Cities and developers want state money to convert office buildings to housing, other businesses

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey testifies on March 27, 2025, in support of a bill that would extend a state tax credit to projects that convert underutilized office buildings to residential or other commercial uses. Photo by Madison McVan/Minnesota Reformer.
As the value of commercial buildings collapses in the wake of the pandemic, Minnesota city leaders want state help to convert underutilized buildings into housing or better commercial uses.
Office towers that were once prime locales for blue chip tenants have been selling at massive discounts — 97% in one recent case — alarming city leaders who are forced to shift the tax burden to residents.
There are already state and federal tax credits for the rehabilitation or conversion of historic buildings, but developers and city leaders want a bigger state tax credit — up to 30% of a project's cost, compared to 20% for the existing historic state credit — and to apply it to more buildings.
The bill (SF768/HF467) does not require that the buildings be converted to housing to qualify for the credit. Instead, conversions qualify if they remake a commercial building for another commercial use that the building was not originally built to accommodate, or if at least half of the building has been vacant for five years, and the conversion 'will return that vacant area to an income-producing, habitable condition.'
The credit — called the 'credit for conversion of underutilized buildings,' or the 'CUB credit' — would apply to buildings at least 15 years old.
'The CUB credit is not the silver bullet that will fix all of our cities' challenges,' said Sen. Zaynab Mohamed, DFL-Minneapolis, the bill's chief author. 'However, without it, many adaptive reuse projects in Minnesota simply will not move forward.'
Any program that will cost the state money will have a difficult path to passage this year. The state is spending more money than it's bringing in, meaning lawmakers will look for areas to cut more than new programs to spend on.
Senate Taxes Committee Chair Sen. Ann Rest, DFL-New Hope, said in a hearing Thursday that the bill as written is too expensive — a Department of Revenue analysis found it would cost between $20 and $25 million per year, with no cap on payouts. Mohamed said the program could be capped based on budget targets.
Converting office buildings to apartments is complicated.
Many office towers aren't structurally fit for housing: Some are so large that many apartments would lack windows, a dealbreaker for prospective residents. Others have exteriors made almost entirely of glass. Plumbing is often centralized — one floor may have one or two common restrooms, while apartments require many bathrooms spread across the floor.
And while interest rates have dropped from their most recent peak in 2023, they're still well above the rates of the 2010s and the historic lows reached during the pandemic.
Zoning rules can also present hurdles to redevelopment. Minneapolis changed its rules last year to eliminate some red tape for office-to-residential conversions, exempting developers from public hearings, extensive traffic studies and the city's inclusionary zoning ordinance, which requires developers to either include a number of affordable housing units or pay large fees to the city.
Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey testified in support of the tax credit proposal. Commercial property values in Minneapolis have dropped by 9.5% over the past year, and the shrinking commercial tax base means an increased property tax burden on homeowners.
Rest, a co-author of the bill, pointed out that commercial properties are taxed at a higher rate than residential properties, so conversions could reduce the tax rate on many buildings.
Higher post-conversion property values would more than offset the lower tax rate, said Chris Sherman of Sherman Associates, a Minneapolis real estate developer that recently converted the historic Northstar Center East from offices to a mixed-use building with more than 200 apartments.
The bill was laid over for possible inclusion in a larger tax bill.

