I nod.
Her shoulders tighten. “You think it’s bad?”
“I think Laramie doesn’t spook easy.”
Bailey sets her cup down. “She said to call her first thing. It’s barely six.”
“Then we’re first.”
She presses the speaker icon before I can protest. The phone rings once. Twice.
Laramie answers, voice too sharp for morning. “Wright.”
“We’re both here,” Bailey says.
I add, “What did you find?”
“The grant came from the foundation, yes—but the matching-fund clause? That was added later. A supplemental file uploaded by a secondary reviewer.”
Bailey frowns. “Meaning?”
“Meaning someone piggybacked the legitimate approval with a condition that doesn’t exist. Someone inside the process inserted a fake clause designed to make you default.”
I grip the counter. “To disqualify her?”
“Exactly,” Laramie says. “And if you default, the lighthouse goes to the backup preservation entity—Sanford Coastal Media.”
I swallow. “David.”
“Or the people above him,” Laramie says. “Follow the letterhead, and you’ll see a holding company three layers deep. I’m sending you the documents now.”
My phone buzzes with the email. It’s all there—stamps, signatures, falsified dates. Someone’s been playing chess while we’ve been playing checkers.
Bailey’s voice shakes. “Can we fix it?”
“Yes,” Laramie says. “But quietly. Public filings could take months. If you push too hard, they’ll counter with injunctions. Let me work some angles first.”
Bailey nods, even though the agent can’t see her. “Do what you need to. Just… tell me if it’s going to cost us more than the lighthouse.”
Laramie’s silence says enough.
After the call, Bailey leans against the counter, staring at the charm on her wrist. The one I gave her.
“You okay?” I ask.
She laughs, short and tired. “Define ‘okay’.”
“Breathing.”
“Barely.”
I take the mug from her hand, set it aside, and pull her against me. “We’ve beaten worse.”
She presses her face into my chest. “You make it sound like a game.”
“No,” I whisper. “Like a promise.”
For a long time, we just stand there, the coffee cooling between us.
