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“Forgive me, Ricky, but last time I checked, you weren’t qualified to give a scientific assessment about the impact of development on a watershed.” He turned to Shane. “Do we have any science backing this up?”
“We will. Haggerty’s got people with the proper letters after their names at its disposal, but it will take a few weeks to get a report. That said, I know what I’m talking about.”
Campbell held up a hand. “I’m not saying you don’t, but before we take up the planning commission’s time, or put the development’s pending permit in doubt, I want to make sure we have our ducks in a row. They’ve purchased that land and broken ground on the permitted improvements based on the assurances from the city that we support the project. If we need to go back to them now and tell them they’ve got an environmental issue with the golf course, we’d better be able to support the claim and offer some kind of solution.”
“Damn straight,” Ricky started in, but Shane shot him a look that shut him up.
“The way I understand it, Mayor, the investors opted to hold off on submitting the application for the golf course permit until now because they couldn’t agree on the final course design.” He sent Ricky another hard look. “So, this is a risk they assumed. They rolled the dice.”
“They did,” Campbell agreed, “but this is the kind of situation where the politician in me has to speak up. This is an important project for Magnolia Grove. The resort revitalizes an historic landmark. It brings jobs and tourist dollars to our economy. I don’t do anybody any favors if I put this in front of the planning commission without proper substantiation.”
Fair enough. More fair than he might have expected, considering Ricky wasn’t the only one on the city council with a horse in this race. Campbell owned and operated the largest construction company in the area, which also happened to be the company doing the work on the resort. An additional permit meant additional work for Campbell Construction. But personal interest or not, the mayor wanted to do things right.
Shane assured Campbell he was on it and headed to his car, already digging his phone out of his pocket. Intellectually, he knew the mayor spoke the truth, but on a personal front, he couldn’t quite get over the look on Sinclair’s face when he’d told her she’d have to take a buyout. He’d weighed the matter from a strictly logical standpoint, and ignored her emotional attachment to the building. Bottom line? He’d botched the conversation. In his defense, he wasn’t used to factoring any personal concerns into his work. This was a first. Well, a second. But the first time his personal concerns had impacted his job, he’d been eighteen and the U.S. Marine Corps had settled the matter for him. He wanted to do better this time. He owed it to both of them.
Once in the car, he called Haggerty and explained the situation. His boss approached the matter with his usual flair for practicality.
“We can get a civil engineer to do the math and write it up, and I can light a fire under him to expedite the report, but someone’s got to manage the brewing conflict in the meantime.”
“I’ll manage it.” Why was Haggerty even bringing it up? Every job involved some amount of bullshit—competing agendas, ambitions, politics—and he had experience dealing with all of it, regardless of whether they were working with a corporate client, a municipality, or a blend of both.
“Normally, there wouldn’t be a question in my mind. You have direct, personal familiarity with Magnolia Grove, which makes you the instinctive choice for this assignment, but I don’t want that history to cloud your vision.”
“My vision is 20/20.” He forced himself to loosen his grip on his phone.
“Then I trust you see that this Pinkerton guy is one of the major stakeholders. He’s an investor in the resort, and a member of the city council—”
“He’s a self-serving asshole. Always has been—”
“And there it is. You’ve got a personality conflict. So, yeah, I’m concerned. What are you not telling me about this self-serving asshole?”
Shane considered glossing over his past with Ricky, but decided against it. Haggerty had a knack for accessing information. If he didn’t get a reply from Shane that satisfied him, he’d get the details from another source. “It’s nothing. You should be thanking Ricky, actually, because were it not for him, I probably wouldn’t be working for you today.”
“And to what do I owe his career influence?”
“I broke his nose our senior year of high school. At the prom, to be exact.”
“Because?”
“Because I punched him in the face…for not respecting the word ‘no’ despite his date having said it more than once,” he added in response to Haggerty’s unspoken question.
“Let me guess. He said, ‘Goddamn, Shane, that’s a hell of a punch. You should join the Marines’?”
“More like his parents lost their shit and threatened to press charges. Sheriff Kenner suggested I’d be better off taking orders from a commanding officer than a corrections officer. I enlisted in the Marines, which satisfied the Pinkertons that I wouldn’t be around to pound the crap out of their son anymore, and I headed off to boot camp right after graduation. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“I don’t like it. History has a way of repeating itself, and you’re already at odds with this guy. Meanwhile, the client in Seattle would happily move their project up if you’re available. My gut tells me to pull you off this job and make them happy.”
No fucking way. The strength of his reaction surprised him, and it wasn’t just a matter of professional pride because he’d never failed to complete an assignment. It went deeper. He didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted to see this project through with his hometown, but moreover, he wanted to see things through with Sinclair. See where they went. If he left now, the answer would be nowhere. “Seattle can wait. I’ve got this job under control, and I can handle Pinkerton. This is why you pay me the big bucks.”
The other side of the line remained silent for so long, Shane started to scramble for more arguments, but Haggerty finally replied.
“See that you do, son, because from where I’m sitting, that guy looks like a dildo strapped to a boomerang. Don’t let him come back and fuck you.”
…
“Your father said you seemed distracted last night.”
Sinclair looked up from her sketch of a necklace a repeat customer had commissioned as a push present for his wife and glanced over to where her cell phone sat on the edge of her drafting table. Her mother’s voice filtered from the speaker, thin on maternal concern, despite the observation. She sounded like a seasoned prosecutor lulling a witness into letting her guard down. Sinclair stretched, working the kinks out of her back. She wasn’t so easily lulled.
