Guilt hit instantly.
“I’m sorry.”
She grabbed her coat.
Jake followed her toward the stairs.
Outside, snow had stopped.
The cold felt sharper without it.
Jake caught her hand.
“Sophia.”
She stopped.
He stepped closer.
“What happened?”
She looked into his face.
She wanted to tell him.
Instead, fear won.
“Nothing.”
“That's not true.”
“I just need time.”
“For what?”
She did not answer.
Jake slowly released her.
His expression closed.
Sophia hated herself for causing it.
She left.
Inside the SUV, she sat without starting the engine.
Her hands shook.
Then she called her CFO.
He answered immediately.
“Please tell me you are approving Market Street.”
“We can't buy it.”
Silence.
“What?”
“We can't buy it.”
“Why?”
Sophia looked toward the garage.
Jake stood upstairs behind the window.
His daughter beside him.
“Because people live there.”
Her CFO sounded stunned.
“People live in lots of redevelopment properties.”
“Not like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know the owner.”
Another pause.
“How well?”
Sophia closed her eyes.
“Well enough.”
Her CFO understood.
“You're changing a hundred-million-dollar expansion plan because of a man?”
“Do not reduce it like that.”
“What should I call it?”
Sophia gripped the steering wheel.
“He’s a single father. That garage is his livelihood.”
“And the two hundred people working for you?”
She went silent.
The CFO continued.
“I am not being cruel.”
“I’m reminding you that every decision hurts someone.”
Sophia knew he was right.
That made it worse.
“If we lose Market Street, investors walk.”
“I know.”
“Payroll gets cut.”
“I know.”
“Departments close.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me what your plan is.”
Sophia stared at Jake’s building.
“I don't have one.”
Her CFO sighed.
“We meet Monday.”
She disconnected.
For three days, Sophia barely slept.
Jake texted twice.
Everything okay?
She did not answer.
Then:
If I did something wrong, tell me.
She typed several replies.
Deleted all of them.
The fourth day brought a visitor.
Jake’s sister walked into Sophia's office without an appointment.
The receptionist followed, horrified.
“I tried to stop her.”
Sophia stood.
“It’s okay.”
Jake’s sister closed the door.
She placed a folded piece of paper on Sophia's desk.
“My niece made this.”
Sophia opened it.
Three figures.
A tall man.
A small girl.
A blonde woman.
All holding hands.
Above them, in crooked handwriting: