Page 51 of Worth the Risk
But as the board members file out, discussing construction schedules and profit projections like they didn’t just witness Maya Navarro systematically dismantle their justifications for corporate callousness, I know that I can’t handle this.
I can’t be part of Highland’s destruction after watching Maya fight with such fierce intelligence and moral clarity.
Not when she just proved that some things are worth defending even when the defense is doomed to fail.
Not when I’ve seen what courage actually looks like when it refuses to accept defeat gracefully.
15
Four to three.
That’s all it took to destroy everything my father built, everything I’ve fought to preserve, everything these families depend on.
Four hands raised for demolition. Three for preservation. Highland Community Center condemned by Harrison Gordon’s single deciding vote after a tied board—so close I can still taste the possibility of victory that slipped away when he chose profit over partnership.
I sit in my car outside Pierce Enterprises for several minutes after storming out of their boardroom, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I try to process what just happened. Through the tower’s glass walls, I can see tiny figures moving through their corporate lives, probably already discussing construction timelines and quarterly projections while Highland’s death sentence becomes another agenda item.
Declan fought for us in there. I have to give him that. He called for the formal vote, challenged Harrison publicly, advocated forHighland with a passion that surprised even me. For a moment, when the vote was tied at three-three, I actually believed we might win.
But corporate democracy has a way of crushing hope with surgical precision.
The drive back to Highland passes in a blur of downtown traffic and numbing fury. Not the hot rage I felt in Pierce Enterprises’ boardroom, but the cold, calculated anger that comes from watching intelligent people make morally bankrupt decisions while congratulating themselves on their fiduciary responsibility.
I park outside Highland and sit for a moment, staring at the building that’s been sentenced to death. In six weeks, bulldozers will tear down these walls. In six weeks, twenty years of community history will become rubble so Pierce Enterprises can build luxury condos for people who will never understand what this place meant.
I force myself to get out of the car and walk through Highland’s front doors, stepping into the main hall where our community had gathered this morning with such hope.
Around me lie the scattered remains of what was supposed to be a celebration. Coffee cups and pastries Rosa brought for the good news we expected. Banners the teenagers made reading “Highland Forever.” Flowers from Mrs. Hidalgo’s garden to mark our victory.
All of it now feels like decorating a funeral.
“Maya?” Rosa’s voice cuts through my stunned silence. She stands in the kitchen doorway, dish towel in her hands, face bright with hope. “Any word from Pierce Enterprises?”
I look around Highland’s main hall at the dozen community members still here, waiting for an update. Tita Sol organizing tomorrow’s after-school program schedules. Carlo setting up computers for evening ESL classes. Families who’ve made Highland their second home for decades, all trusting me to save what we can’t bear to lose.
How do I tell them it’s over?
How do I tell them I failed?
“Pierce Enterprises voted for demolition.” The words come out flat, emotionless. “Highland is going to be torn down.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Rosa drops her dish towel. Tita Sol stops organizing papers. Carlo looks up from the computer he was fixing, his teenage face confused and hurt.
“But your presentation,” Tita Sol says slowly. “The research, the financial projections—surely they saw the benefits of preservation?”
“They saw them.” I stand on unsteady legs, walking to the windows that look out toward downtown LA where Pierce Enterprises’ tower rises like a monument to corporate power. “They just didn’t care.”
“What about Declan?” Lianne asks quietly. “What about the collaboration?”
What about Declan? What about the man who spent Tuesday night telling me he was falling for me, who promised he’d advocate for Highland with everything he had, who made me believe that some things mattered more than profit margins?
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know anything right now except that Highland has been sentenced to death.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Declan?—
Maya, I’m so sorry. Can we talk tonight? I need to see you.
I stare at the message, trying to process what there is to talk about. But after everything that’s happened, what’s left to discuss?
