She leaves. The door swings shut behind her with a soft click.
Mayor Elsie clears her throat. "All right. Let's talk specifics. Ivy, walk us through the seed stewardship component."
I flip to the next section of my notes. Force my voice steady.
"The cooperative model protects heirloom varieties and local seed heritage. We establish a seed library with shared access. Farmers contribute to the collection and can withdraw seeds for planting. Crop diversity reduces risk and improves soil health over time."
I click through slides showing crop rotation schedules, companion planting diagrams, biodiversity metrics.
"This isn't just about nostalgia. Genetic diversity is insurance. When industrial monocrops fail, heritage varieties adapt. They've survived here for generations because they're resilient."
"And the supply chain?" someone asks.
Rogan takes over. "We're proposing a hub-and-spoke model. The bistro becomes the central processing and distribution point. Farmers deliver crops here. We handle cleaning, initial prep, and distribution to other local restaurants and markets. Economies of scale without losing local control."
"Who manages the hub?"
"Hired staff accountable to the cooperative board. Board seats are allocated based on equity shares and voted on annually. Every member gets a voice."
The questions keep coming. Logistics. Timelines. Risk scenarios. We answer them all, tag-teaming between Rogan's practical kitchen knowledge and my agricultural planning.
By the time Mayor Elsie calls for a preliminary vote, my throat is raw.
"All in favor of pursuing the cooperative ownership model, say aye."
The ayes roll through the room. Not unanimous. A handful of abstentions. Two clear nos.
But overwhelming support.
"Motion carries." Mayor Elsie's face splits into a genuine smile. "We're going to need working groups. Legal, finance, governance, outreach. I'm asking for volunteers."
Hands shoot up. People cluster around the signup sheets.
Rogan's arm slides around my waist. Brief. Grounding.
"We did it," he murmurs.
"We started it," I correct. "Now comes the hard part."
The callwith Claire Okoye happens at ten seventeen, after we've cleared the community center and regrouped at the bistro.
Maya has her on speaker. Claire's voice is warm, incisive, and carries the crackle of someone who's done this before.
"I've reviewed your preliminary numbers. They're conservative, which I appreciate. But you're undercapitalizing the infrastructure needs."
Rogan grimaces. "We know. The hub model requires equipment we don't have yet. Cold storage, processing tables, delivery logistics."
"Right. So here's what I can offer. Mission-driven bridge financing to cover infrastructure and first-year operating costs. Two hundred thousand at four percent interest, deferred payments for eighteen months."
I nearly drop my pen.
"What's the catch?" Rogan asks.
"No catch. But conditions. You maintain the cooperative structure. You hit sustainability benchmarks we'll define together. And you give me quarterly reports proving community benefit, not just profit."
"We can do that," I say. My voice sounds distant in my own ears.
"Good. I'll send term sheets tomorrow. If your community investors can match twenty percent, we'll have enough capital to launch properly."
