Page 96 of Collateral Damage
I know what she’s weighing. I know her well enough to know that whatever she decides, she will have counted every single cost first—she always does—and she won’t be talked out of it once the decision is made.
I look at the file sitting face down on the desk. Then I bow my head for a moment, release a slow, controlled breath, and give it to the Lord.
Adena is His to carry.
Not mine. Not even Jagger’s.
The final file is the Baltimore office assessment.
Caleb pulled three properties. I asked for one recommendation. He gave me three anyway, which is his way of telling me he has opinions I haven't officially asked for yet.
I look at the first one. Wrong side of the city. Twenty-five minutes from Greenfield on a good day. Baltimore does not have good days between seven and nine in the morning.
The second is better. Inner harbor. Rooftop access is already rated for a helipad. Twelve minutes from Johns Hopkins. Six from Greenfield. The building is half-vacant, which allows for a flexible configuration; I can build it the way I build everything—from the ground up, the right way, without inheriting someone else's flawed decisions.
I look at the spec sheet for a long moment.
It’s a good building.
It isn’t Jericho. But it is close enough to what matters now.
The door opens, and I already know who it’ll be. My father is the only person at Jericho who doesn't knock.
He lays a suit bag over the wingback chair and steps back. “You need to wear this.”
"Is that your way of saying the suit I’m wearing won’t impress the board?" I ask.
He settles into another chair. "This is my way of saying that every detail about how you present this to them matters."
"They’re not happy," I say.
"No," he agrees. "They’re not." He leans forward, forearms on his knees. "A Baltimore office means a reduced presence here. It means restructuring how you run operations. It means change, and the board has never been fond of change."
"It's the right decision."
"I know that," he says. "You know that." He pauses. "They need convincing that your attention won’t be split."
I look out the window. The grounds. Forty-five acres of sanctuary.
"It's not abandoning Jericho; I’m expanding operations," I say.
"Then say that," he commands. "You have an hour before the board arrives," he says. "Your team is waiting in the ready room for a brief."
My gut tightens. “Since when? There haven’t been any unscheduled arrivals.”
Dad just opens his hands. “What did you expect? For them to announce their presence? You taught them better than that.”
He has a point.
And if they’re worried about the changes, it’s my job to reassure them.
It takes twenty minutes to get into the suit.
The shirt takes five of them. My father works the buttons from the bottom while I manage the top. Neither of us says a word.
He ties the knot himself.
The pants are easy.
