My stomach drops.
“You’ve been under a lot of financial pressure,” he says sympathetically. “I admire how you’ve managed.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It becomes my business when I make it my business.”
He finally looks at me.
The friendliness is gone.
His eyes are flat now.
Empty.
“You vote yes,” he says calmly. “Or this all gets very complicated.”
“I’m not for sale,” I say.
“I know.”
He nods slightly.
“That’s why this is leverage, not a purchase.”
The room suddenly feels colder.
“What happens if I say no?”
He tilts his head thoughtfully.
“Your bank might reconsider your refinancing.”
“The hospital might call about revised payment timelines.”
“Your son’s university might suddenly discover a problem with his scholarship funding.”
My hands start shaking.
“That’s extortion.”
He smiles again.
“No.”
He stands and straightens his jacket.
“That’s infrastructure.”
He walks toward the door like he just finished a routine appointment.
“Oh—and the town still thinks this is just paperwork,” he says lightly.
“Let’s keep it that way.”
The door closes behind him.
The kitchen goes quiet.
