Chapter 24 - A City Between Us
I did not accept the Seattle work because Daniel was there.
That distinction mattered to me.
It mattered enough that I made June score the opportunity independently.
She gave it an eighty-seven out of one hundred.
“Strong fee. Good visibility. Interesting historic component. Irritating travel.”
“Would you accept?”
“Yes.”
“Even without Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying that because you want me to stop asking?”
“Also yes.”
We took the project.
For the next four months, I traveled to Seattle twice.
The first time, Daniel met me outside baggage claim holding a cardboard sign.
LAURA BENNETT, DIFFICULT CONSULTANT.
I stared at him.
“You understand divorce lawyers still exist.”
He kissed me.
“I missed you.”
His apartment was small and temporary.
One mug.
Two plates.
No art except a site map taped to the wall.
I realized he had not built a second life.
He had built a work camp with decent coffee.
That helped.
The Seattle site was fascinating.
An old ferry maintenance structure was being incorporated into the public-space plan.
My role involved assessing what historic fabric could remain without compromising flood protection and accessibility.
Daniel and I disagreed by noon.
“The wall blocks circulation,” he said.
“The wall is one of the few surviving elements that explains the building.”
“The building also needs to function.”
“Then design harder.”
His associate slowly backed away from the table.
Daniel folded his arms.
“You know I’m technically your client here.”
“No. Your firm is.”
“Comforting.”
We argued professionally for forty minutes.
Then his engineer proposed cutting two new openings while preserving most of the wall.
Everyone stared at the drawing.
It worked.
Daniel looked at me.
“Annoying.”
“Extremely.”
That evening, we walked along the water.
“I liked today,” he said.
“You liked losing?”
“I liked that you didn’t agree with me because we’re married.”
“I considered it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He knew me.
Back in New York, Piermont received formal landmark designation for the historic assembly-hall section.
The later additions remained eligible for redevelopment.
Construction financing was restructured.
The affordable housing component survived.
Barely.
At the designation ceremony, Margaret Price sat in the front row.
She was eighty-two now and used a cane.
When Eleanor’s name was read into the official record, Margaret took my hand.
“My father would have liked this.”
“I think Eleanor would have complained we took too long.”
Margaret laughed.
“Definitely.”
Hugh attended through video because travel remained difficult.
He insisted everyone could hear him.
Everyone could not.
Catherine spent fifteen minutes explaining the mute button.
Afterward, Naomi approached me.
“Can we talk?”
“About?”
“Adrian.”
My mood changed.
The attorney general’s civil investigation had expanded.
Halcyon had reached a cooperation agreement, though details remained confidential.
Adrian had filed a wrongful termination suit.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“He intends to subpoena you.”
I stared at her.
“For what?”
“He claims the company acted because of outside pressure from you and Hugh Whitmore.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“Can he do it?”
“He can try.”
Andrew confirmed it later.
Subpoenas were not findings.
They were demands.
We could challenge scope.
We could object.
But Adrian wanted discovery into my communications with Halcyon, Whitmore, Marcus, Rachel, and others.
He wanted to recreate the narrative he had always preferred.
Laura Bennett as manipulator.
Laura Bennett as vindictive former wife.
Laura Bennett as the hidden hand behind his collapse.
I sat in Andrew’s office feeling tired.
“Does this ever end?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He smiled sympathetically.
“Not on a schedule I control.”
Daniel called that night from Seattle.
I told him.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me home?”
My first instinct was yes.
My second was to refuse.
I examined both.
“When is your next critical site meeting?”
“Tuesday.”
“And today is Thursday.”
“Yes.”
“Come home after Tuesday.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“I can come tomorrow.”
“I know.”
That was why I did not need him to.
He arrived Wednesday morning.
At noon, a process server came to my office.
The subpoena was fifty-three pages.
June watched me flip through it.
“Should we frame this too?”
“Only if we win.”
Rachel entered holding coffee.
She looked at the first page.
Then her face changed.
“What?”
She pointed to a document category.
“He’s asking for communications about Project Northline.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have any.”
“I know.”
Rachel’s eyes widened.
“But I do.”
Silence.
“What is Project Northline?” I asked.
She sat slowly.
“The project where I first realized Adrian was altering reports.”
May you like
Piermont had never been the beginning.
And Adrian had just made the mistake of asking for the evidence himself.
