Chapter 18 - The Lawsuit
The lawsuit accused my firm of tortious interference, business disparagement, and conspiracy.
It named me personally.
It named the company.
It named June.
Not Tessa.
I was grateful for that until I realized why.
They wanted the younger employee frightened enough to leave.
The complaint demanded twelve million dollars.
June read that number and laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes absurdity was the only alternative to panic.
“I don’t have twelve million dollars.”
“Neither do I.”
“Do we combine our accounts?”
“We’d still be several million short.”
Andrew was less amused.
“This is serious even if the claims are weak.”
“How weak?”
“Some may be subject to early dismissal. But litigation costs money.”
I knew.
That was the point.
Halcyon wanted expense to become punishment.
Our insurer appointed defense counsel, but coverage questions emerged because some allegations involved intentional conduct.
More lawyers.
More documents.
More hours not spent on clients.
Three days later, Tessa resigned.
She came into my office holding a letter.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I really am.”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“My parents are terrified. My father keeps sending me articles. He thinks Halcyon will subpoena my phone.”
“They might.”
Her eyes filled.
“I can’t do this.”
I stood and hugged her.
“Then don’t.”
She cried harder.
That evening, after she left, I closed her office door and sat alone at my desk.
For the first time since Piermont began, I wondered whether stopping would be wiser.
Not surrender.
Settlement.
Halcyon had already floated one through counsel.
Withdraw from the designation process.
State publicly that reasonable professionals could disagree about Piermont.
Pay nothing.
Everyone walks away.
The building would almost certainly be demolished.
June found me staring at the proposal.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was thinking.”
“I know your face.”
“We’re losing work.”
“We’ll get other work.”
“Tessa quit.”
“She’s twenty-six and scared. I would be too.”
“You have a mortgage.”
“So do you.”
“I brought this into the firm.”
June sat opposite me.
“You know what I hate?”
“What?”
“You still think leadership means being the only person allowed to choose risk.”
I looked at her.
“You didn’t choose this lawsuit.”
“I chose to become your partner last year.”
“That was before this.”
“Yes. That is generally how future risk works.”
I leaned back.
June’s expression softened.
“If you want to settle because the history isn’t strong enough, say that. If you want to settle because preserving Piermont would hurt the community, say that. But don’t settle because you’ve decided none of us are allowed to stand beside you.”
I stared at the proposal.
She was right.
Which was irritating.
Daniel said something similar that night.
Not that I should fight.
Not that I should settle.
That the decision had to be about the issue, not my reflex to protect everyone by disappearing.
The next morning, I asked our team for a formal project-risk meeting.
Tessa attended even though she had resigned.
So did our freelance researchers.
We reviewed everything.
Historical significance.
Financial exposure.
Public impact.
The designation process.
Halcyon’s redevelopment proposal.
Then our engineer, Carlos Mendes, raised a point none of us had fully considered.
“Why is everyone assuming the entire hall has to remain?”
I looked at him.
“What are you proposing?”
“The river elevation and main assembly space appear to hold most of the significant fabric. The northern warehouse section is heavily altered.”
June leaned forward.
“Partial preservation?”
“Possibly.”
Daniel had mentioned similar ideas, but I had avoided appearing compromised.
That was foolish.
Compromise was not corruption when it preserved the thing that mattered.
Within ten days, we developed an alternative concept.
Preserve the historic hall.
Adapt it as public community space.
Allow demolition of later additions.
Build housing on the remaining parcel.
Maintain river access.
We did not design the project fully.
We demonstrated feasibility.
Then something unexpected happened.
A nonprofit housing organization asked to join the conversation.
So did a labor-history foundation.
The argument stopped being SAVE IT versus TEAR IT DOWN.
It became What can this site become?
Halcyon hated that.
Because possibilities were harder to attack than opposition.
Then Rachel’s attorney contacted Andrew.
She was prepared to provide information to regulators.
Not to us.
To the state attorney general’s office.
The subject was not Piermont alone.
It involved document handling across four Halcyon projects.
Andrew looked at me across his conference table.
“This may change the litigation.”
“How?”
“If regulators open an investigation, Halcyon’s lawyers will become far more interested in controlling discovery.”
“Meaning?”
“They may want the lawsuit gone.”
Two days later, Halcyon requested a confidential settlement conference.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I remembered Adrian’s expression at lunch.
People told me you were difficult.
For years, difficult had been a word used to describe women who refused to become convenient.
I looked at Andrew.
“I’ll attend.”
Then my phone rang.
Catherine.
Her voice was shaking.
May you like
“Laura, it’s Hugh.”
Everything else disappeared.
