CHAPTER ONE
The Venue
The clipboard was Mara’s security blanket. Had been since grad school, when she’d learned that looking official meant people listened when you talked. Even if what you were saying wasplease don’t put the speaker stack there, we need that exit clear for fire code, which was exactly what she was trying to communicate right now to a sound guy who looked about nineteen and deeply uninterested.
“It’s fine,” he said, not looking up from coiling an XLR cable.
“It’s blocking the emergency exit.”
“Nobody’s gonna use it.”
Mara pulled up the venue diagram on her phone. “The fire marshal will use it to shut us down if he shows up.”
She showed him the screen. “Code requires seventy-two inches clearance. You’ve got maybe forty.”
The kid sighed like she’d asked him to rebuild the PA from scratch, but he moved the speaker. Small victories. Friday afternoon at Doug Fir Lounge, three hours before doors, and the benefit concert was exactly the controlled chaos Mara had planned for.
Two local bands were soundchecking in sequence, the volunteer check-in table was set up by the door, and the bar staff was stocking beer. Her board member Diane was supposed to arrive any minute with the “special guest” she’d been cryptic about all week.
Probably another tech executive who wanted to feel altruistic and get a tax write-off. That was fine. Portland Forward needed the money, and Mara had gotten good at smiling through conversations about disruption and impact metrics with people who thought nonprofit work was basically a hobby. Her phone buzzed.
Jordan, one of her policy analysts, asking about the grant proposal edits. Due Monday. She’d work on them this weekend, after tonight’s event, after she stopped being Event Coordinator Mara and went back to Executive Director Mara.
The door opened behind her, and Diane walked in trailing expensive perfume and the energy of someone who’d just closed a deal.
“Mara, darling. This is going to be wonderful.”
Diane Chen was sixty, effortlessly elegant, and had made enough money in software exits that she could afford to care about affordable housing policy. She was also on Portland Forward’s board, which meant Mara owed her approximately a thousand favors.
“The bands are running a little behind schedule,” Mara said, “but we’ll be ready by eight.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Our headliner’s crew is incredibly efficient. They’ve done this a few times.”
Mara’s brain snagged onheadliner. “I thought we were doing local bands?”
“We are. Plus a very special acoustic set from some friends of mine.”
Diane checked her watch. “They should be here any minute, actually. I called in a favor with their manager. They’re between tour stops, and when I mentioned what you’re doing with tenant advocacy, they were happy to help.”
Before Mara could ask whothey were, Diane’s attention snapped to the window. “Oh, perfect timing.”
Mara turned. A tour bus was pulling up to the curb outside. Not a van. Not a sprinter. A full touring bus, the kind with bunks and a lounge and a driver who did this for a living. The kind that belonged to bands who played venues a lot bigger than Doug Fir’s four hundred capacity. The logo on the side hit her like a fist.HOLLOW GROUND in silver lettering, with the album art fromThe Long Fade wrapped across the side panels. No. No no no no— “Isn’t this exciting?”
Diane was saying. “David Brennan’s been a friend for years, and when I told him about tonight, he offered immediately. Such generous people.”
Mara couldn’t hear her. The bus door was opening, and crew members were unloading gear. Road cases. Guitar cases. The organized chaos of a profession
