Page 21 of Shattered Crown
I hadn't argued with her. I never argued with her. But I hadn't pulled Evie from the foundation, either.
I set the phone down without responding.
Through the windshield, I watched a woman push a stroller past the foundation's entrance. A man on a bicycle wove through traffic, narrowly missing a delivery truck. Two teenagers sat on the steps of the building next door, sharing a bag of chips, laughing at something on one of their phones.
Ordinary life. Going on all around me.
My phone rang. Not Margaret this time. Richard, calling directly.
"I told Margaret I'd call you in the morning."
"I know. But there's a development." Richard's voice was tight. "The zoning board moved up their timeline. We need an answer by six p.m. today or we lose the variance."
I checked my watch. 3:52. I could make it. "What are our options?"
"We accept their conditions and proceed with the modified plan, or we walk away and start the process over. Starting over means six months minimum, probably closer to nine."
Nine months. The Chicago project was supposed to break ground in August. Nine months of delays meant missing the spring tourism season, meant cost overruns, meant explaining to the board why a sure thing had become a question mark.
"What are their conditions?"
"Reduced height on the east tower. Fifteen percent more green space. Contribution to the community development fund."
"How much of a contribution?"
"Two million."
I did the math. The reduced height would cost us twelve units on the top three floors. At projected sale prices, that was roughly eighteen million in lost revenue. The green space requirementwould eat into the retail footprint, another three million. The community contribution was negligible by comparison.
I made a decision. "Counter with ten percent green space and one-point-five on the contribution. Tell them we'll accept the height reduction."
"That's a significant concession on the height."
"The height was always negotiable. The retail footage isn't." I watched a pigeon land on the roof of the car in front of me, pecking at something invisible. "Make the call, Richard. Get it done."
"Understood."
He hung up. I sat in silence.
3:56.
The foundation doors opened, and Evie emerged, arms full of poster boards. She was talking to someone behind her, who I recognized as Priya. She’d made sure to introduce herself the first time I dropped Evie off. The woman was laughing at something Evie had said. My daughter, making people laugh.
She spotted the car and waved. I raised my hand in response. She said something else to Priya, who nodded and went back inside. Then Evie headed toward me, her face flushed, her eyes bright.
She was happy. Genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy. When was the last time I'd been able to give her that?
She opened the back door, dumped the poster boards, and jumped into the passenger seat beside me, but not before passing my phone to me. "Sorry, we ran late. There was a thing with the banner for the health fair and Aria needed help…"
"It's fine."
"...and then Maria showed up, the woman I told you about? The one whose cancer they caught early? She brought cookies for everyone and she cried when she thanked Aria and it was amazing, Dad, you should have seen it…"
"Seatbelt."
She clicked it into place without pausing. "Aria says Maria's prognosis is really good. Like a ninety-something percent survival rate because they found it so early. Ninety-something percent, Dad. Because of the foundation. Because of the work we're doing."
We. There it was again.
