Page 1 of Angel’s Doll

1

DOLL

The lawyer says recorded for the fourth time, and the fourth time is the one that lands. He’s a senior partner who doesn’t mind repeating himself. Neither would I, at his hourly rate.

My uncle stands at the head of the long glass table, tie pulled loose, a fan of title printouts in front of him like a hand of cards he already knows is dead.

“It’s recorded, Mr. Hale,” he says again. “It’s permanent. The easements run with the land. No commercial development on that parcel. Not now, not in ten years. Not ever.”

My uncle keeps finding new ways to ask the same question, and the lawyer keeps handing him the same answer. He’s been doing that for a week now, ever since he learned the easements were filed and he started looking for a way around the word permanent.

Can we challenge the filing? No. Buy out the conservancy? You don’t buy out of a conservation easement. That’s the whole point of one.

I stand against the wall by the credenza where I’ve stood through a hundred meetings. Close enough to be useful, far enough away not to exist. This is the good conference room, the one Halcyon uses for investors: glass on every side, thirty-two floors up, the Sound gone flat and gray behind everyone’s panic.

Down the hall a printer spits out fresh copies of the title report, as if new ones might say what the first didn’t.

Victor refreshes the county portal over and over. The public record cannot un-record itself between clicks. He usually doesn’t touch a keyboard, especially not during meetings. He has people like me for that. But today he’s doing it himself, fast.

“Tell me how,” he says.

I tune out the answer. The how doesn’t matter. The outcome is all that’s left in the room. It’s done, it’s permanent, and the coastline meant to be the best thing Victor Hale ever dreamt of building can never become what Victor promised it would be.

He’s angry.

I grew up under his anger. It doesn’t scare me anymore.

But there’s more. It takes me a second to identify it on him.

It’s fear.

And here’s what I hate: the fear jumps from him to me before I can stop it. Not for the project. Not for him. For me.

If Halcyon goes under, so does he, and I’ll lose the studio where I live, the car I drive, the phone I use.

Everything he holds over me, he also holds up against me. I should want him to lose. I would be free. But he’s the devil I know.

His phone lights up. He turns it over without a glance.

He moves to the window and drops his voice. Marianne Voss follows him. She’s his in-house counsel, the witch who makes his most aggressive moves come out technically clean. They put their backs to the room.

I’m at the credenza, closer than they think, refilling water nobody’s drinking.

“The money’s already spent. I used it to buy all the land,” Victor says, low. “He’s coming over. What do I tell him?”

“That it’s the cost of doing business.” Voss shrugs. “Nobody wins them all. He’ll have to take the loss.”

“He doesn’t take losses.” Victor’s voice drops further. “You know what he is, Marianne. You know what people like him do to those who come up short.”

She says a few more words I don’t catch. Then she turns and speaks up.

“Thank you,” she says to the outside counsel. “We got it. We’re done here.”

The senior partner packs his briefcase and I walk him to the elevator.

In the foyer, Victor’s next appointment is already waiting. He’s early.

Ian Durey.