“You’re getting good at this,” I said, reviewing the documents he’d prepared. “Might put me out of business.”
“Doubtful. I know enough to be dangerous, not enough to be competent.” He leaned back in his chair, coffee cup balanced on one knee. “Besides, I prefer cooking to paperwork. Just like knowing what I’m signing so nobody can take advantage.”
“Smart.”
“Learned that the hard way.” He smiled but there was an edge to it. “Early days, I signed things I shouldn’t have. Cost me money and sleep. Now I read everything twice.”
We finished reviewing the contracts and he refilled both our cups. He added a shot of whiskey to his without asking if I wanted the same. The afternoon sun came through the windows at an angle that made the amber liquid glow.
“I ran into Gianna,” I said finally. “At NYU.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. Not surprised exactly, but interested. “Did you?”
“We got coffee together.” I turned my cup, watching the whiskey swirl. “Talked for a while.”
“And?”
“And I’m considering offering her work.” The lie tasted wrong in my mouth, bitter and immediate. “My company could use someone with her perspective on tenant rights.”
Hector’s expression didn’t change but something in his eyes shifted. Like he could see straight through me and was choosing not to comment on what he found there.
“You want to know about her,” he said. Not a question.
“I want to know if she’s the right fit for the job.”
The silence stretched. Hector set his cup down carefully, precisely, like he was buying time to decide something.
“She might not want me discussing her business,” he said finally.
“I’m not asking for gossip. Just want to understand her better before I complicate things professionally.”
He studied me for a long moment. I kept my face neutral, the same expression I used in board meetings when I needed to hide what I was thinking.
“Gianna’s remarkable,” he said. “Smart, principled. She doesn’t compromise when it matters. She cares about tenant rights because it’s personal for her.”
My pulse kicked up. “How personal?”
“Her family was displaced ten years ago.” His voice went wary. “The development firm bought their building, pushed everyone out. You know how it works—buy cheap, renovate, triple the rent, call it revitalization.”
The room felt smaller suddenly, the afternoon sun too bright through the windows.
“The stress killed her father,” Hector continued. “Heart attack three weeks after they got the eviction notice. She was twenty-two, just started law school.”
I gripped my cup to keep my hands steady. “What company was responsible?”
“Devlin… wait, isn’t that your dad’s before?” He took a drink from his glass.
Brooklyn. Ten years ago. Hundreds of families. Each word landed like a hammer strike. I just nodded.
“That’s why she does what she does,” he continued.
I smiled like this was just useful information, like my entire world wasn’t collapsing around me.
“She’s tough,” Hector said. “Tougher than she looks. But she’s been hurt enough for one lifetime. So if you’re serious about working with her—or whatever this actually is—remember that.”
“I will,” I managed. “And, could you, maybe, not tell her about my father?” I didn’t tell Hector that it was actually me who orchestrated that.
He nodded in understanding. “Sure, man.”
