“And if I don't come back?”
“Then you remain a capable opponent. One I'll have to handle accordingly.” He takes another sip of scotch, unnervingly calm. “The lawsuit proceeds as planned. Your little festival becomes a desperate last stand instead of a celebration. The community you're so fond of watches their dreams crumble while you stand helpless to stop it.”
The casual cruelty in his voice makes my stomach turn. This is what I used to enable—the cold calculation that treats human dreams as acceptable losses, providing the legal framework for Richard's systematic destruction of communities like this one.
“You think you can win?” I ask.
“I know I can win. The question is how much collateral damage you’re willing to accept.” He leans forward, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “Come back, Mason. Help me wrap this up cleanly. The Morrison Center gets a generous donation, everyone walks away with dignity, and you return to work that matters.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I demonstrate why idealism is a luxury you can't afford.” His expression hardens. “I'll bury you, the Morrison Center, and anyone else who gets in my way. Including your charming girlfriend and her festival dreams.”
The threat lingers between us. This is Richard at his most dangerous. He’s not shouting, not posturing, but calmly laying out how he’ll dismantle everything I care about if I don’t fall in line.
“You're threatening Maddy?”
“I'm explaining consequences. Your father taught me that every acquisition needs perfect legal groundwork.” He finishes his scotch and stands. “You have until the festival to decide. After that, the offer expires, and the gloves come off.”
He drops several bills on the table—enough, by the looks of it, to cover both our drinks and a generous tip, maintaining his image even as he delivers ultimatums.
“Give my regards to the lovely ladies,” he says pleasantly. “Your girl and her mother.”
He walks out without looking back, leaving me alone—expensive scotch on my tongue and the cold certainty settling in that the real war is beginning.
I sit there for a long moment, processing what happened. Richard didn’t offer me a job—he showed me what we’re up against. A man who sees our community as collateral damage, our love as weakness, our hope as naivety.
But he also showed me more—how desperate he is. The fact that he came here himself, that he’s offering me everything I used to want, tells me we’ve gotten under his skin. We’re not another obstacle to be removed—we’re a genuine threat.
I walk back to the bar, where Gloria is waiting with a concerned expression.
“Everything alright, honey?”
“Better than I expected,” I say, and realize it's true. “Thank you. For the food, for watching out for me, for treating me like family.”
“That's what we do here, Mason. That's what it means to belong somewhere.” She studies my face carefully. “He's not done, is he?”
“No. But neither are we.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Maddy:
Maddy
Working late on vendor contracts. How's your evening going?
I stare at the screen for a moment, then type:
Me
Richard showed up. We need to talk. He made me an offer to come back, but that’s not why he’s here. The lawsuit is still active and he’s escalating. Festival became our deadline.
Her response comes right away:
Maddy
Are you okay? What did he want? Should I be worried?
Me
