Twelve days to get everything perfect.
/~/~/~/~/
The invitation error appeared two days later. Helena arrived at Finn’s office holding three pieces of correspondence, her expression carefully neutral. “The delegations from Surmont, Kellwick, and Ashford have all sent queries about the summit dates.”
Finn’s stomach clenched. “What queries?”
“They received invitations listing the summit as beginning on the fourteenth. Our official announcement said the sixteenth.”
“That’s impossible. I checked those invitations myself before they went out.” Finn crossed to his desk, pulled out his master copy. Sixteenth. Clearly marked. “Show me.”
Helena handed him the correspondence. All three delegations quoted the same wrong date - the fourteenth.
“I don’t understand.” Finn rifled through his files and found his draft of the invitation text. Sixteenth. “This is what I wrote. This is what I approved.”
“Perhaps there was a transcription error when the printer received the final copy?”
“I delivered the final copy myself.” Finn’s hands shook slightly as he set the letters down. “I watched the printer review it. The date was correct.”
Helena watched him with that careful expression she wore when dealing with something delicate. “These things happen, Finn. We’ll send corrections immediately. No harm done.”
Except there was harm. Three delegations now thought Safe Harbor couldn’t manage basic correspondence. Three delegations that would arrive at the summit already questioning Safe Harbor’s competence.
“I’ll draft the corrections,” Finn said.
“I can have someone…”
“I’ll do it myself.”
After Helena left, Finn stared at the invitations for a long time. He’d been so careful and triple-checked every detail. How had this happened?
Maybe Trent was right. Maybe the pressure was making him sloppy.
/~/~/~/~/
The furniture arrived wrong on Thursday – supposedly the day he was meant to spend with his husband, but there was still too much to do. Finn stood in one of the guest suites, watching workers attempt to maneuver an absolutely enormous bed through the doorway. The bed was designed for a room twice the size. The chairs were child-sized. The wardrobe wouldn’t fit through the door at all.
“Where are the specifications I submitted?” Finn asked the furniture master.
The man produced a document. “Right here, Your Grace. This is what we built.”
Finn scanned it, and he felt ice creep down his spine. They weren’t his specifications. The measurements were completely wrong. Someone had changed them after he’d submitted the order.
“When did you receive this?”
“Three weeks ago. We worked from your amended instructions, exactly as written.”
“I never amended anything.”
The furniture master shifted uncomfortably. “The work order shows modifications dated two weeks after your initial submission, marked ‘per King Consort’s corrections.’”
“Show me.”
The man produced another document. There, in handwriting that could almost pass for Finn’s if someone wasn’t paying close attention, were detailed changes to every measurement. Someone had deliberately sabotaged the order.
“Your Grace?” Gordon appeared in the doorway. “Is everything alright?”
“The furniture’s wrong. All of it.” Finn handed him the documents. “Someone changed my specifications.”
