“Two years ago, I stood on this same platform and told you that Kirsten Springs would save this town. And it did. For a time.

You believed in us. You believed in me. And we brought it to life. Jobs were created. Downtown came back. For the first time in years, our kids stopped leaving. People were proud again. And that—that was no small thing. But none of it came free.

It cost us more than I ever expected. It cost me my brother.

I won’t pretend I handled it perfectly. Thomas and I—we’ve always believed in saving people. Sure, call it a savior complex but we just always disagreed about how... I believed in stability. In pacing. He believed in fire.

And when that fire turned against the very thing we were trying to build—I had to act.

Firing him from the springs and the institute… that wasn’t triumph. The board had no choice. It was a necessity.

I told him: For once in your life, will you act like a responsible man? “Sign a statement. Say you went too far. Put it any way you like, just so you calm anybody who might feel nervous about the water You can fix everything, quietly, safely, on the inside.” He wouldn’t.

He looked me in the eye and said: “When, five years, ten years? You know your trouble, Peter? You just don’t grasp-even now- that there are certain men you can’t buy.”

But it was never about buying him. It was about protecting all of you. Because what’s the point of a pure man in a dying town?

And then—Morten Kiil. The shares. Going around the town buying up as many shares of the springs as possible. I couldn’t believe it. A man wages a relentless campaign to destroy confidence in a corporation. He even goes so far as to call a mass meeting against it. Then the very next morning, when people are still in a state of shock about it all, his father-in-law runs all over town, picking up shares at half their value. Thomas swore he didn’t know. I almost believed him. But by then… it was too late to care. I had to shut the door. On him. On the past.

And still—we delivered. The Springs opened. The tourists came. The headlines were kind. Our projections exceeded expectations. For the first time in a generation, we mattered again. But lately… I can’t sleep through the night.

Not because I’m guilty. But because I don’t know what’s next.

The clinic is busier than it should be. Respiratory complaints. Skin conditions. No firm link, of course. There’s always something. Climate. Pollen. Stress.

The press did their exposés. We spun them. We held the line. But the numbers don’t lie.
Investors are pulling out. The revenue charts now look like the ones I once used to justify the project. Inverted.

And I—I’m not sure I can fix it.

We said we’d fix the pipes. Gradually. Responsibly. But when the town is thriving, there’s always a reason to wait just a little longer. And now? Now there’s no money to fix anything.

The miracle we promised turned out to be a loan we can’t repay. This—this was supposed to be our legacy. But what is legacy, if your people are sick?

And yet… I don’t regret building the Springs. I regret what it cost. I regret how I treated my brother. I regret seeing Katherine cry every time we cross paths.

But I don’t regret trying to save this place. And neither should you. You believed in the town. That was never wrong.

We did what we thought was best—with the facts we had. With the time we were given. With the pressures no one outside these walls will ever understand.

But the question now—the one I can’t escape—is: Was it enough?

Or did we trade truth for survival… only to lose both?

I’m still the Mayor. For now. There’s a challenger in the race. He’s younger. More idealistic. Maybe it’s his turn to carry the weight. Because I don’t know how many more miracles I have left.

But I’ll say this, in case the curtain closes before I ever get the chance again: If this town is still worth saving—

Someone…someone better be ready to tell the truth.”