I sent the picture to Hannah.
She replied with a single sentence.
Mom would have liked this version of you.
The first official public meeting took place in the county annex on a Wednesday evening.
It had been scheduled before the pool incident as part of a routine review of the Sterling warehouse proposal.
After the flyers circulated, the small meeting room could not hold the crowd.
County staff moved the discussion to a larger chamber and placed extra chairs along the walls.
I sat beside Hannah, with Peter and Evelyn in the row behind us.
At the front stood a planner named Tessa Morgan, who had the unenviable task of explaining a complicated process to people who had already decided someone was lying.
She began with a projected map of the former factory grounds.
The proposed warehouse had not received final approval.
The access route had not been authorized.
And the county had not made a finding that residential swimming pools in Alder Hollow were contaminated.
Several people turned to stare at Meredith, who sat two rows away with her lips pressed together.
Tessa continued without acknowledging the movement.
She explained which documents were public, which reports required independent review and which questions could not be answered until proper field assessment.
She invited comments one person at a time.
A resident named Allen Brooks said the project would create badly needed jobs.
Peter agreed that employment mattered, then asked why the historical drainage structure had been omitted from the most recent preliminary map.
Tessa wrote down the question and asked the project representative to respond.
Lowell Finch approached the microphone with the smooth confidence I remembered from Meredith’s living room.
He said older drawings were often imprecise and that the team had used modern surveys to define relevant features.
“Does that mean you believe the second collection chamber does not exist?” Peter asked.
Finch smiled.
“We have not found evidence that it remains operational.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
A few people laughed nervously.
Tessa requested a direct answer.
Finch said further assessment could resolve the matter.
I stood and asked whether he would submit the original tracer batch authorization and chain-of-custody log as part of the historical review.
His eyes met mine.
“Those records are decades old,” he said.
“Are they available?”
“We will provide whatever is required.”
“Thank you.”
I sat down before anger could turn a factual question into an argument.
Meredith rose next.
