He stood with Dove, Cullen, and Silas near the edge of the lot, far enough from the nearest cluster to talk without being overheard. Cullen had a doughnut from the refreshment table inside—he'd palmed it on the way out and was eating it with the calm focus of a man who'd learned to find food wherever he could and to savor every last bite.
"They were prepared," Silas said. "I'll give them that." He held the folded brochure between two fingers and turned it over without looking at it. "Every question someone asked, they had an answer ready. Charts. Studies. That gentleman in the gray suit?—"
"The environmental consultant," Dove said.
"He had a real smooth way of saying nothing for fifteen minutes and making it sound like information." Silas tucked the brochure into his shirt pocket. "And Dutton." He shook his head. "That man could sell you a screen door for a submarine, and you'd thank him for it."
Cullen finished the doughnut. "The jobs argument landed with some people."
“In a town like this, that one always lands," Trent said. He looked out at the crowd. He knew almost everyone here—people he'd known since grade school, people who'd been at his mother's funeral three weeks ago, people who kept boats at Mitchell's Marina and ate breakfast at the diner on Saturdays. Some of them had pushed back hard. Some hadn't pushed back at all, and he understood why. A person couldn't pay their power bills with principle. "Half this town's been hurting for years. You dangle steady work in front of somebody who needs it?—"
"It changes the math," Cullen said. “I know. I’m there. I’m hustling every day to make money so I can be a good dad for my kid. But I’m not sure I could take a job that requires me to sell out the Glades. Not after living out there for a while. And certainly not after growing up here.”
"But you understand how something like this will change the town,” Silas said. "And not in the way they're promising. I've seen this before." He looked out at the same faces Trent stared at, and his expression settled into the weight having watched this happen before. "They come in talking about partnership. About investment. About how nothing will really change, they'll just be part of the community, too. And then one morning you wake up, and the water's different, and the birds are gone, and the people you grew up with have moved on because there's no reason left to stay." He was quiet for a moment. "This isn't just land. It's a community. You mine the land, you mine everything built on top of it."
Nobody argued with that because Silas was right. It was the price of that kind of progress.
“I best be going,” Silas said. “Before my wife agrees to drinks with someone I don’t want to spend time with.” He patted Cullen on the shoulder. “See you Sunday for dinner?”
“Absolutely.” Cullen smiled. “I might be a little later than usual. Tyler’s coming for a visit. Just a couple of hours, but his mom agreed to a boat ride and fishing. And it turns out, the social worker enjoys the water.”
“You know, you can always have visits at our place. We love seeing that boy,” Silas said.
“If there’s time, we’ll stop by.” Cullen slapped his uncle on the shoulder.
Silas turned and strolled away, waving to half the town.
Trent looked across the parking lot and his gaze landed on the Hendersons. His stomach pitched and rolled. When the couple started walking toward him, bile lurched into his throat.
“Here comes trouble,” Dove whispered.
“Let’s go.” Trent took her hand, but before they could take even two steps, the Hendersons caught up.
“Leaving so soon?” Beau stopped a few feet out, hands easy at his sides, the smile he wore the way other men wore cologne.
“Meeting’s over,” Trent said. “No reason to stick around any longer.”
“I suppose.” Beau nodded. “But I’d like to have a quick word with you. Just the two of us?"
“Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of my girlfriend and Cullen.”
Beau's smile didn't waver. His eyes moved across Dove and Cullen and came back to Trent. “This matter is better handled privately.”
“If you’ve got something to say, say it. Otherwise, we need to get going.” Trent really didn’t want to stick around and listen to this asshole, and he figured if he refused to chat alone, Beau Henderson and his wife would go away and make their threats behind paper and pen.
“Have it your way.” He rubbed his hands together like an excited little boy. “We've heard there has been some…” he looked to the sky and rubbed his chin. “… Some activity on your property.” He shifted his gaze back to Trent. “Something about a visit from the police. From Fish and Wildlife. That you were going to be charged with a crime and could lose your permits.”
The words settled into Trent's chest like congestion that wouldn’t come up.
Dawson and Keaton had promised to keep things quiet and hadn't filed a single piece of paperwork yet due to extenuating circumstances. Nobody outside that shed this morning should know a thing.
He breathed in. Breathed out. Let his mother's voice remind him, for the thousandth time, that the hothead version of him never won anything— except a cell in the Calusa Cove lockup for a night.
“You’re misinformed,” Trent said. "Nothing like that has happened." He kept his voice easy. Conversational. Like the man in front of him was telling him something mildly interesting about the weather. "I'd be careful about repeating rumors. They tend to come back and bite you in the ass.” His mother might not like that comment, but it felt fucking good to say something.
Beau's smile tightened at the corners. Just slightly. "I only want you to consider your position."
“I’d be more worried about your own.”
