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“This new buildingis now the second tallest building in New Orleans. Coming in at six-hundred-and-eighty-one feet, it’s sixteen feet shorter than the Hancock and thirty-six feet taller than the Place St. Charles. Developers plan to fill the first floor with retail shops and restaurants, while the other floors will house a combination of office and living spaces. It’s exciting to see new growth in the Central Business District and the potential business a state-of-the-art building like this could bring in.”
When Brian gives me the thumbs up, I let my shoulders relax.
“Did we get it?” I ask, walking over to him.
“Yeah, I think so.”
We huddle around the camera and watch a quick playback.
“This, with the interviews we got earlier, will be great.”
Brian nods. “Yeah, and I’ve also got all of the footage from the ribbon cutting ceremony.”
“Great, let’s get loaded up so I can get back to the station and edit all of this before we have to head to the stadium later. I think I’ll run across the street and grab a coffee. Do you want anything?”
“An iced Americano, please and thank you,” he says, already walking toward the van. “I’ll make the block and pick you up in front of the shop.”
As I head down the sidewalk to the little deli on the corner that sells everything from po’ boys to lattes, I have my head down, checking messages on my phone when my shoulder bumps into someone.
“Sorry,” I say, before looking up and meeting a familiar set of eyes.
“Greer,” my father says, sounding almost as caught off-guard as I feel. Not that the thought of seeing him hadn’t crossed my mind. Hawthorne Communications is in the building across the street from where we’ve been filming this morning. But since I don’t know his schedule anymore, I had no clue if he was even in the state, let alone the office.
“Sterling,” I reply back, using his first name like he always instructed me to do when we’re in public.
He adjusts his tie and clears his throat before turning his attention back to me, obviously not prepared to deal with me today.
“I’m assuming you’re down here reporting on the grand opening.”
“Yeah, just finished up.”
God, could this be more awkward?
Just as I’m about to make my excuses and leave, he looks at me, like really looks at me for what might be the first time in five years. “A detective called me recently.” His brows furrow in what seems like genuine concern, maybe not for me per se, but at least for the situation. “He mentioned that someone has been harassing and stalking you, and also implied I might have something to do with it, but I can assure you I do not.”
I might not like my father, but I can read him. That’s something you learn to do when you grow up in a house with Sterling Hawthorne. You know his body language and expressions. When he’s looking at you without distraction, a levelness to his voice, there’s truth in his words—albeit good or bad.
“Okay.”
That’s the only response I can come up with. Thank you doesn’t seem right. I’m not thankful, because all this time I thought there was a chance my family was behind the notes and emails. There was a part of me that hoped it was them, a scare tactic to bring me back to the fold.
As crazy as it sounds, that would’ve made sense in my world.
I could’ve dealt with that.
But the fact my father is standing here, point blank telling me it’s not, sends a cold chill down my spine. Because if it’s not the Hawthornes, then that means it’s a stranger.
And the enemy you don’t know is much more frightening than the enemy you know.
“Well, I have to go,” I say, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Tell my mother I said hello.”
He doesn’t say anything as I walk away.
Why would he?
The day he told me I was on my own and no longer part of the equation was the day I realized I no longer had a family. Not that they were great or anything, but they were all I had.
When I hop into the van with coffees and sandwiches, Brian eyes me suspiciously.
