"No," he agrees. "It's not."
We look at each other for a beat too long. Then he sets money on the bar — enough for the IPA, the nachos, and his standard thirty percent — and steps back.
"See you tomorrow, Ezra."
"Same booth?"
"It has good Wi-Fi."
He leaves. The door closes behind him. Through the window, I watch him walk to the rental car, get in, sit for a moment before starting the engine. Like he's organizingsomething. Closing a file in his head before opening the next one.
Mango is on the hood of Vaughn's bike again. Nicholas notices her on the way out. Doesn't stop, doesn't reach out. Just looks at her the way he looks at everything — brief, assessing, filed away.
She watches him drive off. So do I.
"You're staring," Robin says from behind me.
"I'm looking out a window. That's what windows are for."
"You're staring at the developer."
"I'm staring at a Hyundai Sonata. Not exactly riveting."
Robin gives me a look that says he's not buying it. I give him one back that says I'm not selling anything.
But after he walks away, I pull up a browser on my laptop and search Coldwell Development. Their website is polished — renderings of shopping centers and office parks, photos of smiling people in hard hats, a mission statement about "revitalizing communities." The kind of language that means different things depending on which side of the revitalization you're on.
I don't find anything damning. I don't find anything reassuring either.
Knox said to look into it when I had time. I tab back to the receipts. But I leave the Coldwell page open.
Just in case.
Chapter 4
Nicholas
Another day. Same booth.
I'm aware of how this looks. A man who was told no days ago, still showing up, same order, same seat, same laptop arrangement. If I were evaluating this behavior in someone else, I'd call it either stubbornly professional or mildly unhinged. The line between those two things is thinner than most people think.
The bar is quieter today. I set up my workspace — charger left, notebook right, phone facedown — and open my laptop before flagging down the kid behind the bar. Jason. I've learned his name by proximity, not introduction. He's the one who brought me water yesterday without being asked, which I'm still not sure how to file.
"IPA and nachos?" he asks.
I haven't ordered yet. "Am I that predictable?"
"Little bit." He almost smiles. Not quite — more like the suggestion of a smile held in reserve. "Full order?"
"Full. Thank you."
He disappears to the kitchen. I open my email.
Daniel —
Extending the assessment through end of week. The property file from Langford's office has significant gaps I want to document before submitting my report. Traffic analysis, zoning research, and comparable sales data for the surrounding area are all thin or missing. Either this was a rush job or someone didn't want a thorough assessment on record.
I'll have the full report by Monday.
