Chapter Eleven: The Rehearsal
The last public rehearsal began at four on Friday.
Mateo had arranged observer passes for the invited neighborhood participants.
Ethan entered through the front doors carrying the brochure that pictured his house.
In the auditorium, technicians tested a projected waterfall.
Adrian Bell appeared wearing a pale gray suit.
“Every community has a hidden source of strength,” he began.
“Ours happens to be water.”
Ethan noticed the audience seats had been divided into sections.
The front rows were marked FOUNDING PATRONS.
The next section held journalists, local businesses, and prospective subscribers.
The final rows were for neighborhood guests.
It was a neat physical arrangement of whose voice mattered most.
Adrian continued his speech.
He described the old waterworks as a forgotten treasure brought back to life.
A photograph of Raymond’s father appeared behind him.
“His family helped build the infrastructure that made the Alder Corridor possible,” Adrian declared.
Raymond stood up in the aisle.
“My father maintained pumps,” he said.
“He didn’t build a bottled-water brand.”
Adrian stopped speaking.
A technician lowered the microphone volume.
The theater went quiet except for a ventilation fan.
“Raymond,” Adrian said warmly.
“We’re honored that you’ve joined us.”
“You used my picture after I told you not to.”
“We can discuss that after rehearsal.”
“You were supposed to discuss it before printing thousands of brochures.”
A few staff members looked at one another.
Ethan remained seated.
Raymond did not need someone to speak on his behalf.
Adrian gestured toward the front row.
“Please join me, and we’ll find a respectful way forward.”
“Take the photograph down,” Raymond said.
Adrian watched the projection for an uncomfortable moment.
Then he motioned to the technician.
The photograph vanished.
Raymond sat down.
The rehearsal continued, but the effortless rhythm had broken.
When the presentation reached the Four Houses segment, Ethan stood.
“That’s my house on the screen,” he said.
Adrian looked annoyed.
“Mr. Cole, this is a rehearsal.”
“My house isn’t part of your company.”
“We are honoring the architecture of the neighborhood.”
“Then use a photograph of the old station,” Ethan replied.
“Stop putting my driveway on maps of a spring.”
Several employees laughed before catching themselves.
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“You have made your position clear.”
“I intend to keep making it clear.”
Ethan sat down again.
The projection changed to a close-up of a bottle.
Adrian rushed through the rest of the presentation.
Afterward, a young stage assistant approached Nina.
He was carrying an equipment checklist.
“Is it true the city found a hidden tube in your water line?” he asked.
“Yes,” Nina said.
“An inspector documented it.”
The assistant looked toward the stage.
“They told us the tubing was a harmless visual aid.”
“Did they tell you it was approved?”
“They said the houses volunteered.”
Nina shook her head.
“We didn’t.”
The assistant stared down at his checklist.
“I wondered why they wouldn’t let us ask about it.”
He walked away without making any promise to help.
But by evening, two more staff members had asked similar questions.
The explanations that sounded effortless from Adrian’s mouth were becoming awkward in the places where people actually worked.
