Page 52 of Finding Home

“Both,” Julie said with a nod.

“The part about the community support.” Cole tapped the edge of the laptop. “You got that right. That’s the part an outside reader needed to understand.”

Julie knew it was right. She’d known it when she wrote it, and she knew it sitting here. But hearing Cole say it made her feel a lot better.

“A state paper picked it up,” Julie told him. “The Missoula one. Griffin sent me a message a while ago.”

Cole looked at her.

“It gets the story in front of the county commissioners,” she said. “Before they start second-guessing the formal review.”

Cole reached for his coffee. “When our investors see it, they’ll be comfortable with what they’ve already agreed to.”

Julie was hoping that would be the case. Her phone buzzed, and she took it out of her pocket. Griffin’s name was on the screen. She looked at Cole. “Do you mind?”

He gestured with his mug.

“Hi, Griffin.” She stood and moved to the window.

“I just got off the phone with the county planning office. They’ve opened a formal review of the permit submission.”

Julie looked at the lake, the flat grey water, the far shore bare and still. “When?”

“This morning. Apparently, someone from the commissioners’ office read your article over breakfast. They weren’t impressed.” He paused. “Your story did what all good stories are supposed to do. You made change happen for all the right reasons.”

Julie didn’t know what to say. So she thanked Griffin and put down the phone.

Cole was watching her from the table.

“The county has opened a formal review,” she said. “They’re looking at all the permit submission.”

Cole set down his mug. “That’s what we needed. If they overturn the suspension, we can start working at Finley Point straightaway.”

Julie had known all along that was what the story was for. Not the validation of investigating a story, but making people accountable for their actions and for keeping Cole’s project alive.

Later, after Cole had gone to make a second pot of coffee, Julie read the comments under the story.

She didn’t make a habit of it. The comments section was where weirdos went to vent. She’d learned years ago that reading them was rarely worth the time. But this was her first piece for the Beacon, and she was still learning what Sapphire Bay’s readers were like.

Most of the responses were exactly what Maria had described. People relieved to understand what had actually happened. People tagging their neighbors. A few with questions about Marcus Harmon and the charges.

Then she found it, near the bottom of the thread.

Morrison will take the money and leave, same as every developer. Resort will kill this town. Nobody asked for this.

No name. No profile picture. Just the words, sitting there.

Julie read it twice. She noted the phrasing. The tone. The particular shape of the accusation. It wasn’t about the Sargeson Group, not about the sabotage, but about Cole himself.

She took a slow breath and closed the tab.

Cole came back with the coffee and set it beside her.

“Anything worth reading?” he asked, nodding at her phone.

“Maria says the diner’s still busy.” She turned the phone face down. “She wants to know if we’re coming in for lunch.”

Cole sat down. “What do you think?”