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Yahoo

15 hours ago

• Yahoo

Two days of terror: How the Minnesota shooter evaded police and got caught

(Refiles to remove repetition of quote in paragraph 24) By Nathan Layne NEW HOPE, Minnesota (Reuters) -Vance Boelter's disguise wasn't perfect. The silicone mask was somewhat loose-fitting and his SUV's license plate simply read "POLICE" in black letters. But it was good enough on a poorly lit suburban street in the dead of night. At 2:36 a.m. on Saturday, 30 minutes after authorities say Boelter shot and seriously injured Minnesota State Senator John Hoffman and his wife, he paused behind the wheel of the SUV near the home of another senator, Ann Rest, in the city of New Hope. The SUV was stocked with weapons, including AK-47 assault rifles, as well as fliers advertising a local anti-Trump rally scheduled for later Saturday and a written list of names of people he appeared to be targeting. Senator Rest, prosecutors would later say, was among those Boelter set out to kill on June 14. As Boelter sat in the SUV down the street from Rest's home, another police car - this one an actual police car - approached. A female officer from the New Hope police department, after hearing about the Hoffman shootings, had come out to check on Rest. Seeing the SUV, complete with flashing lights and police-style decals, she believed the man inside was a fellow officer. But when she attempted to speak to him - one officer greeting another - she got no response. Instead, the man inside the SUV with police markings simply stared ahead. The New Hope officer drove on, deciding to go ahead and check on Rest. Rest would later say the New Hope officer's initiative probably saved her life, an opinion shared by New Hope Police Chief Timothy Hoyt. "With limited information, she went up there on her own to check on the welfare of our senator," Hoyt told Reuters. "She did the right thing." The brief interaction in New Hope underscored the carefully planned nature of Boelter's pre-dawn rampage and how his impersonation of a police officer, including body armor, a badge and a tactical vest, confounded the initial attempts to stop him. After the encounter with the New Hope officer, Boelter, 57, drove away from the scene, moving on to his next target. Police would pursue him for another 43 hours. In the process, they would draw in a phalanx of state and federal agencies, in what ranks as the largest manhunt in Minnesota history and added to the sense of disorientation in a nation already grappling with protests over immigration, the forcible removal of a U.S. Senator from a press conference and a rare military parade in Washington. Federal prosecutors say they may seek the death penalty for Boelter, who has been charged with murdering two people and trying to kill two others, in what Governor Tim Walz has called a "politically motivated" attack. Prosecutors said they are still investigating the motive and whether any others were involved. Boelter has yet to enter a plea. Manny Atwal, a public defender representing Boelter, said he was reviewing the case and declined to comment. This reconstruction of the manhunt is based on court documents, statements by law enforcement officials, and interviews with a Boelter friend, local police officers, lawmakers, and residents of the impacted neighborhoods. While the events unfolded like something out of a TV crime drama, there were parallels with past shooting sprees, criminal justice experts said. James Fitzgerald, a former FBI criminal profiler, said he would not be surprised if Boelter studied a mass shooting in Canada in 2020, when a gunman posing as a police officer killed 22 people in the province of Nova Scotia. "These guys always do research beforehand. They want to see how other killers were successful, how they got caught," said Fitzgerald, who helped the FBI capture the "Unabomber" Ted Kaczynski in 1996. "And, of course, a way you're going to buy yourself some time is to pose as a police officer." HOFFMAN SHOOTING The violence began at the Hoffman's brick split-level home in Champlin, a leafy, middle-class suburb of Minneapolis. With his emergency lights flashing, Boelter pulled into the driveway just after 2:00 a.m. and knocked on the door. "This is the police. Open the door," Boelter shouted repeatedly, according to an FBI affidavit. Senator Hoffman and his wife, Yvette, soon determined Boelter was not a real police officer. Boelter shot Senator Hoffman nine times, and then fired on Yvette, who shielded her daughter from being hit. As Boelter fled the scene, the daughter called 911. The Hoffmans were on a target list of more than 45 federal and state elected officials in Minnesota, all Democrats, acting U.S. Attorney Joseph H. Thompson told a briefing on Monday. Boelter voted for President Donald Trump, was a Christian and did not like abortion, according to his part-time roommate, David Carlson. Carlson said Boelter did not seem angry about politics. Thompson said Boelter "stalked his victims like prey" but that the writings he left behind did not point to a coherent motive. "His crimes are the stuff of nightmares," he said. After the Hoffman's, the next address plugged into Boelter's GPS system was a lawmaker about 9 miles away in the Minneapolis suburb of Maple Grove. Surveillance cameras from the home of State Representative Kristin Bahner show a masked Boelter ringing the doorbell at 2:24 a.m. and shouting "Open the door. This is the police. We have a warrant," the FBI affidavit says. Bahner and her family were not at home. From there, Boelter moved on to New Hope and the close encounter with the officer who had dispatched to Rest's home. After that, he wasn't seen by police again until he arrived at the residence of Melissa Hortman, the top Democrat in the state House, in Brooklyn Park. Sensing that Hortman might be a target, Brooklyn Park police officers had decided to check on her. When they arrived at 3:30 a.m. they saw a black Ford Explorer outside her house, its police-style lights flashing. Boelter was near the front door. When Boelter saw the officers exit their squad car, he fired at them. He then ran through the front door on the house, where he killed Melissa and Mark Hortman, her husband. 'DAD WENT TO WAR' When Boelter left the Hortman's home, he abandoned his fake-police SUV. Inside the car, police found a 9mm handgun, three AK-47 assault rifles, fliers advertising a local anti-Trump "No Kings" rally and a notebook with names of people who appear to have been targets, according to court documents. From that point, Boelter was on the run. Little has been revealed about his movements during the period, although police say he visited his part-time residence in north Minneapolis. He also sent texts. In one, to his family's group chat, Boelter writes, "Dad went to war last night". In another, to a close friend, Boelter says he may be dead soon. Police also know that by early morning on Saturday Boelter had met a man at a Minneapolis bus stop who agreed to sell him an e-bike and a Buick sedan for $900. The two drove to a bank where Boelter withdrew $2,200 from his account. A security camera shows Boelter wearing a cowboy hat. But it took until 10:00 a.m. on Sunday for authorities to close in. Police searching the area near Boelter's family home in the rural community of Green Isle, discovered the abandoned Buick, along with a cowboy hat and handwritten letter to the FBI in which Boelter admitted to the shootings, prosecutors said. Law enforcement scrambled to set up a perimeter surrounding the area, SWAT teams and search dogs were deployed, and drones were put in the air. It was the trail camera of a resident, however, that provided the final clue, capturing an image of Boelter around 7:00 p.m., allowing officers to narrow their search. Two hours later, the pursuit ended with Boelter crawling to police. He was armed but surrendered without a fight. (reporting by Nathan Layne and Tom Polansek in Minneapolis and Joseph Ax in New York; editing by Paul Thomasch and Nick Zieminski)

