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Authors: Stephanie Bond
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turned back to the council members. "I'm speaking on behalf of thirteen Hyde Parkland shop owners. Part of the reason
we're here tonight is that the ownership of the property is so deftly hidden in holding companies and leasing agents, we simply
couldn't find the owner." She bestowed a magnanimous smile upon the council and the audience. "I'd like to believe that our
being shuffled around like a deck of cards was simply an oversight, but I doubt it."
She knew how to work the crowd. A couple of the council members shot a disapproving glance in Greg's direction. He bit
down on the inside of his cheek—he'd had no idea any of the shop owners had been misled or ignored.
Lana Martina plunked her own transparency on top of the rezoning map. "What Mr. Healey didn't tell you was that around the
vacant buildings here, here, and here, are over a dozen viable businesses whose owners have a considerable investment in
their locations and who will lose their livelihood if they're forced to move."
He frowned.
She whipped out another transparency, this one with statistics. "This graph shows that similar downtown rezoning projects in
Dukeville and Franklin resulted in a decrease in city taxes because the residential buildings could not be filled and eventually
were turned into low-income housing. The reason the residential buildings could not be filled to capacity was that the retail
area, the character of the city, had been decimated, and there weren't enough attractions left to draw potential buyers
downtown."
He blinked.
Forty minutes later, he'd lost count of the pie charts and bar graphs, not to mention handouts of the possible negative
economical effects of his plan if 1) interest rates rose, 2) unemployment increased, or 3) property taxes jumped. She had
projected housing costs, population growth and the effect on the city's declining sewer system, which was currently costing the
city such-and-such in fines every day because untreated water was being dumped into a nearby lake.
"So as you can see," Lana said with a flourish, "the proposal before the council is far more than a simple rezoning project.
You, ladies and gentlemen, might be held accountable for passing a proposal that would lead to the decline of the entire
downtown economy simply to line the coffers of Regal Properties and—" she shot him a pointed look "—the pockets of Mr.
Greg Healey."
The shop owners burst into applause, and Greg shifted in his chair. Despite the woman's emotional argument, however, he
felt confident the city council would side with him. After all, leaving the zoning as is would only lead to more decline.
"Is that all, Ms. Martina?" the council president asked.
"Just one more thing," she said in a charming voice.
Greg's heartbeat thrashed in his ears. She was going to spill her guts about their encounter.
Leaning closer to the microphone, she said, "I'd like to go on record, saying that even the timing of the proposal is suspect,
considering this is the busiest time of the year for those of us who run our own retail businesses." She sent a stinging look in his
direction. "One might conclude the owner was trying to sneak this rezoning project by the shop owners and the city council."
A decidedly suspicious mood descended over the audience, and it was all directed toward Greg.
"Thank you for listening," she closed in a solemn tone typically reserved for eulogies.
Greg closed his eyes briefly, as the crowd once again erupted in applause. Christ, she was good. Everyone in the room either
wanted to hire her or sleep with her. Except him, of course. And she'd as good as painted a bull's-eye on his back.
LANA GATHERED UP her papers, her heart beating a relieved tattoo that she'd gotten through the presentation. Actually, she
felt an incredible rush of satisfaction, a sensation that lasted until she made eye contact with Greg Healey as she returned to her
seat. The man's jaw was clenched, and his eyes were dark. Gone was
we're here tonight is that the ownership of the property is so deftly hidden in holding companies and leasing agents, we simply
couldn't find the owner." She bestowed a magnanimous smile upon the council and the audience. "I'd like to believe that our
being shuffled around like a deck of cards was simply an oversight, but I doubt it."
She knew how to work the crowd. A couple of the council members shot a disapproving glance in Greg's direction. He bit
down on the inside of his cheek—he'd had no idea any of the shop owners had been misled or ignored.
Lana Martina plunked her own transparency on top of the rezoning map. "What Mr. Healey didn't tell you was that around the
vacant buildings here, here, and here, are over a dozen viable businesses whose owners have a considerable investment in
their locations and who will lose their livelihood if they're forced to move."
He frowned.
She whipped out another transparency, this one with statistics. "This graph shows that similar downtown rezoning projects in
Dukeville and Franklin resulted in a decrease in city taxes because the residential buildings could not be filled and eventually
were turned into low-income housing. The reason the residential buildings could not be filled to capacity was that the retail
area, the character of the city, had been decimated, and there weren't enough attractions left to draw potential buyers
downtown."
He blinked.
Forty minutes later, he'd lost count of the pie charts and bar graphs, not to mention handouts of the possible negative
economical effects of his plan if 1) interest rates rose, 2) unemployment increased, or 3) property taxes jumped. She had
projected housing costs, population growth and the effect on the city's declining sewer system, which was currently costing the
city such-and-such in fines every day because untreated water was being dumped into a nearby lake.
"So as you can see," Lana said with a flourish, "the proposal before the council is far more than a simple rezoning project.
You, ladies and gentlemen, might be held accountable for passing a proposal that would lead to the decline of the entire
downtown economy simply to line the coffers of Regal Properties and—" she shot him a pointed look "—the pockets of Mr.
Greg Healey."
The shop owners burst into applause, and Greg shifted in his chair. Despite the woman's emotional argument, however, he
felt confident the city council would side with him. After all, leaving the zoning as is would only lead to more decline.
"Is that all, Ms. Martina?" the council president asked.
"Just one more thing," she said in a charming voice.
Greg's heartbeat thrashed in his ears. She was going to spill her guts about their encounter.
Leaning closer to the microphone, she said, "I'd like to go on record, saying that even the timing of the proposal is suspect,
considering this is the busiest time of the year for those of us who run our own retail businesses." She sent a stinging look in his
direction. "One might conclude the owner was trying to sneak this rezoning project by the shop owners and the city council."
A decidedly suspicious mood descended over the audience, and it was all directed toward Greg.
"Thank you for listening," she closed in a solemn tone typically reserved for eulogies.
Greg closed his eyes briefly, as the crowd once again erupted in applause. Christ, she was good. Everyone in the room either
wanted to hire her or sleep with her. Except him, of course. And she'd as good as painted a bull's-eye on his back.
LANA GATHERED UP her papers, her heart beating a relieved tattoo that she'd gotten through the presentation. Actually, she
felt an incredible rush of satisfaction, a sensation that lasted until she made eye contact with Greg Healey as she returned to her
seat. The man's jaw was clenched, and his eyes were dark. Gone was
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