Devin staggers back and sags into the chair behind him, face pale. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Have you even told Perry what happened today?” I press.
“Yeah. I called him this afternoon when I got back to the office.”
My stomach clenches into a fist. “What did he say?”
“A lot of things. Let’s see… that he can’t believe I sided with Dad, how could I do this to him, and, oh yeah, my personal favorite: that I can lose his number because we’re no longer brothers,” he says miserably.
“Did you tell him I was at the meeting too?”
“I left you out of it.”
“Why?”
“I’m the one he should be angry with, not you. It wasn’t your fault you ended up at Sullivan’s. Unlike me, you didn’t know what was coming.” Shaking his head, he clenches his jaw. “I can’t believe I was so naive to think my dad wouldn’t be willing to dick over Perry if he thought it was ‘what’s best’ for him. Because everything he does, no matter how much it hurts, is for our own good. At least that’s the way he sees it.” Nostrils flaring, he slams his fist against the armrest. “Damn it, I should have known better. I could have warned Perry weeks ago. Except I can’t, and now—” His voice cracks, and he pinches glistening tears from the corners of his eyes. “Now I’ve ruined Perry’s life.”
Yeah, you kinda did. I keep the rebuke to myself. Guilt oozes from every pore of Devin’s pained expression. He clearly regrets his actions, and it wouldn’t be helpful—or kind—to pile on at this point.
Sighing, I pace the length of the porch. I imagine Perry’s face when Devin delivered the news—the sadness, anger, and betrayal etched into every line, zapping every ounce of happiness from his mischievous features. All Perry wanted was to bring joy to others, and now he might lose his beloved flower shop and his home. I gnaw my thumbnail.
There has to be a way to fix this.
I think back to my memo, to the eminent domain cases the courts have heard in recent years. The loopholes, the successful challenges…
I pause a few feet away from Devin. “Maybe there’s a way you can help Perry.”
Devin snorts. “Once Dad sets himself on a course of action, there’s no changing it.”
“No, that’s not it. The city’s ability to seize Perry’s property depends on whether they can show there’s a strong public need for that particular land, which can be bolstered if they prove the property is blighted. The fact that Perry owes money in back taxes is a mark against him. But if he could make a significant dent in what he owes, bring the sum down even further, it would make the city of Cleveland’s case that much harder.”
“How could he possibly do that? He barely has enough money to sign his employees’ paychecks, let alone pay down tens of thousands of dollars in debt.”
“What he does have though are connections. You both do,” I murmur to myself, thinking back to all the people I met at the Fourth of July party. An idea suddenly hits me with the force of a 747 and my eyes widen. “What if Perry hosted an event… a festival for the community?”
“What, like a flower festival or something?”
“Yes, exactly!” I snap my fingers. “But it could be more than that. The theme could be flowers—he could sell them, offer free flower-arranging workshops, consultations for special events, that sort of thing—and he could charge a fee for local artists to set up booths at the festival and sell their wares.”
“I don’t know. Dad said the next closed city council session is a month from now. Planning an event like that on such short notice is next to impossible. For starters, Perry would need an event permit from the city—”
“I can help with that.”
“Okay, but even assuming the permit would come through in time, we’d need to find dozens of people to sign on within the next week or two if we want to get this thing off the ground. How do you propose we do that?”
“Are you serious? You are quite possibly the most charming person alive in the greater Cleveland area. And you know everyone. You can’t tell me that you don’t think you could sweet-talk some local businesses into joining a festival that would—hopefully—make them money and bring in new customers?”
“I guess I can be pretty persuasive.”
“Damn straight you are.”
His lips flicker into the barest hint of a grin. “Marcus does owe me a favor,” he muses. “Maybe he can convince the owner of Zelma’s to let them serve as the official food and alcohol vendor for the event. Wait…” Pinching his bottom lip, his eyes flick back and forth. “That gives me an idea. Not everyone likes flowers, you know. I mean, if I saw an ad for a ‘flower festival’ I wouldn’t exactly be hopping up and down. What if we framed it as a flower and beer festival? We could invite a few local breweries to set up booths and offer beer tastings. I think it’d draw in more people, for sure.”