Chapter 14 - The Meeting Beneath the Marquee
The construction sign became the best thing Grant Holloway could have done for Riverside.
He meant it as intimidation.
The neighborhood treated it as advertising.
By eight the next morning, someone had painted NOT across the top.
NOT THE FUTURE SITE OF HOLLOWAY RIVER DISTRICT.
By nine, photographs were online.
By ten, local reporters arrived.
By noon, Riverside announced a public meeting for Saturday night.
Louise expected eighty people.
Four hundred came.
Families filled the gym.
People stood in hallways.
Local businesses brought food.
Teachers brought students.
Former Riverside kids arrived with their own children.
My print shop produced five hundred signs:
RIVERSIDE STAYS.
We ran out.
Mia printed more.
Anthony offered additional printers.
I told him no.
He smiled and respected it.
That mattered too.
The meeting began beneath the restored marquee because the gym couldn’t hold everyone.
Louise stood on a temporary stage.
Seventy-four years old.
Five feet three.
Terrifying.
“This building has survived six mayors, three recessions, one roof collapse, four bad directors before me and plumbing installed by a man who apparently hated humanity.”
The crowd laughed.
“It will survive Grant Holloway.”
Cheers erupted.
I stood near the back with my father.
Anthony remained across the street.
He had deliberately stayed away from the stage.
His presence would turn a neighborhood event into a Russo story.
He understood that now.
A reporter approached me.
“Emma Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been identified as close to Anthony Russo.”
“I’ve been identified as lots of things lately.”
“Are you dating him?”
My father nearly choked.
I stared at the reporter.
“Riverside is fighting a property takeover and your question is about my dating life?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Fair.”
“Ask Louise why the city processed a false closure order.”
She did.
Growth.
Halfway through the meeting, Detective Mendoza arrived.
Not officially.
She stood near the food table eating baked ziti.
“You’re working?” I asked.
“I’m always working.”
“Comforting.”
She leaned closer.
“Grant’s here.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
She nodded toward the street.
Black sedan.
Grant Holloway stepped out.
Alone except for his attorney.
The crowd noticed.
Noise dropped.
Louise looked down from the stage.
“Well,” she said into the microphone, “apparently we have a guest.”
Grant walked forward.
His attorney whispered urgently.
Grant ignored him.
Anthony across the street went very still.
Grant climbed onto the stage.
Louise did not move aside.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He smiled for cameras.
“To clear the air.”
“Air is fine.”
Laughter.
Grant’s jaw tightened.
He took the microphone.
“I understand people are afraid.”
Someone shouted, “Of you!”
More laughter.
Grant continued.
“There has been misinformation regarding development plans.”
Louise folded her arms.
“Did your company buy properties around Riverside?”
“My companies have acquired several parcels.”
“Did a company linked to you offer to buy this building?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did employees connected to your companies request code inspections?”
His attorney stepped forward.
“Mr. Holloway cannot comment on an active investigation.”
Louise smiled.
“Then maybe he should stop talking.”
The crowd roared.
Grant’s face reddened.
Then he saw Anthony.
Across the street.
Not hiding.
Watching.
Grant pointed.
“This is what this is really about.”
The crowd turned.
“Anthony Russo has manipulated this neighborhood into defending his interests.”
Anthony did not move.
Grant raised his voice.
“He donated money. His attorney interfered with property filings. His people intimidated city employees.”
Mendoza’s eyes narrowed.
Anthony crossed the street slowly.
I felt tension ripple through the crowd.
He stopped below the stage.
Not climbing up.
Grant laughed.
“Tell them.”
Anthony looked at Louise.
“May I?”
She considered.
Then handed him a spare microphone.
Only Louise could make Anthony Russo ask permission at his own public confrontation.
Anthony faced the crowd.
He looked uncomfortable.
Not afraid.
Uncomfortable being seen differently.
“My mother came to Riverside when I was a kid.”
The crowd quieted.
“She came because she needed somewhere safe.”
I saw older residents exchange looks.
“My donation repaired a sign she loved.”
He glanced up at the marquee.
“I did not donate to purchase influence. Riverside owes me nothing.”
Grant scoffed.
Anthony continued.
“My companies have operated in Rochester for decades. Some legally. Some in ways I am not proud of.”
People became completely still.
“Federal investigators are reviewing those operations. I am cooperating.”
Grant’s attorney whispered something.
Grant ignored him.
