I get up and walk toward the wall of glass lining the room. The view that usually sustains me makes me feel more like I’m imprisoned. I’m in a petri dish with a million-dollar view. What was once the muse for many of my designs now seems tarred by the devious brushes of a select few.

Lost in thought, I’m miles away when Grant walks in and stands beside me.

“Well, that was strange,” he says.

“What?” I reply, not looking away from the bay.

“Graves met me halfway down the corridor and explained that security called him and he was on his way to the lobby to deal with Jodi. He was very apologetic and wanted me to pass on his apologies to you.”

“Apologies?” I ask, my eyes snapping to his. “Why is he apologizing?”

“Beats me. But call this message relayed,” he says, pouring two fingers of Macallan and passing one over to me. “You look like you need this. You’re tense as hell, Cal.”

Silence stretches behind us as I lift the glass to my lips, mulling over my thoughts.

“We started this firm so that we could do what we love and play by our own rules,” I say.

“And we succeeded at doing that on all fronts,” Grant replies.

I shake my head, looking out to the bay. “It doesn’t feel so much like fun anymore.”

“I remember when we first walked into this building.” He moves to stand beside me. “I was gung-ho about buying up something big and flashy to show the world we had arrived and we weren’t going anywhere.”

“And I was more subdued, wanting to take our time to choose right and choose well.”

“Then you saw this office, this window, the bridge, and you were gone.”

He’s not wrong. This view sold me on first sight. I laugh. “Have you seen this view?”

“We deserved it then, Cal, and we still fucking deserve it now. Who would’ve thought it would be your dick causing us grief in the end?”

“Jodie was a moment of weakness.”

“She’s an opportunist,” he says.

“That too.”

“As for Carmen Dallas, she wanted to hang her star to yours the minute you won the award for Spera. She’s been gunning for you ever since. If she couldn’t get in there, she wanted to paint you as someone who everybody wanted but nobody gets. You meeting and keeping Lucia sort of spurred her on.”

He has a point. I sigh despondently. “It’s all on me, Grant. We should’ve come out and reported the investigation ourselves. Been upfront and honest, knowing we had nothing to hide.”

“It wasn’t our call though. The board wanted it kept quiet.”

“Always pulling the strings. We may design the masterpiece, but that doesn’t mean it will ever be entirely ours,” I say to the glass. “When do the puppets become the puppet masters?”

“When you cut the damn strings and stop giving a fuck about what others think and instead, start doing whatever the fuck you like, because Cal, in private you are like that. In public, that damn mask suffocates you. Lucia knows it, I know it, even the imaginary puppet masters you’re giving the power to—the Jodis and the Carmens and whoever the fuck sent you those notes—they know it. When you drop the mask, you take back whatever they think they’ve got on you.”

“This will blow over. Carmen will run out of hot air like she usually does and find some other poor schmuck to fixate on, and Jodi will move on to the next sugar daddy with pussy on their mind instead of common sense. The museum will be the new bright star on the architectural landscape of San Francisco and our names will become synonymous with modern, classic hybrid design techniques. We’ll go down in history.”

I look over at him and quirk a brow. “We’ll go down in history? Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

“Got you to snap out of whatever mood you were in, didn’t it?”

Ten minutes later, a knock at the door grabs our attention and we turn to find Gregory Graves standing just inside my office.

“Mr. Graves?”

“Mr. Alexander. Mr. Richardson,” he says, nodding to both of us.

“Did you talk to Ms. Malestrom?” I ask.

“I did. I’d like to apologize. She was upset with me because I ended my relationship with her yesterday. I never thought she would come to the office and cause a disruption to get my attention,” he explains, his eyes never leaving mine.

Putting my glass down, I walk behind my desk and take a seat. “Why did she want to see me if she was upset over your break-up? I think we all know that Jodi has caused a demonstrable amount of damage as it is.”

His expression darkens and he presses his lips together, a frown marring his face. “That I am unsure of. When I saw her in the lobby she only wanted to talk to me.”

“Well, Greg, I think Callum will agree with me when I say it’s probably smart to keep relationship issues out of the office in future. As you’re aware, we have enough media attention on the firm and on Callum at the moment without encouraging more with our employees’ girlfriends making scenes in the lobby of Alexander Richardson. Agreed?” Grant explains.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, Mr. Alexander,” he says, talking directly to me. “I now see that she was using me to get close to you. I knew she was in a whole other league, but she seemed genuine. I hope this won’t cast dispersions on my character or the success of my internship.”

He seems sincere and up until this point, although some of his behavior has seemed somewhat strange at times. I look at Grant who simply raises his eyebrows at me, his eyes speaking volumes, all of which we’ll most likely discuss at a later date when the man in question isn’t standing in front of us.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves. You didn’t directly cause this so you do not have to bear the blame.”

“I’ll pop by your desk later, Greg, and we’ll continue looking at those plans I asked you about.”

“Yes, Mr. Richardson. I—”

My cell phone ringing loudly on my desk interrupts him, the vibrations shifting the mobile across the wood. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say, looking at Richard James’s name flashing on my phone.

I turn to Grant and show him my phone, before answering the call. “Richard, this is a pleasant surprise. Is everything—”

“Turn on the television, Callum. There’s been an accident.”

“What?” I ask, grabbing the remote control from my top drawer and pushing the power on for the LCD on the wall of my office. Grant moves sideways so I can see the screen as Graves steps farther into the room, turning to face the TV.

“What am I looking at, Richard?” I ask, dropping the remote onto my desk.

“About twenty minutes ago there was a collapse beneath the south foundation. Two construction workers have been killed, three more are missing, and ten others have been injured. Police, fire and ambulance are all on-site and Cal/OHSA have been notified,” he explains, as I watch the news on screen.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen continually scrolls the news that an explosion at the waterfront construction site for what would’ve been Northern California’s biggest and most prolific new landmark has killed two men and injured many more, with three workers still unaccounted for. Plumes of smoke fill the sky above the half-constructed shell, now a mess of twisted metal and shattered concrete. The bright star on Alexander Richardson’s horizon has been all but extinguished.

“Callum, are you there?”

Shocked silence stretches over the line. Richard, however, doesn’t miss a beat. “You need to make sure you have anything and everything Cal/OHSA may want because everything is now up in the air. Every minute detail, right down to the right boxes on the right forms being ticked, will be examined and scoured over.”

“The design was sound. The engineering reports were certified twice by the best geotech specialists in the country.”

“Then why am I standing outside the police cordon looking at bloody faces, smoke everywhere, and two tarp-covered bodies?”