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RACHEL

Ican do this.

I mean, sure, I have to convince seven strangers to say no to one of the richest families in the country, but how hard can that be?

The elevator doors open on the third floor of City Hall. A sign points me toward the council chamber, where the city council will review plans for a new Voss hotel—the one they want to build directly beside mine.

I follow the signs to a desk outside the room. The woman sitting there gives me a kind smile, and I manage to return it.

“Rachel Hartwell. I’m registered to speak against the Voss application.”

The woman checks her list. “You’re from the Hartwell Hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Great. The commissioners have read your written objection. You’ll have five minutes to speak after Voss present their plans.”

Five minutes doesn’t feel like enough, but she didn’t make the rules.

“There’s coffee down the hall if you’d like some,” she says.

“I’d better not, but thank you.”

Coffee will only make my hands shake more. I need them steady when I explain why Voss shouldn’t build a huge glass hotel beside the Hartwell. Voss already has forty-seven hotels across the country and overseas. My family has one.

To Voss, this is another hotel. To my family and our staff, the Hartwell is home. They can build somewhere else. We have nowhere else to go.

I take a breath, pull open the heavy wooden doors, and step inside.

The council chamber is smaller than I expected. Seven council members sit behind a raised bench. Below them are two tables, one for city staff and one for the applicant. A wooden lectern faces the bench, with rows of public seats behind it.

Nearly every chair is taken. A woman near the back moves her coat, and I sit beside her while a man at the lectern argues against a new parking lot. I must have arrived near the end of the hearing because, a minute later, the council chair closes public comment.

The council members ask the city planner one question, then vote. All seven approve the parking lot. It’s over in less than two minutes.

I stare at the bench as the man leaves. Could they decide the Voss application that quickly too? I’ve spent weeks preparing, but seven people could decide the Hartwell’s future in the time it takes to order coffee.

The screen shows only one more item before Voss. I should be glad for the extra time, but knowing we’re next only makes me more nervous.

I wish Grandma were here. She knows Voss bought the old department store next door, and we went through the application together before she left for Spain three weeks ago. At the time, the Planning Department was still waiting for several reports. We thought the hearing was months away.

We were wrong. Two days after Grandma left, Voss gave the city everything it needed, and the hearing was set soon after. Grandma doesn’t know. I chose not to tell her.

If I had, she would’ve left her friends and taken the next flight home. Granddad died eight months ago, and this trip is the first thing she’s been excited about since. Every day, she sends me pictures of the places they’ve visited and tells me what they’re doing next. I couldn’t be the reason she came home, so I convinced myself I could handle this alone.

That choice felt much wiser when I was sitting in my office. Now I just want her beside me.

The council members approve a small patio behind a coffee shop. As the owner thanks them and leaves the lectern, I go over everything I need to say.

The old department store next door has been empty for more than a decade. Half its windows are boarded up, and part of the roof is starting to cave in. It’s ugly, and it may not be safe. I know something has to replace it. I just don’t want it to be another hotel.

The council members already have my forty-three-page report. It covers traffic, noise, deliveries, parking, and the harm a hotel that size could cause every business along Hartwell Boulevard. I doubt any of them read all of it. But I have five minutes to tell them what matters most and convince them that just because Voss can afford to build this hotel doesn’t mean it belongs on our street.

“The next application is from Voss Hotels.”

I look toward the empty applicant’s table, expecting a lawyer or planning consultant to appear. No one moves.