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“What’s the new offer?” I asked.

“Same terms, but I’m withdrawing the demolition angle. Three buildings stay. You retain the development approach on the residential and commercial renovations. I take a forty-percent equity stake in the six buildings and provide the additional reserve your bank requested. If the credit committee is satisfied, the bank can release the draws.” He opened his hands. “No festival interference. No Meridian branding. Your name on the work. My capital behind it. You get to be the developer you want to be. You just don’t get to do it alone.”

The bay held its light outside the window. The container ship was nearly through now.

It was a good offer. Meridian’s money would satisfy the bank’s reserve request and could save every project I had open. I could keep the Holly Creek buildings and the renovation plan. The January fifteenth deadline would stop waking me before dawn.

In return, Victor Crane would own forty percent of the block and have a say in every decision that came next.

Crane was smart, patient, and certain he was helping me. He had made the same compromises for so long that he no longer seemed bothered by them.

I thought about what I’d look like in twenty years if I said yes.

And I thought about the Morrison barn, and a woman with a horse blanket over her knees telling me to make her a promise she could test.

I stood up. “No.”

Crane looked at me without expression. He’d heard no before. “Griffin⁠—”

“If I take your forty percent, I save the projects, repair my name, and spend five years building with your money behind me.” I picked up my jacket. “By then I’ll be you. I’ll defend every compromise because the numbers work and the buildings are still standing.”

The muscle in Crane’s jaw moved, barely. “That’s a romantic way to go broke,” he said.

“Maybe.” I buttoned my jacket. “But I’d rather be broke and know it than comfortable and not recognize myself.”

Crane’s mouth tightened. I hadn’t expected that. “You know the real difference between us?” he said. “You still believe the math and the people can both win. I stopped believing that a long time ago.” He stood, ending the meeting. “I hope you’re right. I do. I’m simply not willing to bet my company on hope.”

He extended his hand. I shook it.

Walking out of the thirty-second floor, I heard the door close behind me. By the time the elevator reached the lobby, Crane had sent one text:

Crane

Meridian’s statement goes out at five. The bank makes its own decision. Good luck, Griffin.

Outside, the charity Santa was still ringing his bell. The financial district moved around him without stopping.

At six, after I left Crane’s office, I called Nora again. It went to voicemail. I did not leave another message.

My father called at seven.

“Griffin.” His voice held the professional warmth he saved for business wins. “Victor tells me you’re finally getting sensible about this Holly Creek business.”

“He called you.”

“He called me last week. We’ve known each other since Ashland. He wanted me to know my son was being offered a serious partnership by serious people.” A pause, and then the thing I hadn’t heard in his voice since I was about nineteen. “I’ve watched you spend a decade trying to prove development can serve a community instead of just changing it. It’s admirable in a naive sort of way. But you’ve come around to what pays the bills, and I want you to know I noticed.”

I had the correction right there. It took no effort at all to hold it.

“Communities adapt,” he said. “They adapt whether you court them or not. So why spend the money courting them?”

“And the things that get lost.”

“Things get lost. That’s what change means.” A pause, and then, warmer than anything he’d said in four years: “Your mother would have liked this part. You finally being sensible.”

He hadn’t mentioned her in a decade. Now he used her memory to reward me for a choice I hadn’t made.

“Goodnight, Dad.”