Chapter 3 - Heavy Machinery at Dawn
The roar of twin diesel excavators shattered the quiet mist of Radnor Township at precisely six-forty-five the following morning.
Harrison bolted upright in bed, tangled in his duvet, his face flushed with confusion and alarm. The floorboards vibrated with the deep, rhythmic thrum of pneumatic drills and hydraulic earthmovers.
"What the hell is that?" Harrison barked, stumbling to the window and throwing back the heavy blackout curtains.
Below in the overgrown backyard, a flatbed trailer bearing the bold gold lettering of Alderton Green Historic Restoration was parked along the perimeter driveway. Six crew members in high-visibility vests were already unloading pallets of hand-cut Pennsylvania blue stone, steel I-beams, and crates of structural glass. An excavator was clawing through the rotted perimeter boards of the collapsed greenhouse with violent efficiency.
"Lissa!" Harrison shouted, throwing on his silk bathrobe and storming down the stairs.
He burst out through the terrace French doors into the brisk morning air, waving his arms at the foreman. "Hey! Stop! What do you think you're doing? Who authorized you to tear up this lawn?"
Dale Mercer stepped around the side of the trailer, a clipboard under his arm, holding a mug of steaming coffee. "Morning. Mr. Teague, I presume?"
"I'm Harrison Teague! This is my private property, and I didn't authorize a single shovel on this grass! Get your trucks off my driveway before I call the township police!"
"Actually, Mr. Vance," Dale said mildly, checking a laminated municipal document attached to his board. "The deed of record lists the owner as Eleanor Teague Memorial Heritage Trust, with Mrs. Lissa Teague as the sole managing executrix. She executed the contract, cleared the permits yesterday afternoon, and paid the emergency commencement retainer in full."
Harrison froze, his jaw dropping open. "Paid? Paid with what? We don't have fifty grand lying around for gardening!"
"Good morning, Harrison."
Lissa walked around the side of the stone terrace. She wore dark denim work jeans, heavy leather boots, and a warm shearling jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a practical braid, and her eyes held a crystalline brilliance he had never seen before. In her hand, she held a warm thermal mug, which she handed to Dale with an easy, confident smile.
"Lissa, are you out of your mind?" Harrison hissed, grabbing her elbow and pulling her toward the porch out of earshot of the crew. "Did you take out a high-interest personal loan? Did you touch our emergency home equity line? I have payroll to meet on Friday! If you damaged my credit score over some dead weeds—"
"I didn't touch your credit, Harrison," she said, pulling her arm from his grip with a smooth, decisive motion that made him stagger back half an inch. "I didn't touch our joint account. And I certainly didn't touch your commercial commissions."
"Then where did you get fifty thousand dollars?" he demanded, veins pulsing at his temples.
Lissa looked toward the excavator lifting the rotted timber frame into the air. "My grandmother taught me that when a structure is rotten, you don't paint over it. You tear it down to the bedrock and build something that can survive the winter."
May you like
She turned back to him, her gaze so steady it made his chest tighten with inexplicable unease.
"Don't you have a breakfast meeting with Estelle Bowman at nine, Harrison? You wouldn't want to keep your biggest client waiting."
