Chapter 61 This? This is a Record

Chapter 61 This? This is a Record
The letter sat on the center of the mahogany table, the heavy cream paper a stark contrast to the stacks of messy ledgers and half-empty coffee mugs. Echo read the final lines out loud, her voice softening just a fraction at the very end.
"...it’s not enough to let them know that the McFarlands are behind them, but to let the town know that the Academy has nothing to hide. They would be coming in two weeks. Please make the necessary arrangements. We love you, Echo. —Mom and Dad."
The room went quiet for a beat. The mention of "Mom and Dad" was a rare reminder that behind the massive McFarland Shield and the cold legal power, there were people who actually cared about the heart of this place.
"Well," Puck said, breaking the silence as he leaned back so far his chair creaked. "Nothing to hide. That’s a hell of a slogan for a place that’s been hiding bodies in the ledgers for a decade. I like it. It’s gutsy."
Echo tucked the letter into her blazer pocket, her professional mask sliding back into place. "It’s more than gutsy, Puck. It’s a mandate. We have fourteen days to turn this Wing into a neutral zone. If the town feels like they’re walking into a trap, they’ll never come back. We need them to see us as neighbors, not the people on the hill who steal their tax breaks."
The "Big Six" immediately fell into their natural rhythms, the McFarland Wing transforming into a high-stakes event office.
"If you send a formal invitation on gold-leaf paper, they’ll think it’s a summons for a lawsuit," Puck pointed out. He and Miri took the lead on the 'street' strategy. They’d spend the next two weeks at the tavern, the market, and the blacksmith's, spreading the word that this wasn't a lecture—it was a conversation.
She was already sketching out plans for the hallway. "I’m going to coordinate with the botany labs. We’ll bring in blooming citrus trees and lavender. We’ll make the 'Open Door' smell like the valley, not like old stone and secrets."
They began drafting a "Community Charter"—a physical document the townspeople could see that would legally bind the Academy to supporting local businesses.
Franklin looked at Leo, a spark of pride in his eyes. "We need the scholarship students to be the faces of the Academy for this. If the legacy kids try to treat the shopkeepers like servants, the whole thing blows up."
"I'll handle the students," Leo said firmly. "I’ll get a welcoming committee together. We’ll show the village that their kids aren't just students here—they're the ones running the show."
The Wing became a blur of action. Every night ended with the six of them huddled over Willow’s citrus trees and Echo’s legal drafts, drinking tea sweetened with the town’s honey.
As the day grew closer, the "Garden of Thanks" in the hallway was replaced with more permanent fixtures. Miri installed soft, warm lanterns, and the "Open Door" was propped wider than it had ever been.
Franklin pulled Leo aside on the final night of prep. "My father’s name is still on the front gate, Leo. I’m nervous. What if they look at me and only see the man who robbed them?"
Leo reached out, his hand sliding into Franklin's back pocket as they looked out at the lights of the town below. "Then you let them see us. You aren't a Dorset 'heir' tonight, Franklin. You're the guy who stayed behind to fix the mess. And I’ll be right there to remind them."
The "Garden of Thanks" had evolved from a hallway of fading wildflowers into a permanent gallery of the Wing’s new heart. Miri, with her townie practicality and an artist’s eye, hadn't let the gratitude of the scholarship students wither away.
As the petals had begun to curl and the colors dimmed, she had spent a long evening with her camera, capturing the soul of every wildflower, every clover, and every sprig of goldenrod. Now, the stone wall adjacent to the Open Door was a masterpiece of memory.
The thank-you wall was now neatly tiled with high-definition photos of the plants. To give it the "McFarland glow," Miri had woven delicate strands of warm, amber twinkle lights around each frame. The wires were nearly invisible, making the pictures of the bright petals and jagged leaves look like they were floating in a soft, golden haze.
"It’s better than the actual flowers," Leo whispered, standing in front of the wall as he returned from his final planning session with the scholarship students. "They look like they’re glowing from the inside."
Miri leaned against the doorframe, a soldering iron in one hand and a satisfied smirk on her face. "The flowers were a moment, Leo. This? This is a record. I wanted the townspeople to see their own fields represented on these walls when they walk in for the meeting. It lets them know we kept what they gave us."
With only days to go until the summit, the Wing felt less like a dormitory and more like a bridge between worlds.
Willow had successfully brought in the citrus trees, their white blossoms filling the air with a scent so sweet it covered the smell of old ink.
Puck was busy stacking crates of local cider, making sure the "Academy's finest" crystal glasses were polished for the townies.
Dean and Echo were doing a final "red-line" pass on the Community Charter, ensuring the language was transparent and fair.
Franklin was practicing his speech, his hand constantly finding Leo’s for a grounding squeeze.
As the sun set, the twinkle lights on Miri's wall flickered to life, casting long, soft shadows over the boxes of fresh bread and the citrus leaves. The Academy had always been a place of dark wood and secrets, but the McFarland Wing—with its photos of weeds and wild things—was becoming a place of light.
"Look at that," Franklin said, pointing to a photo of a particularly hardy thistle that had come from the local blacksmith’s daughter. "It’s stubborn. Just like us."
Echo walked up behind them, looking at the wall and then at the propped-open door. "Two weeks of work. One night to prove we’ve changed. Let’s make sure they see the light, not the shadows."