Page 83 of Keller

"Yes. Thank you for calling me back."

"I'm so sorry to inform you that Mr. Grant's schedule is quite full. His next available consultation slot isn't until May. May I schedule an appointment for you then?"

May is two months from now.

I don't react, keeping my voice level. "I think there may be a misunderstanding about the nature of this inquiry."

A pause on her end. "Sir?"

"This isn't a standard consultation." I keep my tone conversational, unhurried. "I'm flying in privately this afternoon. I'll only be in Savannah for a few hours, and I need a meeting today."

"I see. Well, Mr. Grant does have a waiting list for priority clients, and I could certainly add your name to?—"

"The property I'm considering would be a significant acquisition with high visibility. The kind of project that defines a firm's portfolio."

Silence.

I let it breathe. Outside the oval window, clouds stretch thinly against the cerulean blue sky. The engine hum fills the cabin, low and constant.

"I'm not looking to rush Mr. Grant's process," I continue. "But I am working within a narrow window. If he's unable to accommodate a brief meeting today, I'll need to explore other firms."

No threat. No pressure. Just positioning.

"Would you mind holding for just a moment, Mr. Baker?"

"Of course."

The line clicks to hold music. It's something generic, a short, repetitive, low-fidelity loop.

I click the speaker and set the phone on the armrest. Light shifts through the windows as the jet banks slightly, adjusting course.

Charlton Grant is a preservation architect who built his reputation on high-profile restorations. Men like him don't ignore potential clients who fly private and speak in terms of visibility and transformation.

They rearrange.

After a couple of minutes, the hold music cuts.

"Mr. Baker?"

"I'm here."

"Mr. Grant has offered to adjust his schedule and squeeze you in. He has about an hour at a standing lunch reservation at The Chatham Club at one-fifteen this afternoon. If that suits you, he said he would be happy for you to join him."

There it is.

"That works perfectly. Please thank Mr. Grant for his flexibility."

"Of course, sir. The Chatham Club is on the fourteenth floor of the DeSoto Hotel. I'll let them know to expect you."

"Appreciated."

I end the call and set the phone down.

I look outside the window and see we have descended below the clouds. We must be landing soon. The Georgia coast stretches green and gold, rivers threading through marshland like silver veins.

The pilot's voice comes through the speaker. "Beginning our descent into Savannah. Should be on the ground in about twenty minutes, Mr. Stone."

I adjust my cuffs and settle back into the seat.