Always needing the last word, I send what I intend to be the last text between us for the night, serving as a tacit warning of sorts.
C: You might regret saying that after Friday night, Ms. Harding. A week is a long time.
L: I’m a big girl, Callum. Some would say a grown woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. I’m also tenacious. And having had the pleasure of the full Alexander experience, you’ve left me wanting more. What can I say? I’m an opportunist who isn’t going to let this chance pass by ;)
Well, I guess she just drew her line in the sand, or lack thereof.
C: From one opportunist to another, I bid you farewell. I have a hard, pressing matter to deal with.
L: If it’s the same pressing matter I’m experiencing, I recommend keeping your finger on the pulse. Seems to be working for me ;)
Somehow, I think the cards have just been turned.
Five days later, Grant and I are sitting in the reception area of a high-rise office building downtown, waiting to be called into a conference room filled with the four-person board of directors for the new museum project.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Cal.” Grant has been crossing and uncrossing his legs ever since we arrived. When he’s not doing that, he’s leaning forward and bouncing his knee.
“Grant, calm the fuck down. We’ve checked everything twice, and we know we followed the design brief. We tried to guide them toward something more fitting for an installation like this. Maybe they’re balking a bit and want to push back on some aspects. That’s precisely why we made sure there was room to move. I knew they’d do this.”
“When did you become the voice of reason?”
“When did you ever think you were the sensible one in this partnership?”
“Good point. Shut up, you smug bastard.” The smirk on his face is a much more relaxing expression than the frown that he’s been wearing for the past few days.
“At least that got your damn leg to stop bouncing.”
Tammy, the board’s secretary, who introduced herself to us with a pouty smile and a soft hand on my arm when we arrived, interrupts us. I watch with amusement as she pulls her shoulders back and thrusts her breasts forward, adding an extra—and rather unnecessary—sway to her hips as her hooded eyes looked my way. Her complete disregard for both public and professional decorum is unappealing at the very least, even if I was in the market for a fan girl wanting to get herself some attention. The misleading and misreported Callum Alexander publicity machine strikes again.
Tammy stops inappropriately close to me, looking up from her diminutive stature to meet my gaze. “The board is ready for you now, Mr. Alexander.”
Grant clears his throat beside me to cover up a snort.
“I’m sure my partner, Mr. Richardson, would love to follow you to the boardroom as well, Tammy. Do you think you might be able to show him the way?”
“M . . . Mr. Richardson, please follow me.”
Grant covers his mouth to hide his uncouth snort.
“Thank you, Tammy,” he replies, shoving me with his shoulder and muttering a quiet “thanks” under his breath for my ears only. I grin and follow them both down a long corridor, turning into a large boardroom filled with a black rectangular table. Lining one side is four chairs, each one filled with a member of the board.
Going down the line, Grant and I step forward and greet each member, recognizing them from our design presentation and subsequent contract signing. Left to right there is the board chairman, Richard James, then the three other board members—Helen McDonald, Lawrence Knight, and Hudson Miles.
“Take a seat, gentlemen, and we’ll get started,” Richard James, says across the table. He’s very no-nonsense, a straight talker who likes to get the job done.
Never one to waste time, I quickly get to the point, knowing that a direct and definitive approach is always best. “Excuse my bluntness, but we feel we’re at a disadvantage, especially given the distinct lack of details we’ve received regarding today’s meeting . . .” I leave my statement open-ended, the inflection in my voice indicative of the need for a response from a member of the board.
Mr. James continues, looking especially uncomfortable with a ramrod straight posture and furrowed brow. “Well, now. Let us clear that up for you right away. I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding. Especially given the reputation of Alexander Richardson and the utmost respect we hold for your designs and your concept for the project. However, three weeks ago we received some concerning correspondence, which called into question the originality of your design. Normally we would dismiss this, given that the accuser has failed to supply their contact details to support their allegations. However, in this instance we’ve decided to investigate the claims due to the national significance of the museum project.”
I look over at Grant, who is frowning as he turns toward me. I offer him a quick and curt nod before returning my attention to the board members opposite us. Leaning back in the black leather chair, I rest my elbows on my knees and steeple my fingers in front of me. I wait for a few moments, making eye contact with each and every person on the board.
“I understand, Mr. James, and of course we will fully support any investigation you conduct. I would like to know the specific details of the accusation though. I believe that is a concession we should be afforded, given that it is our firm’s reputation that is at risk should this accusation and the corresponding investigation into both our design process and the approved concept for this building be made public. A concept which was already unilaterally accepted by this very board.”
Lawrence reaches up and adjusts his tie, showing his obvious discomfort with the turn of events. They probably expected Grant and I to roll over. What they didn’t anticipate is that Grant and I have gone through every aspect of this project over the past two weeks. We have left no stone unturned and know that every rule has been followed, every box ticked, and every step of the tender process with the board has been adhered to.
There is no way that our concept is not original, and this so-called accusation is frivolous and time-wasting. It is simply a red herring.
Grant sits up, leaning forward. “I’d also like to note that if this was to be leaked to the media by anybody in this room and the reputation of our firm, and in fact our livelihood, was adversely affected in any way, shape or form, Callum and I would be forced to seek legal advice. As it stands, if we are exonerated by your investigation, of which I’m in no doubt we will be, we will still be seeking advice as to our rights in a situation such as this.”
“Oh . . . oh no, please, gentlemen,” Helen McDonald says in a soft placating voice. “Do not misunderstand us. We are simply following protocol here. We do not believe this accusation at all. It’s just that our hands are tied. If we do not follow through on the complaint and they chose to escalate the matter to Washington, which would undoubtedly involve the media, there would be a lot of questions asked. We want to clear this up just as much as you do.”
Grant and I look at each other again. My blood still boils at the calling into question of both my professional and personal integrity, as well as that of my business partner and best friend. With another silent nod, my eyes flare quickly, telling Grant it’s time to leave. We both stand up.