Yahoo

21 hours ago

• Yahoo

'Cracking heads': Trump, DOJ moves signal end of reforms after George Floyd movement

When George Floyd was killed by a Minneapolis police officer five blocks from her home, Nichole Subola visited the site of his death again and again, trying to wrap her mind around it. Police reform seemed within reach as she watched the global impact of the protests. The floral arrangements, drawings and signs filled the streets in a place that came to be known as "George Floyd Square." Five years later, Subola, 59, isn't sure if local police will follow through on their commitment now that the Trump administration is abandoning federal consent decrees in cities that promised real change in training and hiring practices. More: An officer partially blinded a teen amid George Floyd protests. Was force excessive? "There's a consensus here that the police need to do better, but it's so hard to erase what happened viscerally," she said. "There's just no trust in the police, not for me and my community, and other parts of the city, there just isn't. I don't think it was there to begin with." Millions poured into the country's streets demanding systemic change in the wake of Floyd's murder on Memorial Day − coupled with the fatal shooting of Breonna Taylor by Louisville police two months prior. Many believed America was turning a corner in terms of police accountability. Even Trump, who rarely criticized police action, called Floyd's death a "very sad event" in a May 27, 2020 tweet. "Justice will be served," he said. Much of that was snatched away in the years that followed, most notably in 2021 when Congress failed to pass sweeping reform package dubbed the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act. During Biden's presidency, federal investigators started a dozen "pattern or practice" probes into police departments across the nation, including Phoenix, Trenton and Memphis. None yielded any court-binding consent decrees, however, and then came the largest setback of all: Donald Trump returning to the White House. The president's team has now swung the pendulum in the opposite direction from five years ago, even attempting to rescind findings of constitutional violations in the cities where Floyd and Taylor lost their lives. Experts and voters on both sides of the debate say the U.S. Justice Department's decision on May 21 establishes a new political order for the country's ongoing police accountability debate, including the possibility of pardoning officers convicted by federal prosecutors during the Biden years. Among Trump's allies in the law enforcement ranks, there are cheers among those who argue consent decrees micromanage departments and were overused by the previous administration. Police reforms are better handled by local elected leaders and residents, who know their public safety needs better than Washington, said Jason Johnson, president of the Law Enforcement Legal Defense Fund, which supports officers who are prosecuted or fired for actions while in the line of duty. "It should be a patchwork," he said. "Law enforcement is local, so the police in Minneapolis should conduct themselves in the way the citizens of Minneapolis want." But those on the other side of the fence assert the president is giving police officers a green light to do as they please. Jim Mulvaney, an adjunct professor at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, who previously served as deputy commissioner of New York state's human rights division, points out Trump often encouraged law enforcement to be rougher on certain suspects during the campaign. "He signaled back then that hard-handed law enforcement was what he wanted," he said. "Not obeying the Constitution, but cracking heads." Pulling back from those consent decrees coincides with a larger sea change at the Justice Department, which has reportedly lost 70% of its civil rights division lawyers since January. Administration officials have also shifted the division's focus toward enforcing the president's executive orders, such as combating antisemitism in higher education, ending alleged radical indoctrination in public schools and defending women's rights from "gender ideology extremism" in athletics and other areas. Up until the DOJ's announcement this month, Mulvaney said there has been a long-held presumption that the federal government would keep local law enforcement in check. "They've now been told, don't worry about it. And I think that that's only going to encourage bad behavior and at a very high cost," he said. Many activists and voters who spoke with USA TODAY echoed those concerns, but emphasized they aren't giving up on racial equality or seeking changes to law enforcement. Instead of lobbying Congress or engaging in large acts of civil disobedience, different forms of resistance are being spotlighted. "The solutions have