CHAPTER FIVE — THE LAST BOARD PRESIDENT
Victor Madsen’s office occupied the second floor of a renovated warehouse.
Its lobby displayed photographs of old buildings converted into restaurants, apartments, and offices.
The Beacon appeared in one photograph labeled FUTURE CULTURAL MIXED USE.
Emily and Helen waited twenty minutes before a receptionist showed them into Victor’s office.
He was a broad man with bright white hair and a watch that caught the light whenever he moved.
“Helen Ortiz,” he said warmly.
“And is this little Emily Carter?”
“I’m thirty-one,” Emily answered.
“Of course you are.”
He offered coffee, which neither accepted.
Emily explained that they wanted the final two reels from the Beacon’s documentary preserved until their contents could be verified.
Victor leaned back.
“There were hundreds of scraps of film in that building.
”
“These were finished reels.”
“If you say so.”
Helen placed the screening order on his desk.
“I cut them myself.”
Victor glanced at the paper but did not touch it.
“Old footage doesn’t change the city sale.”
“It changes what should be inventoried,” Emily said.
“The city owns what’s in the building.”
“You don’t know who owns the footage.”
“The theater commissioned it.”
Helen shook her head.
“The volunteers made it with borrowed equipment.”
Victor smiled thinly.
“Then I suppose the volunteers should have written a contract.”
Emily stared at him.
“What happened to the money collected on closing night?”
His expression cooled.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“You made one about my mother in front of a hundred people.”
“Your mother’s conduct was regrettable.”
“You never proved she took anything.
”
Victor placed both hands on the desk.
“The board had an accounting discrepancy.”
“You called her a thief.”
“I expressed concern about missing funds.”
“You told donors she left with the cash.”
“Memories change over time, Miss Carter.”
Emily leaned forward.
“That’s why we want the film.”
Victor stood.
“The theater’s contents will be handled according to law.”
“Will you agree not to move the cans before the city finishes its inventory?”
“I don’t take instructions from people who arrive with allegations.”
Helen stood as well.
“You did seventeen years ago.”
Victor’s smile vanished.
“I think this meeting is over.”
Outside, Emily sat on a concrete planter until the shaking in her hands passed.
Helen waited without telling her to calm down.
A delivery truck backed toward the warehouse across the street.
Emily watched the driver check his mirrors twice before proceeding.
“He didn’t deny knowing about the reels,” she said.
“No.”
“He said they didn’t change the sale.”
“That’s because he wants the sale to be the only question anyone asks.”
Emily looked at the photograph on her phone.
“Then we ask a different one.”
That afternoon, she contacted the local neighborhood arts coalition, which had opposed demolition of the Beacon for two years.
Its coordinator, Malik Foster, explained that the building’s sale was not the only issue.
A private buyer planned to demolish the interior and preserve only the outer facade.
That would erase the projection booth, the old seats, and the small backstage rooms where volunteer groups had worked.
“The public comment period closed yesterday,” Malik said.
“We aren’t trying to stop the sale with a memory,” Emily replied.
“We need a chance to identify the materials before they vanish.”
Malik agreed to bring two independent archivists to a scheduled city inspection if Anika authorized their presence.
He warned Emily that the campaign had already exhausted several volunteers.
“People are tired of hearing another person say the Beacon is important,” he said.
“Then I’ll show them what was made there,” Emily replied.
