The painter put the roller down.
Etta’s voice went flat. “You have no right to interrupt an authorized project.”
“Neither does a program have the right to pretend these people were never here,” Mara replied.
Niko joined them at the doorway. He had been working fourteen-hour days to repair water damage and cracks in the plaster. His face showed exhaustion more than hostility. “I need everyone to stop,” he said. “We don’t have the supplies to repaint the whole lower section. We can’t open with an unfinished wall.”
“Then we don’t repaint the whole section,” Safiya suggested. “We uncover a small band, leave the original marks visible, and mount the contributors’ tiles along the railing. The visitors can see the actual process instead of a polished substitution.”
“That would look incomplete.”
“It would be honest.”
For a moment, Owen believed Niko might agree. Then Etta stepped forward. “We have spent eighteen months securing this grant and rebuilding the hall. Are you all prepared to risk its reopening over disputed memories?”
Roland Pike, the carpenter, took off his cap. “I was paid twenty dollars a day to work here, Etta. I remember because it was more than my regular wage. I remember which boards I carried and where they went. That’s not a disputed feeling.”
“You remember your boards,” Etta replied. “You don’t remember who made this possible.”
“Both things can be true,” Roland said. “But you shouldn’t erase my name to make your work bigger.”
Etta shut the door. The bolt slid home with a hard click. Through the glass, Owen saw the painter hesitate, then move the roller away from the wall. Niko stood motionless. Iris was already reaching for her phone.
The group withdrew to the steps and considered what to do. Breaking in would destroy their case. Waiting quietly might allow the wall to be covered. Owen called the city’s cultural office and left a message. Mara contacted the volunteers individually. Teresa called friends who had worked on the first mural. Safiya arranged to bring the original panels to the square beside the hall, where they could gather without entering the building.
Owen stayed near the doors. Through a high window he could see Etta speaking rapidly to Niko. She gestured toward the lower section of the wall as if directing a rescue. He saw Niko shake his head. Then the lights in the hall went out.
For several seconds, no one moved. The old bathhouse had a complicated breaker panel, and restoration workers often complained about flickering circuits. Owen heard somebody inside shout for flashlights. A crash followed, then a cry.
Mara looked at him. “That came from the scaffolding.”
Owen called through the door. “Is everybody all right?”
