Finn nodded, his attention already shifting to the exposed ceiling where they’d removed damaged drywall yesterday. The temporary plastic sheeting rustled with each new gust of wind that found its way through the building’s old bones.
“Where’s Ollie?” Brendan asked, glancing around the quiet store. “I expected him to be bouncing off the walls by now, offering us coffee and cracking jokes.”
“He’s in the office,” Finn replied, gesturing toward the rear of the store. “He’s been on the phone since we got here.”
He didn’t add that Ollie’s usual warmth had been noticeably absent this morning. No coffee waiting, no rambling greetings—just a distracted wave and a tight smile before retreating to take a call. The contrast to yesterday’s animated lunch conversation was stark enough that even Brendan seemed to have picked up on it.
“Insurance stuff still?” Brendan asked, setting down his toolbox with a thud that echoed through the empty store.
“Sounds like it.” Finn checked his watch. “The rest of the crew should be here in twenty. Let’s get started on that section we marked yesterday.”
They worked in companionable silence, setting up ladders and laying down additional protective sheeting. Finn’s body ached from using muscles that weren’t engaged when working in the office, but he needed to do something. The alternative was to hover, and that would just piss everyone off.
Ollie emerged from the office, phone still clutched in his hand. The shadows under his eyes had deepened overnight, and his hair looked like he’d been repeatedly running his hands through the curls.
“Sorry about that,” Ollie said, his voice missing its usual lilt. “Insurance adjusters are apparently allergic to giving straight answers. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I have a demeanor that screams ‘please, confuse me with bureaucratic doublespeak.’”
The attempt at humor fell flat, his smile not reaching his eyes.
“No problem,” Finn said, keeping his tone neutral despite his concern. “We’re just getting set up.”
Ollie nodded, gaze drifting to the exposed ceiling. “Any new insights on the damage? Now that you’ve had a chance to really look at it?”
Something in his voice—a thin thread of hope wrapped around resignation—made Finn hesitate.
“We’ll know more once we remove the rest of the damaged ceiling,” he said carefully. “But I’m still cautiously optimistic we can get this fixed without major structural work.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The water damage looked worse with every sheet of drywall they removed, spreading farther than his initial assessment had indicated.
“Right. Optimistic. That’s good.” Ollie pushed his glasses up. “I should let you get to it then. I’ll be around if you need anything. I need to figure out a display for the front windows. The community Facebook group is already speculating that we’ve shut down, so I want to make it clear we’re open for business.”
As Ollie moved away, Brendan caught Finn’s eye, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Finn shook his head slightly—not now—and returned to his work, though his attention remained split.
The rest of the crew arrived, and the real work began. Finn kept noticing Ollie’s increasingly frequent calls, catching fragments of hushed, tense conversations:
“…they said the policy has a percentage deductible…”
“…adjuster says they need more documentation.”
“I know, Dad, but we can’t just…”
By mid-morning, the rain had intensified. Finn was balanced on a ladder, carefully removing a section of drywall near where the worst leak had occurred, when he spotted it—a dark, mottled pattern spreading across the wooden joists above. He was no expert, but that didn't look good.
“Brendan,” he called, voice low but urgent. “I need you to take a look at this.”
His brother climbed up the adjacent ladder, whistling low when he saw what Finn was pointing at. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Finn agreed grimly. “It’s not.”
The mold growth was extensive, spreading along the wooden supports in a pattern that suggested it had been developing well before the washing machine incident. As optimistic as Ollie could be at times, Finn doubted he’d be able to see the silver lining. It was a wonder no one who worked here had gotten sick from exposure already.
“We need to stop work and get a mold remediation specialist in here,” Finn said, already climbing down. “This changes everything.”
Brendan nodded, following him down. “Want me to call Keaton?”
“Yeah. And I need to talk to Ollie.” Finn ran a hand through his hair. “This is going to complicate things significantly.”
“Financially, you mean,” Brendan said quietly.
