Mr.Brightside

chapter 121

 The Cracks Beneath the Surface

Clara woke up to the sharp ring of her phone, the morning light filtering weakly through her blinds. She fumbled for the device on her nightstand, blinking at the screen. It was a text from Harold:

"Water damage worse than we thought. Can you come in early?"

Groaning, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her temples. The events of the previous day rushed back—HVAC failure, leaks, hours of scrambling to save artifacts. They had patched the immediate issues, but it seemed the storm wasn't over.

She dressed quickly, opting for her usual work outfit of black slacks and a crisp blouse. Before leaving, she grabbed her bag and the notebook where she'd jotted down ideas for better safeguarding the archives.

The Council House loomed ahead as she pulled into the lot, its stately architecture tinged with a stubborn resilience. Clara felt a flicker of pride despite the chaos. This building, with all its flaws and history, was her sanctuary.

Inside, the atmosphere was calmer than the day before, but there was still a nervous tension in the air. Harold met her at the entrance.

"Morning," he said, handing her a clipboard. "I had maintenance do a deeper inspection overnight. Turns out the west wing has some structural vulnerabilities we didn't catch before."

Clara skimmed the report he handed her. Cracks in the foundation. Compromised drainage. The words blurred together as her mind raced.

"How bad are we talking?"

"Bad enough that we'll need to shut down that section until repairs are made. It's going to cost us," Harold said, his tone grim.

Clara swallowed the knot of anxiety rising in her chest. "We'll figure it out. Let's focus on containment for now. I'll talk to Jack and the others about reallocating space."

Harold nodded, visibly relieved that Clara was already stepping into damage-control mode.

Jack was in the main hall when Clara found him, moving display cases with Jordan's help. His sleeves were rolled up, his face streaked with effort, but he managed a small smile when he saw her.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning. Thanks for jumping in so early," she replied, handing him a water bottle.

"No problem," Jack said, twisting off the cap. "What's the latest?"

Clara filled him in on Harold's report, watching his face carefully for a reaction. Jack frowned, his brow furrowing as she explained the extent of the damage.

"That's... not great," he admitted. "Do we have the budget for something like this?"

"That's the million-dollar question," Clara muttered, crossing her arms. "I'm hoping we can find grants or emergency funding, but it's going to be a stretch."

Jack hesitated, his expression tightening. He glanced at Jordan, who had wandered off to help Tanya with another display. Once they were alone, he spoke again, his voice low.

"Clara, I need to tell you something."

Her gaze snapped to his, her stomach dropping. There was something in his tone—something serious.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously.

Jack ran a hand through his hair, visibly grappling with whatever he was about to say. "The budget issues we're dealing with... they're partly my fault. When we started the renovations, I pushed for some changes that weren't in the original plan. I thought they'd help attract more visitors, but they ended up draining resources we needed for infrastructure."

Clara stared at him, the weight of his confession settling heavily between them.

"You mean... this damage might've been preventable?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

Jack nodded, guilt etched across his face. "I didn't realize how much we'd overextended until it was too late. I thought I could fix it without anyone knowing, but then this happened."

For a moment, Clara didn't know what to say. She felt a mixture of frustration, betrayal, and something softer—an understanding of how hard Jack always tried to carry burdens on his own.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked finally.

"I didn't want to let you down," he admitted. "You've done so much to keep this place alive. I didn't want to be the one to jeopardize that."

Clara sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Jack, this isn't just about me. It's about all of us. The Council House is bigger than one person's mistakes—or one person's success."

"I know," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I just... didn't know how to fix it."

They stood in silence for a moment before Clara spoke again.

"We'll fix this together," she said firmly. "But no more secrets, Jack. If we're going to save this place, we have to be honest with each other."

Jack nodded, relief and gratitude flickering across his face.

"Okay," he said. "No more secrets."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and emergency planning sessions. Clara threw herself into the work, channeling her emotions into solutions. She coordinated with grant writers, called in favors from local businesses, and brainstormed fundraising ideas with the team.

Jack was by her side the entire time, his quiet determination matching her drive.

By the time evening fell, they had a plan—tentative and full of uncertainties, but a plan nonetheless.

As Clara locked up for the night, she turned to Jack. "Thanks for sticking around today. I know it wasn't easy."

"It's the least I could do," he said.

She nodded, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. "We'll get through this, Jack. The Council House has survived worse."

Jack looked at her, his expression soft. "Because of you, Clara. It survives because of you."

For the first time in days, Clara let herself believe that might be true.

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902 words