Anthony looked directly at him.
“I am not asking this neighborhood to defend me.”
Then he looked at Louise.
“I am defending its right to exist without either one of us owning it.”
That sentence changed the crowd.
Not cheers immediately.
Something deeper.
Attention.
Anthony handed the microphone back.
Grant stepped forward.
“What a performance.”
Anthony said nothing.
“You think confession makes you noble?”
“No.”
“You think your mother would be proud?”
That was the mistake.
I saw it.
Anthony’s jaw tightened.
His hand curled once.
Grant smiled because he thought he had found the old Anthony.
The man who responded to insult with fear.
Anthony breathed.
Then relaxed his hand.
“My mother would probably tell me I talk too much.”
Louise muttered, “Smart woman.”
The crowd laughed.
Grant lost control.
“You people have no idea who he is!”
My father stepped forward.
“I do.”
I turned.
Dad walked toward the stage.
My heart pounded.
Grant recognized him.
His face changed.
“Robert Hayes.”
My father stopped beside Anthony.
“Twenty-two years ago, I worked for Salvatore Russo.”
Cameras turned.
Anthony whispered, “Robert, you don’t have to.”
Dad nodded.
“I do.”
He took the microphone.
“I stole money.”
Gasps.
“I gambled. I lied to my wife. I abandoned my daughter because I was ashamed and afraid.”
My eyes burned.
Dad continued.
“Maria Russo helped protect my family when she had every reason to protect only her own.”
Grant’s face was pale.
“She kept records,” Dad said. “Those records belong to investigators now.”
Grant’s attorney grabbed his arm.
“We’re leaving.”
Grant jerked away.
“You think those records prove anything?”
Dad looked at him.
“They prove enough for you to be afraid of paper.”
Grant turned toward me.
“This is your fault.”
The words came sharp.
Ugly.
Anthony moved instinctively.
Then stopped himself.
I answered instead.
“No.”
Grant stared.
“It’s yours.”
Mendoza stepped forward.
“Mr. Holloway, I think your attorney wants you to stop talking.”
Grant looked around.
Hundreds of people.
Phones recording.
No fear left for him to exploit.
He walked away.
The meeting continued.
Something ended that night.
Not the legal fight.
That would take months.
But the spell.
Grant depended on people feeling isolated.
Louise alone.
Me alone.
Anthony alone with his family name.
My father alone with shame.
Riverside proved the opposite.
People become harder to move when they stand together.
Near midnight, volunteers cleaned the street.
I found Anthony beneath the marquee.
Again.
“You did well.”
“I hate microphones.”
“I noticed.”
“Your father surprised me.”
“He surprised himself.”
Anthony looked at me.
“You were right.”
“About?”
“I kept thinking power meant being the person who could fix things.”
“And?”
“Tonight I barely did anything.”
“Terrible feeling?”
“Awful.”
I smiled.
He stepped closer.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“I would like to take you to dinner.”
My heart jumped.
“A date?”
“Yes.”
“Using your real name?”
“I’ll bring identification.”
I laughed.
“When?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I looked at him.
For weeks we had lived inside fear, property records, police interviews and old family secrets.
I wanted one normal evening.
Or as normal as dinner with Anthony Russo could ever be.
“Tomorrow.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Tomorrow?”
“Before I change my mind.”
A slow smile.
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
“No security at the table.”
“Agreed.”
“No talking about zoning.”
“Agreed.”
“You choose your appetizer.”
His smile disappeared.
“This feels targeted.”
“It is.”
He laughed.
Then the marquee above us flickered.
We both looked up.
One letter went dark.
Anthony stared.
I stared at him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m just looking.”
“You are absolutely planning to climb up there.”
“It’s one bulb.”
“Tomorrow.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
I kissed him.
Not planned.
Not dramatic.
Just one step forward and my hand against his cheek.
For one second he froze.
Then his hand settled carefully at my waist.
The kiss was soft.
Short.
Real.
When I stepped back, Anthony looked stunned.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
He nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
I walked away smiling.
Then Daniel appeared from across the street.
Anthony glared.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.”
“Go home.”
Daniel grinned.
“Seven o’clock?”
Anthony swore.
For the first time in weeks, our biggest problem felt almost normal.
It lasted eleven hours.
At six the next morning, federal agents arrived at Anthony’s home.
Not for Grant.
Not for Vincent.
May you like
For Anthony.
They carried an arrest warrant.
