“The special election for the at-large city council seat,” Tom replied, as though that were something everyone knew about. “A few months ago?”
I tried to remember if Em or Deacon had mentioned the election in any of our recent phone calls. Admittedly, I might have tuned it out even if they had. Island politics weren’t high on my list of interests these days.
I shrugged, and Tom shook his head.
“Well, there was an election, as I said, and whoever won was likely to be the swing vote on whether or not to sell the land. Unfortunately, the candidate we were supporting lost, and Nash has been doing everything in his power since winning to swing public opinion around to the pro-development side.”
“Wait a second.” I flattened my palm on the table. “Nash as in Bill Nash?”
Tom shook his head. “No, from what I understand, the elder Mr. Nash has largely retired from politics. It’s his son who won the seat, guy by the name of—”
“Scott Nash.” The name was bitter on my tongue. “Scott fucking Nash.”
“That’s the one.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “I take it you know him?”
“You could say that.”
I had no doubt now that my brothers hadn’t mentioned the election to me. There was no way I would have forgotten news that involved Scott Nash.
I hadn’t spoken to him in ten years, but I didn’t imagine time had improved him much. Scott had been a bully, an arrogant, entitled asshole, the entire time I’d known him—and I’d known him since we were five.
He came from old money, one of those families that had been on Summersea for generations. His father, and even grandfather, had always been in some public office, and Scott had never been shy about throwing his weight around.
He’d terrorized kids in high school. Never overtly, of course. Never where any teachers could see. Most of the time, he had his friends do his dirty work for him. But it was Scott pulling the strings, from the top of a social pecking order he’d orchestrated for the pure pleasure of seeing other people crushed on the bottom.
I couldn’t stand the creep.
“How the hell did he convince people to vote for him?” I wondered out loud.
Scott’s father and grandfather had at least cloaked their venom beneath a veneer of civility. The Scott I knew had never bothered with that. Had he learned some tricks from the family playbook? Or had he just thrown enough money around that nobody cared?
“A little bit of both,” Tom said, and I blinked. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. “Did a very convincing job of selling himself as a family man, trying to support the island’s economy for long-term residents.”
“The only things Scott Nash wants to support are his own interests,” I muttered. “If he wants to develop the beach into condos, you can bet it’s because he’s getting something out of it.”
“I agree.”
Tom’s words were so matter-of-fact that they pulled me up short.
“You do?”
“Did Hetty not tell you the rest of what’s going on here?”
“Evidently not.”
“To put it simply, graft. I’m pretty sure that Lyles & Blackstone is liberally greasing any palms they think will help the council’s decision go their way. And I’m positive Scott Nash is part of that scheme. Unfortunately, we don’t have any proof.” Tom’s voice dripped with disgust. “It’s the same thing with the vandalism. It started right after Nash got elected, but so far we haven’t had the time or resources to—”
“Vandalism?” I stared at Tom. “What kind of vandalism?”
“Anything you can think of.” He waved a hand in the air in frustration. “Trash strewn across the beach. Oil dumped on the sand. I’m pretty sure someone’s putting chemicals in the river. The property owners next to the beach say they’ve sustained damages, too—cuts to their electric lines, chemicals poured into their water supply.”
“Shit.” That wasn’t just wrong, that was dangerous. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Retaliation,” Tom said grimly. “And to make the land less valuable, less attractive to wildlife. It’s one of the reasons I’m desperate to get someone out here before nesting season starts in earnest. Loggerheads, greens, leatherbacks—they’re all protected species, so their nesting sites should be protected as well—but only if we can prove they’re actually using the beach for that purpose. If someone were to destroy the nests, dig them up before the eggs could hatch—”
“Fuck.” Vandalism for retaliation, to lower property values, was bad enough. But harming an endangered species purely for monetary gain was despicable.