never come from the system; they always came from people in the community. So I think this could be an opportunity to build more of that energy if we use it properly," said Rodney Salomon, 37, of Neptune Township, N.J., co-founder of KYDS, Konscious Youth Development & Service, a nonprofit that focuses on transforming communities through mindfulness, restorative practices and youth leadership. Others point to seeking change through economic actions like the Black-church led boycott of Target after the retail giant quashed its diversity initiatives. The company's first-quarter sales fell 3.8%, compared to analysts' estimates of a 1.08% decline. They are looking to find innovative ways to protect residents through technology, such as Selwyn Jones, a Floyd relative who developed the MYTH app, which would send out a panic alert to a person's emergency contacts when they're involved in a police interaction in real time. Kay Harris, 72, who lived in Asbury Park, N.J., through the city's race riots in the 1960s, said federal oversight is critical, but balancing the scales may have to come from other branches of government, such as the courts. "We cannot depend on the local precincts to do it themselves. I mean that is why we are in the position we are in right now," she said. "That doesn't mean that all police officers are unethical, but there are just too many rogue police officers who do just what they want." Asbury Park, for instance, settled at least five suits in roughly a decade involving allegations of racial discrimination. The victims were awarded $1.9 million in defense and settlement costs, city officials say. "If (Trump) is the law and order president, then he should ensure that law and order is followed appropriately," Harris said. "He is trying to roll things back to the 1950s." The Trump administration's decision to walk back reform efforts came days before the fifth anniversary of Floyd's murder on May 25, 2020. That timing wasn't lost on Justin Thamert, of Foley, Minnesota, a town about 65 miles north of Minneapolis, who said emotions remain raw. "I don't think anybody's gotten over it," he said. The 34-year-old mechanic, who voted for Trump last fall, said the Biden administration turned its back on law enforcement and made officers feel afraid to do their jobs. But he isn't sure federal authorities should abandon reform efforts in Minneapolis, which include minimizing the need to use force; investigating allegations of employee misconduct; and providing confidential mental health wellness services to officers and other public safety personnel. "I wouldn't shut the door," Thamert said. "I think (Minneapolis) will need help. I don't agree with them completely pulling out." Leaders in the cities where Taylor and Floyd died have been quick to pledge, regardless of the Trump administration's reversal, that they will seek to continue implementing changes to their law enforcement operations. Minneapolis was "making more progress towards the reforms" than most other municipalities in the country under a consent decree, Mayor Jacob Frey noted, citing a recently released independent evaluator's report. The report found the department had reduced its backlog of use-of-force cases under review from more than 1,100 to about 400 in the last six months. "The people in this city have demanded change for years and we're going to make sure we get this done," Frey told USA TODAY. Like many local officials, Frey, a Democrat, who is seeking reelection this year, has walked a political tightrope in the wake of controversial police encounters. He was criticized by Trump as a "very weak radical left mayor" in 2020 for his handling of the unrest that engulfed the city, but was slammed by left-leaning activists for opposing a 2021 ballot initiative that sought radical change and completely overhaul the police department with a new public safety agency. The plan would have shifted oversight from the mayor's office to the city council. However, 56% of voters rejected that idea. Frey said Minneapolis is standing by the court-ordered reforms, emphasizing that homicides and shootings are down. The city is rolling out new use-of-force measures, improving community engagement and making sure its work is transparent and accountable, he said. "So Donald Trump can do whatever he wants," Frey continued. "The bottom line is, regardless of what the White House does, we are moving forward, anyway." Similarly, Louisville officials immediately used the DOJ's decision to unveil a 214-page plan mirroring similar goals set by the Biden administration. It calls for hiring an independent monitor for up to five years who will help develop a plan covering use of force, community policing, misconduct investigations and behavioral health response. "We as a city are committed to reform," said Louisville Mayor Craig Greenberg, a Democrat seeking