Chapter 40 Tom
Chapter forty
Tom
If we can't deliver on this timeline, they walk.
My jaw tightens.
I reread the email. The timestamp says 5:36 AM. The subject line says urgent.
Emergency meeting confirmed: our lead investor (40%) is considering pulling out.
To keep them committed, we need proof-of-concept materials—including final photography—in two weeks.
Not four.
I check the recipient line. Me and Sam, both cc'd.
It's 5:38 AM. I've been awake since five, laptop open, clearing the inbox that's been piling up all week. Agent queries. Equipment rental confirmations. Invoice from the print lab. The usual operational debris.
This email landed two minutes ago. Sam probably hasn't seen it yet.
Two weeks.
I open my calendar. I start filling the grid. Dawn shoots. Midday site work. Night editing.
Fourteen days without a break.
I stare at the schedule.
The Wednesday block marked “Sam” disappears first.
If I shoot the wrong angles, Sam's presentation story collapses. If I prioritize documentation over hero shots, the investor won't see the vision. If I'm too exhausted by Day Seven to notice I missed the pedestrian flow she needs for the connectivity argument, we both fail.
I close my eyes. Open them.
I stare at the schedule.
Then I delete the whole thing.
I pick up my phone and call Sam.
She answers on the second ring. Her voice is alert but cautious.
"Tom?"
"We need to talk. In person. Can you meet me now?"
There's a pause. When she speaks again, her tone has shifted.
"What's wrong?"
"Timeline just got cut in half. Not sure if you got a chance to see the email."
"I'm at my office. Come here."
I grab my keys.
***
Sam's waiting in a small conference room when I arrive thirty minutes later. The door is already closed. Two coffees sit on the table.
She gestures to the chair across from her.
"I saw the email. Only after you called—I had an early meeting. I called Richard immediately."
I sit. Pull the coffee toward me but don't drink it yet.
"And?"
"Richard heard through back channels that Castellano's been talking to our lead investor." Her voice is steady. "He's the one who told them about the competing property downtown."
My hand stops halfway to the coffee cup.
"Why would Castellano do that?"
"Power. He lost at the Board meeting. He doesn't like losing control."
I set the cup down.
"So he creates a crisis."
"So he creates a crisis that requires someone to step in with a strong hand.
Someone experienced. Someone the Board will look to for leadership.
" She meets my eyes. "He believes that someone is him.
If the investor wavers, the Board will panic.
And Castellano will be right there, ready to stabilize things. Take charge."
"And if we fail to deliver in two weeks—"
"Then the Board turns to him. He gets the control back."
I lean back in the chair. The leather creaks.
"And if we succeed?"
"Then he loses. Again."
Sam's looking at me, but her gaze flickers down to her coffee cup. When she speaks again, her voice cracks just slightly.
"So... you sure you want to keep working with me? Seems like I come with a lot of extra problems.”
I don't hesitate.
"Too late, Sam. I'm already invested." I crack a small grin, hoping she remembers our running joke.
She exhales, her mouth softening into the smallest smile. The glass walls feel a thousand miles away.
"Besides," I add, "Castellano's the problem, not you."
She leans back.
"Okay. So what do we do?"
I lean forward, elbows on the table.
"I can't do this without you."
Her shoulders drop half an inch. Relief.
"Good," she says quietly. "Because neither can I. "If I rebuild the story without knowing what you're shooting, I'll build the wrong one."
"So we do it together," I say. "Or it doesn't work."
She opens her laptop. I do the same.
For the next two weeks, this room will basically be our life.
We will sit side-by-side at the conference table. Her screen tilts slightly toward mine. The glow from both laptops overlaps in the middle.
"What do you need to shoot?" she asks.
I pull up the shot list. "Start with the big ones. Waterfront views. Sunset light. People moving through the public spaces."
I glance at her. "The shots that make people understand the place."
She nods and starts cutting slides.
"After that," I say, scrolling, "progress shots. What’s actually built so far. Proof the project’s real."
I watch her cursor slash through the deck, her lip caught lightly between her teeth while she works.
Rule One feels harder to follow when she’s this decisive.
"I can cut the background slides," she says.
"Interior staging," I add. "Model unit photos. What buyers will actually live in."
"I’ll build the story around your strongest images."
"Final rooftop aerial," I say. "Close with the skyline."
She pauses and looks at me. "You're thinking about the long game."
"Always."
She deletes three more slides without asking why. Just makes room for it.
I lean back. My shoulder brushes hers.
"We need daily check-ins," I say. "Quick ones. Morning priorities, evening updates."
"No major changes without both of us seeing them first," she adds.
"Agreed."
She saves the outline and lowers her laptop halfway.
My hands stay on the keyboard, but I’m not typing anymore.
This is the part I hate.
"I need your help with something."
She waits. I meet her eyes.
"If I'm shooting twelve-hour days, I can't also handle all the logistics. Site access, weather windows, equipment deliveries. Something’s going to drop."
She doesn’t hesitate.
"Good," she says. "Because I can’t run the rebuild and chase vendors at the same time either."
She reaches for her phone.
"I’ll handle the creative work. Someone else will have to handle the logistics."
She looks back at me. "So we get help."
Silence stretches.
I nod once.
"Yeah," I say. Her smile flickers.
She sends the email. "Richard will assign someone. He knows we can't hit this timeline without support."
For a second I picture something else entirely—walking the river at sunset, her shoulder against mine, the city lights coming on one by one.
Rule One.
I inhale slowly.
For tonight, extra support will have to do.
We sit back and look at what we built. Two laptops. One revised outline. One shot list.
Sam’s voice is quiet. "We can do this."
I meet her eyes. "Yes we can."
She stands. I do the same.
"Castellano wants to prove he's the only one who can handle pressure," she says.
"Then we deliver."
***
I'm halfway to my apartment when my phone buzzes.
Text from Sam.
Richard responded. Junior PM assigned to us starting tomorrow morning. We're good.
I text back.
Let's do this.