The phone buzzes again.
And again.
Sam pauses, pen hovering midair while she waits for me to deal with the distraction.
I grab the phone and swipe it open.
Three messages from Wren.
Tommy you around?
Call me when you get this
Tommy call me NOW
My sister is not the type to escalate. She is fiercely independent; she would wait all day before triple-texting me during work hours unless something was seriously wrong.
"I need to take this," I say, already standing up and stepping away from the table.
"Go," Sam says without missing a beat. "I'll run through the sequence again."
I hit call the second I clear the conference room.
Wren picks up on the first ring. "Hey."
It’s a single syllable, but her voice is wound so tight I can practically hear the string snapping.
“Hey. You okay?"
"My landlord called this morning," she exhales, the sound shaky. "The building sold. The new owner wants to convert the ground floor to high-end residential. I have thirty days."
My stomach completely drops out. Six years. She spent six years building her client base on that block, earning referrals, becoming a staple in the neighborhood. I start pacing the length of the hallway, instantly kicking into fixer mode. "Okay. Have you talked to a broker?"
"Two. I already made the calls."
"And?"
"Everything in my price range is either too small, the wrong zoning, or not available for three months." Her voice goes totally flat. "I'm not going to find something in thirty days, Tommy."
"You don't know that yet."
"I know what I saw."
I stop pacing, pressing my free hand against the cool hallway wall. "We'll figure it out. I can help you move, I can—"
"I know you will." It is so quiet. "You always do."
The sheer exhaustion in her response stops me dead in my tracks. She isn't comforted; she hates that she needs me to save her again.
"Go back to your meeting," she says, and hangs up.
I stand frozen in the hallway, the phone still pressed to my ear. I feel entirely useless. I pull the phone down, stare at her name on the dark screen, and force myself to take a deep breath before reaching for the conference room door.
When I walk back in, I plan to apologize for the delay and dive straight back into the images. But the moment Sam looks up from her laptop, the professional script evaporates. Her eyesnarrow, catching the absolute wreck of my posture in a split second.
"Everything okay?"
I collapse into my chair. My defenses are completely shot. I don't have the energy to lie to her, even though I fully expect her to offer a polite, empty apology and pivot straight back to slide four.
