A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,92
indeed, but he’d be happy with simply knowing their minds were open to change. He noted the door opening in the back of the auditorium, and stuttered over his next sentence as he spied the lovely cupcake baker slipping in and taking a seat on the aisle. He lost another critical moment wondering what she’d done to overcome her early morning crisis, or if she’d simply locked the door and decided to deal with it later.
The crowd began to murmur, and he quickly shifted his thoughts back to the far more important matter at hand. “This presentation is a preview of the more detailed information that will be coming your way at the official town hall meeting the end of this week. At that time we will encourage your questions and do our best to answer them, as well as allay any concerns you might have as to how these changes are going to affect you and your businesses personally.” The crowd started to murmur in earnest, and he lifted a hand to stall what appeared to be the start of some questions and hand raising. “I don’t wish to put any of you off, but I won’t be taking questions this morning. I have brochures and printed information, detailing everything I’ve shown you and gone over this morning. My hope—our hope—is that you will take these materials, go over them, and think about everything you’d like to discuss, then send those questions and any concerns you have to the e-mail addresses provided. When we reconvene here at the end of the week, we can have a productive, comprehensive meeting that will launch us into the next phase of this exciting time of growth and prosperity for you and your fellow businessmen and women.”
He smiled broadly to the audience and clicked the photo on the big screen back to the one of the huge Hamilton Industries logo. “The information packets are stacked on the tables outside the auditorium doors as you exit. Thank you all for your patience, your participation, and your enthusiasm in getting in on the ground floor of what is going to be the most exciting thing to ever happen in Hamilton village.”
He listened to the applause, gauging whether it was enthusiastic or merely polite, and was, overall, quite happy with the tone of what he was hearing. But just as people started to rise from their seats, a strident voice rang out, freezing everyone for a moment, then returning them to their seats.
“Mr. Gallagher, isn’t it true that rather than capitalize on the unique features of a town—I’m sorry, village—you simply remodel it into your own vision of the place? I realize that things are different in old-world countries like England, Switzerland, and Italy, where I understand you’ve had enormous success.
“But Hamilton is not some fourteenth-century village in need of sprucing up, Mr. Gallagher. We don’t need people coming here looking for a theme park resort, fivestar hotels, and a championship golf course. We’re already a thriving community, happily capitalizing on the successes of Hamilton Industries and our own individual business acumen. If you’re merely interested in making Hamilton Industries more successful, thereby giving us greater opportunities, then we’ll all rejoice and give you our undying support. More prosperity is never a bad thing. However, it appears you’re looking to fix a part of us that isn’t broken.
“I think I am speaking for the majority here when I say we like who and what we are, and what we’ve become, through the hard work and sweat that comes with building our own business from the bottom up. In many cases, for multiple generations. Your own family can speak to that, Mr. Gallagher. Certainly that’s something you can identify with, right? If you would focus all your growth potential energy, of which you seem to have an endless supply, on increasing the bottom line of Hamilton Industries, the rest of us will still stand to profit and prosper. But also keep what makes us unique. Otherwise, Mr. Gallagher, our ‘village’ doesn’t need your help.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, as the rest of the folks in the audience shifted their gazes between himself ... and Melody Duncastle.
Of course it was her.
Griffin knew the next few seconds were critical in keeping the edge he’d worked so hard to gain. But before he could open his mouth to rejoin Miss Duncastle, and jovially charm the townspeople into continuing to give him their open-minded attention, someone put their hands