reelection next year, at a May 21 press conference. There are some omissions in Louisville's new plan, however. The trimmed-down local plan removed a line about the use of Tasers that mandated officers learn about "the risks to persons exhibiting signs of mental illness, substance use, or experiencing behavioral health crisis," according to the Courier-Journal, part of the USA TODAY Network. Antonio Brown, 39, participated in the Louisville protests almost daily in the summer of 2020. He said his faith in federally supported police reforms waned after Trump was reelected. "I'm not surprised by what Trump's administration is doing, but I do wonder what our mayor is going to do, because he ran on change," Brown said. Other city officials and local activists have expressed skepticism about Greenberg, who contested some findings in the original 2023 federal report that determined the Louisville police department "unlawfully discriminates against Black people in its enforcement activities." Critics point out that the independent monitor's contract under the local plan is only renewable for up to five years, for instance. Greenberg also hasn't committed to rehiring the city's inspector general, who is charged with examining police misconduct and has butted heads with Louisville police since 2021. "It's definitely going to get worse if we don't see any change," said Brown, a machine operator at a local manufacturing company. "This is why we came outside –for reform. So if we don't get reform... I'm not going back in." As advocates on both sides of the police accountability debate decipher what Trump's about-face means for those communities, some are now focusing on what his administration might do next as allies seek to redefine the summer of 2020. Conservative activists have publicly lobbied for the president to pardon Derek Chauvin, the former Minneapolis police officer convicted of Floyd's murder. Trump previously said that he wasn't considering pardoning Chauvin. But, Minneapolis officials said they are prepared for an emergency response with state and federal authorities while calming the waters. Frey pointed out, for example, that even if Chauvin were to be pardoned by Trump from his 21-year federal sentence, that would not free the former officer for his 22-year state sentence for second- and third-degree murder. By law, Trump doesn't have the power to pardon state sentences. In recent weeks, Trump's suppoters have publicly called for the same reprieve to be extended to former Louisville police detective Brett Hankinson, one of three officers who raided Taylor's apartment in 2020. He faces a life sentence after being found guilty last fall by a federal jury of violating the 26-year-old ER technician's civil rights. Right-leaning advocates noted Hankison was acquitted on state charges in 2022, and spotlight that no one was injured as a result of his gunfire on the night Taylor was shot to death. "Hankison should be completely (absolved) of any wrongdoing," Brandon Tatum, a former Arizona police officer turned YouTube political commentator, told his roughly 1.6 million Instagram followers on May 14. Tatum argued Hankinson is more deserving of a pardon than Chauvin, adding that he reached out to leaders in Congress to contact the White House on behalf of the former Louisville officer. Johnson, of the law enforcement defense fund, has called on the Trump administration to take a closer look at other cases they describe as "politically motivated," including a 2023 case involving a Massachusetts police sergeant facing federal charges for filing a false report. He said his group has not actively advocated for Hankinson's pardon, but that it does, "believe he is a good candidate for clemency." Trump has already wielded his executive authority in such a manner during his first week in office when he pardoned two Washington, D.C. police officers convicted last fall in the death of 20-year-old Karon Hylton-Brown, who was riding a moped on a sidewalk without a helmet when he ignored instructions to stop. Jerrod Moore, 44, an Atlanta construction inspector, said federal authorities investigating these type of case could have done more to weed out bad officers. He said changes coming from the national level have proven to be unreliable, and that he wouldn't be surprised if Trump pardoned more police officers convicted of violating people's constitutional rights in the coming years. "He's very selective about who he wants to pardon, and if he does, it will be an officer in one of the more egregious crimes," Moore said. "It's very clear who his target audience is. Look who he's pardoned already." Contributing: Charles Daye, Stephanie Kuzydym, Josh Wood, Keely Doll, Marc Ramirez, USA TODAY Network This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Trump, DOJ moves signal shift for police accountability after Floyd

