Chapter 5: The Price of Hope

And then, at the worst possible moment, Dr. Grant died.

The news spread like wildfire. People gathered on the sidewalk, shaking their heads, wiping away tears. It felt like the end of an era, the loss of something irreplaceable.

After Dr. Grant’s death, rumors started spreading through Main Street. People said Big Wade was ruthless, that Hensley Real Estate would do anything for the demolition—even take lives. One death brought the neighbors together again. Big Wade’s campaign collapsed, and demolition seemed out of reach.

Fear united us in a way money never could. We locked our doors. Swore we’d never let Main Street fall.

On the third night after Dr. Grant’s death, an unexpected visitor came to my house.

The knock came just after midnight—sharp, insistent. I opened the door. Laurel stood on my porch, eyes rimmed red, hands shaking. She didn’t say much, just pressed a letter into my hand and vanished into the night.

The next morning, I was summoned to the police station—same familiar officers, same questions.

The waiting room smelled like burnt coffee and old paper. I recognized the officers, their faces drawn and tired. The questions came fast, but I answered as best I could.

"What did Big Wade want with you yesterday?"

The detective’s pen hovered over his notepad, eyes locked on mine. I could feel the weight of every word.

"He wanted me to convince the neighbors to sign the demolition contract."

I kept my voice calm, refusing to let them see how rattled I was. The truth was, Big Wade had made his offer clear—help him, and I’d never have to worry about money again.

"Why would he come to you?"

I leaned back in my chair, answering slowly. "Maybe he thinks I can cash in on Dr. Grant’s reputation."

I shrugged, spreading my hands. Maybe he thought I still carried some of Dr. Grant’s influence, or maybe he just saw a desperate man and figured I’d be easy to buy.

"How do you explain the five hundred thousand dollars? Did Big Wade put you up to killing Dr. Grant?"

The number made my head spin, even now. I shook my head, forcing myself to meet the detective’s gaze. "No one put me up to anything."

"Why would he want Dr. Grant dead?"

"Because Dr. Grant was blocking the demolition. This is a huge project."

His voice was sharp, but I could hear doubt creeping in. It wasn’t as simple as they wanted.

"If Dr. Grant dies, does that mean demolition goes through?"

The detective was stumped. Dr. Grant’s death should have left the neighbors leaderless and made demolition easier. But the reality was the opposite—everyone still remembered what Dr. Grant had done for them.

The room went quiet, the detective’s pen tapping against the table. The truth was, Dr. Grant’s legacy was stronger than any contract, any amount of money. His death had galvanized the town in a way no speech ever could.

In the end, the questioning circled back to the five hundred thousand. That money was a sticking point.

They kept coming back to it, over and over, like the answer might change. But all I could do was shake my head. I wished I’d never seen a dime of it.

Sam Howell was a real idiot, sending money straight from his own account. But the real fool? That was me.

I stared at my hands, calloused and worn, and wondered how I’d let myself get tangled up in all this. In a town like Maple Ridge, nothing stays secret for long—and some mistakes are too big to outrun.

And this time, I wasn’t sure I could.