Page 28 of The Silver Fox Brother

"Assuming you have that designer locked down."

"I will."

They leave, and I return to my office. Marcus is waiting.

"How'd it go?"

"Fine. But I need that designer list as soon as possible."

"I'll prioritize it," he replies firmly.

I check my watch. 9:47 AM. Tom Barrett wants his fifteen minutes about site delays, and then I need to get to Tribeca to walk the Sterling Tower space myself. The day is already moving fast, and the designer crisis is still unresolved. I pull up the Sterling Tower file and get back to work.

By 10 AM, I'm standing in the middle of what will eventually be Sterling Tower's fifteenth floor, and all I see is potential wrapped in steel and concrete.

The construction site is organized chaos—workers in hardhats navigating scaffolding, the screech of metal cutting through metal, the smell of fresh concrete mixing with summer heat baking everything under a cloudless Tribeca sky. July in the city is relentless, the sun glaring off glass and steel until the whole site radiates heat.

Tom Barrett, my project manager, meets me at the construction elevator with blueprints rolled under his arm and sweat already darkening his shirt collar. He's been with me for five years, ran major builds in Chicago before I recruited him, doesn't waste my time with problems that don't need my direct input.

"Steel deliveries are running two weeks behind," he says as we step into the industrial elevator that'll take us up to the upper floors.

"Supplier claims it's logistics, but I think they're juggling multiple projects and we're getting bumped in priority."

I scan the progress as we rise. The building's skeleton is taking shape—steel beams forming the structure of what will be fifty-six luxury residences, window frames installed but not glazed yet. We're at the halfway point, floor fifteen of thirty, and the pace is solid.

"Two weeks puts us behind schedule."

"Not if we compress installation on the back end. I've already talked to the glazing contractor about adding a second crew. We can make up the time if we move fast."

The elevator lurches to a stop. We step out onto raw concrete, the floor open to the sky where the roof will eventually be.

"Cost for the second crew?"

"Hundred and twenty thousand. But it keeps us on timeline."

I do the math instantly. A hundred twenty to stay on schedule versus the cost of delays cascading through every subsequent phase of the build—mechanical, interior finishing, staging. Easy decision.

"Approved. Make it happen."

Tom makes a note on his tablet. "Also, we need to finalize mechanical placements for the penthouse units before we can close up walls. HVAC, plumbing, electrical—everything needs exact positioning."

"Where are we on that?"

"Waiting on your designer. Can't finalize infrastructure without knowing furniture layouts, where built-ins go, all the details that determine where mechanical systems run."

Right. The designer I don't have anymore.

"I'm handling that this week."

"This week as in you'll have someone by Friday?"

"Friday."

Tom raises an eyebrow but doesn't push. He knows better than to question my timelines.

We walk through the space—the raw floors, exposed ductwork overhead, window openings that frame views of the Hudson River and the New Jersey skyline beyond. The building is taking shape exactly as I envisioned it, steel and glass rising from the Tribeca streets, claiming space in one of Manhattan's most competitive real estate markets.

"Penthouse level," Tom says, gesturing upward.