What is she thinking? I probably don’t want to know.

Just as Valerie confirms everything is in order, everyone and their grandmother enter the hall. It’s an old building that has seen a lot of use over the decades. Centuries, even. Well, maybe one century. I forgot to look at the plaque on the way in here.

Either way, it’s an old, gothic-styled building with ample seating for a small city. Because when this place was built, it was capable of holding the entire region’s population of two-thousand. Since then the city has not only grown to be the biggest in the region, but in this part of America. So to say the place is a bit packed with people who have a lot of feelings about The Grand is an understatement. From the minute we walk inside, we’re surrounded by strangers. Middle and low-income strangers. Many of whom had distant relatives who stayed in The Grand before attempting to make the American dream come true for them.

“We’re going to kick ass,” Kathryn says as we approach the front of the hall. Gray walls covered in stone carvings look down at us in between the judgmental eyes. Anyone who has a vested interest in who we are. It doesn’t help that I’m wearing one of my nicest suits and Kathryn looks like a New England senator in her tight, dark pencil skirt and peplum white blouse. She’s got her hair up, as usual. The glasses are a nice touch. I had no idea she wears them.

“Ma’am,” Anita hisses to her at our table. “One of the lenses is missing…”

“Oh!” Kathryn searches her clutch for an eyeglass lens. Really? She’s faking the eyeglasses? Whatever. They’re cute on her.

Before us is a high table where the council sits. Colleen Woodrow is already here, sitting beside her co-chair, an elderly gentleman who looks at us with disdain. Or maybe that’s how he looks. I’m unfazed either way.

I hope Kathryn feels the same. Both of the Andrews sit off to the side of our table. They’ll be opening the statements, talking about the real estate themselves since that’s what they do best. As for my father? He’s sitting in the first row behind me, giving me thumbs up. And… dear Lord, my mother is with him.

I feel like I’m back in school. This is my recital. Only this time both of my parents are here, instead of one showing up and the other fucking off to go to some conference or whatever.

What I’m saying is that they never both show up unless it’s really important.

This is really important.

Mr. Alison confers with his daughter about something before tugging on one of the tufts of her shirt. I can’t hear what he says about it, but Kathryn grimaces, as if he’s insulted her.

My fingers grip the edge of the table. Valerie has to say my name twice before I respond.

I wish I could say that today is a blur. Instead it drags on and on, partly because the weight of a community weighs on our shoulders. This goes beyond possible gentrification. This downtown area is long gentrified. Like forty years gentrified. No, the people who are here don’t necessarily live in this neighborhood. I know, because it’s people like me who live around here.

The people who are here come because they trace their ancestry here, or they have some connection to The Grand. That’s not hard to imagine because it’s such a monument in the area. Did I mention that presidents used to stay there? Lots of people who have been here for generations like to think they have some part of that history. Or they really love the building.

That’s fine. I still should be able to buy it and do what I want with it. Especially if doing what I want means restoring it to how it used to be!

This lets people feel like they have power. So when Ken Andrews gets up and starts talking about the rustic beauty of The Grand, complete with photos from its heyday, I see people in the stands raise their eyebrows and wait for the other shoe to drop.

“…One-hundred-and-thirty years ago, The Grand opened as more than a luxury hotel in the heart of what was once the downtown core,” Ken says with his regal charm. The man may not be the biggest around, but he carries himself like a big real estate tycoon. His wife looks at him adoringly, her smile supporting him as she crosses her legs and rewards his bravado with a hint of skin. These sorts of things don’t go by unnoticed with me.

Kathryn notices it too. She glances over her shoulder at me with a “Really? They’re flirting now of all times?” look. I agree. Tacky.

“The Grand is a place of history. It’s culture. It’s a building that everyone in this room can respect and want to see be great again. That’s why we are here today to propose a beautiful restoration. Not only will we….” We? Speak for yourself, Ken. You’re washing your hands of this whole situation. “…Will we restore the hotel from the ground up, but it will be more economically efficient and true to history than ever before. Not only that, but it will include an educational center so locals and tourists alike can learn more about the area’s rich history. I would like to turn the floor over to Ian Mathers, head of restoration and development.”

That’s my cue.

Valerie has set up my presentation for me. All I have to do is connect with my inner public speaker and remind these people that my family are some of the biggest hospitality masters in the business. We’re not targeting The Grand for shits and giggles or to prove to the world what big shots we are. We know how good we are. There’s a reason we have the highest collective revenue out of any other holding company in the region. We win the biggest awards in the world. Our hotels are the fucking best and we know it.

The design firm has done a remarkable job making our visions come to life. They’re blown up ten times the usual size now so most of the people around us can see the careful attention to historical accuracy and detail. We fully intend to make the hotel look like it came out of 1885. Even the uniforms we’ve picked out for the staff hark to that time.

“Staying true to the original vision of Humphrey Livingston is important to all of us at Mathers & Co.” I pause for effect, hoping it’s sinking in. The council is paying close attention, and neither of the Andrews have frowned. Even my parents look quite pleased with my ability to keep the audience placated. “Unfortunately some things must be replaced due to safety and environmental concerns, but we fully intend to replace them with better models that have the aesthetic of those faraway days. When you walk into the newly renovated Grand, you’ll be walking into the past.” Valerie unveils another photo showing a ball from 1896. She did a bang-up job dragging that out of the local archives.

It takes forty-five minutes for me to get through my spiel. You can’t tell from looking at me, but by the end I’m ready to collapse in my chair and let Kathryn take over. It’s hard business standing on your feet for that long and be charming with minimal breaths and sips of water. Still, that’s why I do this and my father doesn’t.

“Thank you for your consideration,” I say, and I receive a polite round of applause. “I would like to turn it over to our family’s partner, Kathryn Alison, head of cultural preservation.”

She stands, resolute, a far cry from the disorganized woman she was two weeks ago. Lana Andrews heaves a sigh of relief as Kathryn’s presentation starts without a hitch.

Five minutes in, I realize she’s out for blood.

This isn’t my Katie, the wolfish woman who bites her prey before howling like a lustful queen when pinned against a wall. This is Kathryn Fucking Alison, the woman who singlehandedly saved an entire library system by the grace of her own will. This is the woman who flipped off every person – in her family and outside of it – who told her that she should get married and focus on being a businessman’s wife. You think I never heard about that? It runs rampant in our world, and my mother has always ranted about it. I can see her sitting there now, beaming in pride more for Kathryn than she did for me. I don’t take it personally. It’s probably some female solidarity thing.