Chapter 22 - The Price of My Name
They came after my business exactly as Lucian predicted.
Monday morning, a hotel client postponed construction.
Tuesday, a bank withdrew financing from a restaurant project.
Wednesday, the city requested an “additional design review” on a permit that had already been approved.
Thursday, my landlord informed me the building owner had received an offer to buy the entire floor.
By Friday, I was furious.
“Congratulations,” my project manager, Naomi Chen, said while pouring terrible office coffee. “You officially have enemies rich enough to weaponize zoning.”
“I always dreamed of professional success.”
My phone rang.
Evelyn Caldwell.
I considered ignoring it.
Then answered.
“Harper.”
“Evelyn.”
“I heard about the permit issues.”
“News travels.”
“I can help.”
That surprised me.
“How?”
“Caldwell & Rowe still has relationships at City Hall.”
I leaned back.
“What do you want?”
She was silent.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“I handled your situation badly.”
“You asked me to disappear because my fiancé was being investigated.”
“I was afraid.”
“I know.”
“That doesn't excuse it.”
No.
But it was more honesty than I'd expected.
“We lost four designers after you left,” she continued. “Two clients followed you.”
“I didn't solicit them.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“I underestimated what you built here.”
I looked through the glass wall of my small studio.
Naomi was arguing with a vendor.
A junior designer was pinning material samples to a board.
It wasn't glamorous.
But it was mine.
“What are you offering?”
“A partnership.”
I laughed.
“Not employment. Partnership between firms. Your studio keeps its identity.”
“For what project?”
“The Lakeshore Children's Hospital expansion.”
I sat forward.
That was a ninety-million-dollar redevelopment.
“Why me?”
“Because you understand secure architecture better than anyone in Chicago now.”
I almost smiled.
“And because?”
“Because the Moretti council leaned on one of our board members to blacklist you.”
My smile disappeared.
Evelyn's voice hardened.
“I don't like being told which designers I'm allowed to work with.”
Maybe people could grow.
Even people who disappointed you.
“Send me the proposal.”
“I already did.”
I opened my inbox.
There it was.
That afternoon, I told Lucian.
He smiled.
“You should take it.”
“You haven't seen the numbers.”
“I don't need to.”
“This isn't your decision.”
“I know.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You're getting better at that.”
“Painfully.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
It showed my father.
Standing outside his Michigan home.
My stomach dropped.
Beneath it was a message.
WALK AWAY FROM MORETTI.
OR PEOPLE YOU LEFT BEHIND WILL PAY.
Lucian saw my face.
“What?”
I turned the phone.
Everything about him changed.
Gideon was called.
My father and I had barely spoken in years.
He had always considered my career impractical.
After my mother died, we drifted farther apart until holiday texts replaced conversations.
But distance did not mean I wanted him threatened.
Gideon made one call.
“He's safe. We have local police checking.”
I stared at the photograph.
“This came from the council?”
“Maybe,” Lucian said.
“Maybe?”
“The wording is crude.”
“You think someone else?”
“I think Mason created chaos that many people now benefit from.”
My father called ten minutes later.
“Harper?”
Hearing his voice shook me.
“Dad.”
“Police just showed up.”
“I know.”
“What did you get involved in?”
The old judgment was there.
Normally I would have become defensive.
This time I was too tired.
“I'm engaged.”
Silence.
“To the Moretti man?”
“Yes.”
“The one on television?”
“Yes.”
“For God's sake, Harper.”
I closed my eyes.
Then he surprised me.
“Are you safe?”
I opened them.
“Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
I looked at Lucian.
He waited quietly across the room.
“Yes.”
My father's voice softened.
“Then I guess that's what matters.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“I should have called you sooner.”
“Probably.”
“You could have called me too.”
“Probably.”
We both laughed awkwardly.
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it was a door.
After the call ended, Lucian touched my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“I think so.”
Then Gideon's phone rang.
He listened.
His face darkened.
“What?”
“The photograph of Harper's father.”
“Yes?”
“It wasn't taken recently.”
“How old?”
“Six years.”
I frowned.
“Then why use it?”
Gideon looked at Lucian.
“To scare her without risking a live surveillance team.”
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
“Which means the sender has old personal files.”
Kyle.
Vantage.
Mason.
Or someone who had access before any of them.
Gideon looked at me.
“We traced the number.”
My stomach tightened.
“To where?”
May you like
He turned the screen.
Caldwell & Rowe.
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