CNN

a day ago

• CNN

She didn't know yet known an assassin was on the loose. Then, police arrived with a warning

Crime Gun violence Congressional newsFacebookTweetLink Follow The congresswoman was enjoying a quiet morning at home in the Minneapolis suburbs last Saturday when her doorbell rang. It was around 6 a.m., Kelly Morrison recalled. Far too early for visitors. But as she padded to the front door, Morrison noticed a police car in her driveway. 'Sorry to bother you so early,' the officers said, 'but we need you to know that there's a man going around impersonating a law enforcement officer, and we need you to stay in your house, shelter in place, and do not answer the door to anyone.' Stunned, Morrison asked for more details, she recalled to CNN. But the officers simply told her: 'There have been some concerning events' and they'd be patrolling her street 'more closely.' Morrison locked her front door and tried to go back to her quiet morning alone at home, she said. But her eyes kept drifting to the street. She did not yet know a fierce manhunt was underway for a gunman who, just hours earlier, had gravely injured a state senator and his wife at their nearby home, then assassinated another state lawmaker, Melissa Hortman, and her husband in theirs. Morrison also did not yet have a critical piece of information that would upend not only her quiet weekend but also her perception of life as a public servant and the state of America's democracy: Her name was on the gunman's alleged hit list, too. The attacks had begun just after 2 that morning when a man carrying a handgun and wearing the tactical vest and body armor of a police officer pounded on state Sen. John Hoffman's windowless, double-bolted front door. 'He arrived in a Black SUV with emergency lights turned on and with a license plate that read 'Police,'' Joseph Thompson, the acting US attorney for Minnesota, would later tell reporters. 'Sen. Hoffman had a security camera; I've seen the footage … and it is chilling,' he'd add. Authorities soon identified Vance Boelter, 57, as the man masquerading as a police officer and described in chilling detail how he 'stalked his victims like prey.' After wounding Hoffman and his wife, Boelter visited two other lawmakers' nearby homes, court documents later would assert: One was out of town; the other's life may have been spared by the timely intervention of a local police officer. Boelter then went to Hortman's home, killing her and her husband, Mark, authorities would posit, before firing at police and vanishing into a moonlit night. Investigators in what became the largest manhunt in Minnesota history soon found among Boelter's belongings apparent hit lists naming dozens more potential targets, most of them Democrats or figures with ties to the abortion rights movement, including Planned Parenthood, court documents would say. On a conference call later that morning with Democratic lawmakers, Morrison learned the tragic truth of what had happened to the Hoffmans and the Hortmans – her friends and colleagues – and prompted her early morning visit from local police. It wasn't long before the Minnesota Department of Public Safety also let her know she, too, was among those targeted. As an OB-GYN who had volunteered for Planned Parenthood, Morrison had been targeted with threats of violence in the past, she said. Still, this was 'unnerving, particularly when we lost Melissa and Mark in such a shocking and violent way.' The congresswoman immediately called her husband, John Willoughby, who was out of town, to tell him about the shootings. And that she could be a target. The former Army Ranger 'moved into protective mode,' Morrison recalled, and began making his way home. Even with local officers already stationed outside their house, the couple hired private security, she said. And Morrison put on the panic button Capitol Police previously had recommended she buy. Across town, another state House official, Rep. Esther Agbaje, was glued to her phone as texts and emails poured in with updates on the manhunt. She left her home and spent the day with her fiancé and his mom, she recalled to CNN. She was lying low, she told her friends and family, in an abundance of caution. Meanwhile, Morrison and her husband considered what to tell their grown children. 'There's all these different moments as a parent where you question what the right thing to do is,' the congresswoman recalled, 'but we knew we had to let them know.' Their daughters, traveling in Minnesota, wanted to come home; their son, who was out of state, stayed in constant contact. Then, Morrison made another call: to her own parents. 