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The last man who praised me was my father. When I learned I couldn’t trust him at the end, I wondered if every ounce of praise he gave me before was a lie. There are two versions of him in my head. The man who encouraged me to believe in myself and never give up, and the man who told me those things while stealing money from innocent people.
Disgusting.
“Shut him down,” my boss repeats. “Let’s teach him a lesson.”
I draw my chin up at those words. Owen needs taught that you can’t do what you want and give the rules the finger.
“Grab a hardhat from the back. Don’t want you busting that pretty noggin of yours and then suing me.”
Aaaand…moment over.
“Sure thing,” I reply blithely.
I grab a hardhat from the back and walk outside to my 2014 Hyundai the car salesman assured me was “reliable.” I don’t even miss the sleek black Audi RS I used to own. Okay, I do a little. But a car is a car. This gem will deliver me to Grand Marin just as well as that Audi.
Grand Marin is a soon-to-be massive live-work community. An open-air style shopping, dining, and retail area interspersed with offices for professionals as well as apartments for young, vibrant tenants who want to live in the middle of—or above—the action.
Live-works have been growing in popularity, and whenever there’s a trend, I’ve noticed the Owen family has their mitts all over it. I’ve never had any personal dealings with Owen, but I know rich people. They’re not that great.
As a former rich person, I speak from experience.
I also know that Gary, the city’s former mild-mannered inspector, came into the office with his bottom lip dragging the ground each and every time he had to deal with this site. Gary was a softie, and we all liked him. He was rocking a five-foot-three frame and had a shy way of watching his shoes when he talked. Then he blows up at Daniel? I wouldn’t have guessed he’d raised his voice a day in his life before today.
People can surprise you, though, and for me that should come as no surprise.
Gary’s despondence, and the possibility that he took a bribe, proves what a bulldog this Owen guy can be.
Bring it on, buddy. I’ve already been through the wringer.
Daniel’s grumping about the mayor isn’t totally inaccurate. Rumor has it the Owens grease palms. Mayor Dick Dolans might well be their pet.
I come to a stop the moment I merge onto the highway. So much for taking a shortcut. I-70 is a parking lot, and the heat index on the car’s thermometer reads 97° F.
Worse, I’m wearing a synthetic-but-made-to-look-like-real-silk shirt and it’s sticking to me like a second skin. Waves of heat waft off the road as if the cars are in the process of being melted down into one big metal glob. The month of June is going out like it has a score to settle.
Again: relate.
I crank the A/C down and rest a hand on the steering wheel. I refuse to panic. I’ll get to Grand Marin when I get there. I wish I would have dug up some much-needed intel about the site before Daniel rushed me out of there. I know next to nothing about it.
At least I’m wearing my nicest, most slimming pencil skirt and high heels. Not the best getup for tromping around a construction site, but it’s a good look when wanting to bust some billionaire balls. I smile to myself, straightening my shoulders.
I’m out for a win for the good guys. A win for justice. I picture myself as Wonder Woman and lift my chin. If she did it in a bustier and panties, I can do it in a pencil skirt and knockoff silk.
Ready or not, Nathaniel Owen, here I come.
