever equity structure you're proposing, count me in. I'd rather bet on neighbors than cash out to strangers."
Mrs. Rivera stands next. Then Tom Chen. Then three more families I've worked with through the seed program.
One by one they rise. Voices layering over each other.
"How do we sign up?"
"What's the timeline?"
"Can we see the full governance proposal?"
Maya’s laptop is already open, her fingers flying across the keys.
"I have a contact," she murmurs. Low enough that only Rogan and I hear. "Investor group out of Portland. They fund cooperative agriculture projects. Mission-driven capital, not vulture equity."
"How much can they bridge?" Rogan asks.
"Enough to make the numbers work. Maybe more if we can show community commitment." She angles the screen toward us. An email chain with someone named Claire Okoye. "She's been following the Pine Hollow situation. Saw the festival coverage. Wants to talk."
My heart trips over itself.
"When?"
"She can call tonight. Ten o'clock."
Mayor Elsie is fielding questions from the crowd. Writing names on a signup sheet. The energy has shifted from skeptical to cautiously hopeful.
But not everyone is convinced.
A woman I don't recognize stands near the back. Designer coat. City shoes.
"This all sounds lovely. Very community-minded." Her tone could frost glass. "But you're asking people to gamble their financial futures on vegetables and good intentions. Mr. Webb is offering security. Retirement. A chance to stop breaking their backs for diminishing returns."
"Who are you?" Tom Chen's voice is flat.
"Marissa Webb. I'm here representing my brother's interests." She smiles. Sharp. "And I'm here to remind everyone that romantic notions about local food don't pay medical bills or college tuition."
Rogan's hand tightens on mine.
"Your brother is trying to buy this town out from under the people who built it," I say. Each word careful. Controlled. "We're offering an alternative that keeps wealth and decision-making local."
"You're offering risk," Marissa counters. "My brother is offering certainty."
"Your brother is offering the end of Pine Hollow as we know it." Farmer Hank's voice slices through the tension. "Strip malls and chain restaurants don't need farmers. They need parking lots."
Marissa's smile doesn't waver. "The offers stand for sixty days. I encourage everyone to read them carefully. Consider what they're giving up before committing to an experimental business model with no track record."