'I had been pretty calm,' she said, 'but when I heard my mom's voice, I definitely kind of lost it.' By Saturday evening, the tenor of Agbaje's weekend also had shifted – from mindful public servant attuned to the latest safety alerts to an unwitting role far closer than she'd imagined to the frightening storyline deeply underway. 'For most of the day,' the state representative said, 'I didn't know that I was a potential target.' Then, she, too, learned her name was on Boelter's list. Sunday arrived with no outward signs Boelter soon would be caught. And Agbaje had grown so distracted, she forgot it was Father's Day. 'I forgot to call my own Dad until, like, the middle of the afternoon,' she told CNN. 'I have a really good Dad. He was concerned about how I was doing.' Officers had warned Morrison it would be dangerous for her to go ahead with plans to celebrate the holiday with relatives. 'I FaceTime'd with my dad and my brother to wish them a happy Father's Day,' she said, 'and tell them how much I love them and how grateful I am for them.' Morrison and Agbaje also spent hours across the weekend reassuring their constituents as word of the attacks spread and reiterating a common message in the face of what seemed to be the latest wave in a rising tide of political violence afflicting the United States. We can't go on this way. 'This was the moment where I kind of feel like everything has changed in the United States,' Morrison said. 'This happened in my district, and these are my people. We have to decide together that this is not the path that we want to go down as a country.' But even fortified resolve could not quell the fear of lawmakers whom the suspected assassin had called out by name. On Sunday evening, the fact remained: Boelter was still on the run. Not, though, for much longer. Some 43 hours after the gunman barged through the Hoffmans' red front door, Boelter crawled out of a forest near his own home, about an hour's drive away. He was arrested and faces six federal charges, including two that could carry the death penalty, and four state charges, including two counts of second-degree murder. But for Morrison and Agbaje – along with untold others on the hit lists and people across Minneapolis and beyond – the conclusion of the police chase has yielded to another pursuit, one perhaps less riveting but, if possible, more heart-wrenching. 'I think now that the acuteness of the manhunt and the trauma from the weekend is subsiding, we're just (feeling) real grief and sitting with the loss,' Agbaje said. After decades of increasingly toxic political rhetoric and the dehumanization of lawmakers, many Americans have lost sight of our shared humanity, she continued. 'For those of us who want to keep this democracy, we have to remember that we solve our disagreements through discussion and debate; we can't devolve to guns and violence.' Though Hoffman has a long path to recovery, Agbaje looks forward to the day she again will work alongside the fierce advocate for health equity, especially for those with disabilities, she said. 'He's really funny,' Agbaje said, then paused, recognizing this kind of violence can change a person. 'I'm sure it'll be different, but I'm glad that he'll still be around,' she said of Hoffman. 'Whether you agree or disagree with them on policy issues, (lawmakers are) real people. They have families, they have people who care about them. At some point, we have to remember the humanity in each other.' Morrison and her colleagues gathered privately Wednesday night, she said, to mourn and honor Hortman, a public servant who dedicated herself and her career to the state and the people she loved. 'I think she'll go down as the most consequential speaker of the House in Minnesota's history,' Morrison said. 'It was never about Melissa; it was always about the work … the end goal was always to make life better for Minnesotans.' 'It's just hard to put into words what a devastating loss this is for our entire state.' The attacks of just a week ago fell exactly eight years after a gunman opened fire on lawmakers as they practiced for a congressional charity baseball game and critically wounded Rep. Steve Scalise of Louisiana, a Republican now leading the House majority. Morrison worries about the chilling effect political violence could have on future public servants, she said. But even so soon after facing her own imminent threat, Morrison is far from scared. 'I think it's important for people to remember that this is not just an attack on those individual legislators; this is an attack on democracy itself. It's an attack on Americans' ability to be represented well,' she said. 'I am not afraid of cowards like this man, and I would encourage people, if you've ever thought of running for office, to please continue pursuing it.'