Chapter 1 - The Price of Staying
“For keeping my own chair on the same patch of pavement,” Claire said.
Daniel looked toward the corner where Grant Nolan had disappeared.
“Did he give you an invoice?”
“No.”
“A payment address?”
“He said he’d come back.”
Daniel’s expression changed. Not dramatically. His mouth simply lost its easy shape, and the man who usually seemed unhurried became very still.
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
Claire folded her arms.
“You planning to shine his shoes until he confesses?”
“Claire.”
The seriousness in his voice unsettled her.
She repeated the conversation. The five thousand dollars. The redevelopment project. The promise that her paperwork could become difficult.
When she finished, Daniel held out his hand.
“May I see the notice?”
She hesitated before passing it over.
He read every line.
Then he turned it over, as though the back might contain something worse.
“Have you submitted your renewal?”
“Three weeks ago. Paid the posted fee, too.”
“Do you have the receipt?”
“At home.”
“Keep it somewhere safe.”
She took the notice back.
“Why would I need to keep a receipt safe?”
Before he answered, Maya approached from her flower cart.
Her hands were shaking.
“Claire,” she said quietly. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this out here.”
Daniel stepped aside, giving the women space.
Claire studied her friend.
“How much did you pay?”
Maya looked down.
“Three thousand.”
Claire felt something hot rise behind her ribs.
“When?”
“Last Tuesday.”
“Did he give you a receipt?”
“A consulting company sent me one.”
“For flowers?”
“For compliance assistance.”
Daniel turned toward them.
“What company?”
Maya’s gaze moved to his suit, his watch, the leather briefcase beside the stand.
“I don’t know you.”
It was a simple statement.
He accepted it.
“You’re right.”
He took a business card from his wallet but did not push it toward her.
“My name is Daniel Mercer. If you decide you want to share the invoice, I can help you find out whether the company is connected to the project.”
Claire heard the careful wording.
Connected to the project.
Not whether it was legitimate.
“How much do you already know?” she asked.
Daniel looked at her.
“Not enough.”
Across the square, the courthouse clock struck eleven.
Maya returned to her cart when a customer approached, leaving the question between them.
Claire lowered her voice.
“You can’t fix this by leaving more money.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His answer took a moment.
“I’m beginning to.”
That afternoon, Claire went to the municipal services building.
The clerk behind the permit counter searched her name, frowned, and searched again.
“Your renewal is flagged.”
“For what?”
“Additional review.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t have access to that screen.”
“Who does?”
The clerk glanced toward a closed office.
Claire followed her gaze.
A woman inside stood beside a desk, speaking with Nolan.
He noticed Claire through the glass.
He smiled.
It was the same smile he had given her after naming the price.
Claire placed her receipt on the counter.
“I paid everything the application required.”
“I understand.”
“Then give me a written explanation of what’s missing.”
The clerk’s fingers hovered above the keyboard.
After a long pause, she printed a page.
Across the top were four words.
PENDING REDEVELOPMENT IMPACT REVIEW.
There was no list of missing documents.
No additional fee.
No explanation.
Claire folded the paper carefully.
Behind the glass, Nolan stopped smiling.
When she returned to the square, Daniel was waiting near her stand.
She was too tired to argue.
“Congratulations,” she said. “The city has invented a problem even its own clerk can’t explain.”
He did not reach for the paper.
“Would you consider speaking to an independent attorney?”
“With what money?”
“There are organizations that handle small-business matters.”
“And if they’re full?”
“We can find out.”
She looked toward the stand.
Her father’s brushes sat exactly where she had left them. One had a pale groove in the handle from the pressure of his thumb.
Thirty-one years of mornings.
Thirty-one years of opening the box, setting out the polish, saying hello.
She could not bear the thought of losing all of it because a man with a badge had discovered she was frightened.
“Fine,” she said. “One phone call.”
Daniel nodded.
Then his own phone rang.
The name on the screen was visible before he turned it away.
WARREN HALE.
Claire recognized it.
Everyone downtown recognized it.
Hale was the development executive whose photograph had appeared beside the mayor’s beneath the headline announcing Jefferson Square’s future.
Daniel silenced the call.
Claire stared at him.
“Why is Warren Hale calling you?”
A delivery truck passed behind them.
Somewhere near the fountain, a child began laughing.
Daniel looked at the little wooden stand.
May you like
Then back at her.
“Because,” he said, “he works with me.”
