microphone. She’d been in the last row, obscured from his view by a big guy in the row in front of her. But she was standing now and heading down the aisle as she spoke. “Everything you just said is untrue.”
The speaker turned toward Jessica, a frown folding down over her intense gaze. “Who are you?”
Jessica advanced to the middle of the room. “I’m Jessica Blackwood, Christopher Martin’s architect.”
The crowd gasped and murmured. Topher balled his fists. If anyone said a negative word about Jessica, he would explode. He wasn’t going to let her be hurt by these people.
“You designed this crap?” the speaker said, pointing an accusing finger at her.
* * *
Jessica stared Peggy Fiedler down as an unwanted memory filled her mind of Daddy pointing an accusing finger at her. “I won’t tolerate a liar in this house,” he’d said.
And here she was again, standing up for the truth when no one wanted to believe her. The crowd began to murmur in an ominous tone, and her knees and hands started to shake.
Had the truth ever set anyone free? Or had it only hurt people? Colton’s truth hurt terribly. She wished he’d never spoken it out loud.
Of course, the truth she’d come to speak wasn’t nearly as earthshaking, but the audience didn’t want to hear it. They wanted someone to be against. They wanted to stop Topher no matter what the truth.
But the little rebel who had always lived down inside of Jessica refused to give up.
“I designed the castle,” she said. “And you’re right, it’s a monstrosity. It’s not my best work. But Mr. Martin rejected that idea weeks ago. There isn’t going to be a castle on Lookout Island.”
“You designed this ridiculous house?” Caleb stood up from the folding chair where he’d been lounging. “Really?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “This is something the City Hall design selection committee will be interested to know.”
Well, the City Hall project was already a dead deal because she’d refused Caleb’s bribe. It struck her that maybe she should tell the truth about Caleb and his attempted shakedown. But she wasn’t brave enough to say that out loud. Besides, the audience wouldn’t believe her—she had no proof. And damaging Caleb wasn’t her goal.
She’d come here to defend her design and to clear the way so that Topher could build his house. The rest might be important in the long run but not in the moment.
“I have the information about the final house plans here. I’ll be filing for a building permit next week. It seems to me y’all should take a look at the final plans, not a concept that was rejected.”
“I’m going to ask you to please sit down,” Peggy Fiedler said. “This isn’t your meeting. It’s mine.”
“No,” Jessica said, her tone defiant. “This is an open meeting, and people here deserve the truth about the house Mr. Martin is planning to build.”
“If you don’t sit down, I’m going to call security,” the grandmotherly woman said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Jessica’s heart redlined. The very last thing she wanted was a scuffle with the law. She could just imagine what the gossips would do with that. But these people needed to hear the truth. She cast her gaze around the room and realized Topher was standing by the door, dressed in khakis, a white golf shirt, and a blue blazer.
His presence gave her courage. So she hurried forward and put the foam-core board with her elevation drawing onto an easel at the front of the room. “Here are the drawings.”
“No one gave you permission to put that up there,” Peggy said. “Take that down.”
A young man in the front row charged the easel and literally ripped the board out of Jessica’s hands.
Jessica turned to the crowd. “Don’t you want to know the truth? Are you happy to let these people tell you what to believe?”
“Everyone here knows that Christopher Martin’s investment company has significant holdings in various enterprises with very poor environmental records. He’s not a friend of the climate. And he doesn’t need to build a house on an island with a historic lighthouse. Your plans are irrelevant,” Peggy said.
Jessica glanced at Topher, hoping he would counter the woman’s words. But he continued to lean against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“No one has cared about the lighthouse in years,” Jessica said. “Y’all were happy to let it fall into ruin until right this minute. So this looks more like a vendetta against Mr.