Page 28 of Building What's Meant to Be

“Okay, so you ladybosses broke into the town hall the night of Cassian’s surprise birthday party,” I say around a bite.

No one disagrees.

“Officially, it was a stakeout,” Bess says.

“Why are you confessing?” Mae scolds.

“Because we’ve had enough of Gatlin’s dictatorship.”

This time, everyone agrees.

“In the cover of darkness, we crept over to the town hall. The light in Gatlin’s office was on and dim shadows passed behind the blinds,” Bess’s voice is low like she’s telling a spooky story.

“We climbed in through an open window,” Camellia says proudly.

“I kept lookout,” Mae says.

“Me too, Christina adds.

“You didn’t do a very good job,” I mutter.

Rhondy brings everyone’s meals as Bess continues in a lowered voice, “We heard Gatlin say, ‘They’ll never see it coming.’ Then a very familiar voice replied, ‘With all due respect, sir, I do think they’ll see a bullet train coming. It’s not exactly small or stealthy.’ Then Gatlin said something about everything being signed by the end of the week.”

I remember the conversation well. “Then he added, ‘Goodbye, Small town with a big heart. Hello, big bucks.’” And I still cannot figure out what he meant because the bullet train thing was a decoy...unless it wasn’t. But I haven’t found any evidence of him dealing with a bullet train company. It was a rumor he started to take attention away from what he was really intending to do along the coastline.

Almost imperceptibly, Cassian’s eyes flick to mine.

If only I could tell them what we both know—that I’d gathered intel that our nuclear submarine base was at risk. Cassian was instrumental in stopping it from falling into the hands of the enemy.

“And if you recall, I advised Stoll that he’d be breaking several laws,” I say. “Much like you did when you broke into the town hall.”

“Laws shmaws,” Mae says, unknowingly repeating what Stoll said in response.

“What’s a shmaw?” Tinsley whispers.

Camellia snaps her fingers. “My question exactly.”

“Then the door flew open and you were standing there,” Bess says.

“Yes, I know. I was there.”

“Then you can explain what Gatlin meant when he said, ‘I’ll be long gone by the time anyone does anything. I finally get my payday and can wash my hands of this pathetic town.’”

In the commotion, I must’ve missed that comment.

“If you haven’t noticed, he’s not in Butterbury,” Buck says from the other end of the table.

“Any idea when he left?” I ask.

Bo leans back in his chair. “I last saw his convertible at the intersection of Route Seventeen two days ago.”

That would’ve been shortly after I went to LA.

“What time?” I ask.

“Shortly before eight am,” Bo answers.

“Which direction was he going?”

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