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The council members turn to the marked map in their copies of my report. I wait until they’ve found the narrow strip between the two properties.
“We use it for food deliveries, linens, waste collection, event equipment, and emergency access. It’s only twenty feet wide, so one delivery truck can pass through at a time. When the department store was still open, my grandfather gave its owner limited permission to use the lane for certain deliveries. That wasn’t a permanent right, and the permission ended when the property was sold.”
I turn to the site plan. “Sheet C-twelve treats the Hartwell’s lane as Voss’s full-time service entrance. The note says an access agreement is pending. It isn’t. No one from Voss has even contacted us, and the Hartwell won’t grant access. This is our only loading area. It can’t serve two hotels.”
I glance at Eric. He’s leaning forward now, his attention fixed on me. The light beside the timer turns amber, warning me that I have one minute left. I face the council and make my final point.
“The plan before you depends on private land Voss doesn’t own and has no right to use. Moving the service entrance would change the layout of the entire site. This isn’t a small detail that can be settled after approval.” I take a breath. “For that reason, I ask you not to approve this application today. Voss must first submit a site plan that keeps all service access on its own property. Thank you for your time.”
A low murmur moves through the room as I return to my seat. My heart pounds, and I fold my hands over the folder to hide their shaking.
I meet Eric’s eyes. They’re brighter now, almost amused, as if I’ve given him a challenge instead of putting his project at risk.
“The applicant has three minutes to respond,” the chair says.
The silver-haired man beside Eric reaches for his microphone. “The concerns about traffic and shadows can be handled through the conditions of approval. As for the service lane, we’re confident Voss can reach an agreement with the Hartwell.”
Eric meets my eyes. I shake my head, but his smile only widens. He stands beside the table and buttons his jacket.
“May I add something?”
The chair nods.
“Ms. Hartwell is right about one point.” His voice carries easily across the room. “We should have contacted the Hartwell before listing the access agreement as pending. That was our mistake. But the issue is easy to solve. If the Hartwell agrees to share the lane, we can have the papers signed within days. If not, we’ll revise the site plan.”
He makes both choices sound simple, as though I haven’t just torn a hole in a project worth hundreds of millions.
The chair turns to me. “Ms. Hartwell, would the Hartwell consider an access agreement?”
“Absolutely not.”
She turns to the city planner. “Can the hotel operate as submitted without that lane?”
“No. Voss would need either a signed access agreement or a revised site plan.”
“Then the application isn’t ready for approval. Is there a motion?”
One council member raises her hand. “I move to continue application twenty-six-fourteen for six weeks. Before the next hearing, Voss must submit either a signed access agreement with the Hartwell or a new site plan that keeps all service access on its own property.”
“Second,” another member says.
The chair calls the vote. All seven council members vote in favor.
“The motion carries. Application twenty-six-fourteen is continued for six weeks.”
A shaky breath slips out. For the first time since I entered the room, I can breathe properly. I haven’t stopped the hotel, but I’ve stopped this version of it. Voss now has six weeks to redesign the project because they won’t be using my lane.
I stuff my papers into the folder and hurry to the elevator. It opens as soon as I press the button, and I step inside and choose the lobby. Just before the doors close, a hand stops them.
Eric walks in. His team stays behind.
The doors slide shut, leaving us alone for the three-floor ride.
This can’t be good.
2
RACHEL
