“City construction,” Caleb says smoothly, settling into his chair like nothing happened.“Turned a fifteen-minute drive into an hour.”
Before anyone can probe further, Iris storms out of her office, her face pale and her hands shaking as she clutches her phone.
“We have a problem,” she announces, her voice tight with barely controlled panic.“A big one.”
I straighten immediately, my personal drama forgotten.“What kind of problem?”
“Martin Brewster just called.”She runs a hand through her blonde hair, looking more rattled than I’ve ever seen her.“He’s backing out of the Serastra project.”
My blood goes cold.Martin Brewster—the master woodworker from Maine who specializes in traditional yacht restoration techniques.He was supposed to be our centerpiece craftsman, the one whose reputation would legitimize our entire heritage angle.
“What?Why?”
“Someone offered him triple our fee to work on a competing yacht launch.”Iris’s voice cracks slightly.“And he said they made him a better offer with a more flexible timeline.Apparently the other company has no problem paying the fees for his contract breach.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.“When did this happen?”
“This morning.And that’s not all.”She looks around our small group with barely concealed panic.“The other two have pulled out as well—Leonardo, the metalsmith from Newport, and Vince, the leather specialist from Italy.All citing better offers elsewhere.”
My hands clench into fists.A month of work.A month of building relationships with these craftsmen, of carefully coordinating schedules and securing commitments.All destroyed in a single morning.
“How long do we have?”I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
“The board presentation is in seventy-two hours,” Iris says.“If we can’t replace these vendors and prove the event is still viable, they’ll pull funding for the entire Serastra relaunch.And we can kiss our jobs goodbye.They’re going to do a complete overhaul of the Marketing Department.”
The office falls silent.Seventy-two hours to rebuild what took a month to construct.It’s still nearly impossible, but at least we have more than two days.
“First things first,” I say, my mind racing.“We need to try to get them back.What exactly did they say?Maybe we can counter-offer.”
“Martin was pretty firm,” Iris says.“But you’re right.We should at least try.I have the numbers for all three.”
“I’ll call Martin,” I volunteer, already reaching for my phone.“Caleb, can you try the metalsmith?Steven, you take the leather specialist.”
“On it,” Steven says, pulling up his contact list.
Caleb nods, his expression serious.“What’s our ceiling for counter-offers?”
“We can go up to double our original offer,” Iris says.“But that’s pushing our budget to the limit.”
I dial Martin’s number, my heart pounding.The phone rings twice before his gravelly voice answers.
“Brewster.”
“Martin, it’s Eve Lopez from Thalvyn Maritime.I understand there’s been a development with our project.”
There’s a long pause.“Eve, look, I like you folks, I really do.But this other offer?—”
“What if we could match it?”I interrupt.“What would it take to keep you on our project?”
Another pause.“You’re talking about a lot of money, Eve.Triple your original offer, plus they’re giving me complete creative control and a shorter timeline.”
My heart sinks.“What if we could offer double, plus creative control?”
“I’m sorry, Eve.I already shook hands on it.My word is my bond.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone in disbelief, muttering, “Greedy fucker.He gave us his word, too.”
“Any luck?”Caleb asks, hanging up his own phone.
