“I need some air,” I tell Lianne, heading toward Highland’s front door.
“Maya, wait?—”
But I’m already outside, walking toward the small park across from Highland where children play on weekends and families gather for impromptu picnics. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows between the buildings, and for some reason, the beauty of the light makes everything hurt worse.
My phone rings. Declan’s name on the caller ID makes my chest tighten.
“Maya.” His voice is rough, exhausted. “Thank God you answered.”
“What’s there to say, Declan? Your board voted for demolition. Highland is finished.”
“It’s not finished. There are options, alternatives?—”
“Stop.” The word comes out sharp, like a knife cutting through the last thread of hope I’ve been clinging to. “Just stop, okay? I don’t want to hear about alternatives or relocation assistance or community partnerships. Highland is going to be demolished. Everything my father built is going to be erased so Pierce Enterprises can build luxury condos.”
“Maya, I know you’re hurting, but there might still be ways to?—”
“Ways to what? The board voted for demolition, Declan. Harrison made sure of that.” The words taste bitter as I sink onto a park bench, suddenly exhausted. The math is brutal but honest. Even with Declan’s vote, Highland might still have lost. “So we never had a real chance.”
“We had a chance. Patricia and Donovan voted for preservation. That’s something.”
“Something.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I sat in that room and watched Highland die, Declan. I watched your board treat my father’s legacy like a line item on a budget spreadsheet. And the worst part is, I actually believed this collaboration meant something.”
“It did mean something. It does.”
“Does it? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Highland gets torn down regardless of how much research I did, how compelling my presentation was, or how many people signed my petition.” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “Maybe you were right from the beginning. Maybe Highland was always going to lose.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your board said it for you.” I stand, needing to move, needing to do something other than sit here feeling helpless.
“And I’m going to fight that decision.”
“How? It’s over.”
“I’ll find another way.”
The words sound hollow, like promises made in desperation rather than confidence. “What if there isn’t another way? What if this is just how the world works—corporations win, communities lose, and idealistic community organizers learn hard lessons about power?”
“Is that what you think happened here?”
I look back toward Highland, its windows glowing with the warm light of evening programs that will end in six weeks. “I think I fell for a fantasy. I thought passion and research and good intentions could overcome money and corporate politics. I thought...” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.
“You thought what?”
“I… I don’t know what I thought…” I let my voice fade until silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of the distant traffic.
“I understand why you need time,” he says finally, his voice hollow. “But Maya, this isn’t over. Highland isn’t over. I won’t let it be.”
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my phone and the weight of promises that feel impossible to keep.
I sit in the park for another hour, watching Highland’s windows glow with warm light as evening classes begin. Inside, community members are going about their normal routines—teenagers working on homework, adults practicing English, seniors playing cards and sharing stories. They don’t know yet that their gathering place has an expiration date.
When I finally walk back into Highland, the building hums with its usual Monday evening energy. But now I see it differently—not as a thriving community center but as a condemned building where people are living out their final days of normalcy.
“Maya.” Tito Ricky emerges from my office, his expression grave. “Lianne told me about Pierce Enterprises’ decision. I’m sorry.”
“What are Highland’s legal options?” I ask without preamble.
