“Our?”
He caught the word.
“Yes.”
His face softened enough that I knew I had won.
The first candidate arrived at nine.
He wore a polished suit and spoke about efficiency as if people were faulty equipment. Within ten minutes, he suggested eliminating “redundant labor positions” and outsourcing technical documentation.
Caleb heard from the other side of the glass and made a throat-cutting gesture.
Reid ended the interview politely.
The second candidate was younger, charming, and absolutely wrong.
His name was Mason.
He had worked at a yacht brokerage and knew enough marine terminology to survive the first questions. Then I crossed the office doorway carrying coffee.
Mason stopped speaking.
His gaze traveled over me.
Not subtle.
“Who’s this?”
Reid’s face became blank in the dangerous way.
“Noah Bennett.”
“Technician?”
“Partner.”
Mason smiled at me.
“Business partner?”
Reid leaned back.
“My partner.”
Understanding arrived.
It did not improve Mason’s judgment.
He looked at the scar near my temple, then at the walking pole.
“You’re the guy from the paper.”
“I am.”
“You photograph well.”
Reid’s jaw tightened.
