Chapter Two
Elliot
The building is empty when I make my entrance, save for the security guard sitting behind the desk in the lobby, staring at the monitors with bloodshot eyes.
I’ll never understand why people choose to work third shifts, which makes zero sense considering I often work late into the night.
The sun has come up many times before I’ve even gotten a wink of sleep.
“Good morning, Mr. Caldwell.” Jasper raises his hand in greeting, smiling tiredly. I smile in return, giving him a head nod.
I step off the car and into the reception area. It’s decorated minimally in neutral colors. The decorator said something about it keeping people calm, which isn’t something I worry about too much here. This isn’t a doctor’s office where people frequently get bad news.
Michelle’s desk is as tidy as ever, with everything in its place.
It sits off to the left, turned enough to face the door and the back hallway that leads to the offices.
She’s been my secretary for only a few months now, but she’s been doing exceptionally well.
Attentive, organized, polite, and doesn’t ask too many questions.
My office is at the end of the hall to avoid constant foot traffic, as I find it distracting.
I unlock the door once I reach it. I trust the men I work with, but you just never know.
Putting my briefcase beside my desk, I go to the coffee station and start a cup of coffee.
The small table that serves as the coffee area against the wall to my right is spotless, as it always is, with four mugs lined up with the gold C facing me.
I’ll go through each of these before the day is done and may request more.
It is Monday, after all, and they’re always a shit show.
Michelle won’t be in until eight, and I’ll certainly be on my second cup by then.
With my mug of steaming black coffee in hand, I go to my desk and get sorted for the day. I pull out everything I need from my briefcase, set up my laptop, and plug in my cell phone. Once again, I forgot to charge it last night.
As I wait for my emails to load, I rise from my chair and take my cup to the floor-to-ceiling windows that look over the city.
Seattle is one of the few cities I find beautiful.
There hasn’t been a day in the twenty-seven years I’ve been in this city that I’ve thought otherwise.
Nothing has ever felt like home the way Seattle does.
It’s the only thing that’s ever truly made me feel like I belong.
Elliot Bay glimmers beneath a soft blue sky, and there are already boats out on the water.
It’s a perfect day for it, and if I didn’t have to be here for this important meeting today, maybe I’d have taken it off to go out on my boat.
It’s neglected too much. But that’s what happens when you own and run a multi-billion-dollar business.
It consumes you, and nothing else matters.
I walk into the conference room a few minutes before the meeting is set to start.
The table is full, all eleven seats taken.
My entire team is here with me today, looking their best. They know as well as I do how important this meeting is.
Not only for the company, but for their own families too.
Caldwell Enterprises is already a top developer in Seattle, but taking on a job this big for the city could skyrocket us to the top ten in all the country.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” I say, clasping my hands together as Michelle takes up her seat in the corner to record the meeting notes.
“It seems everyone is here, so I will get started. First, I’d like to thank you for taking this meeting and being punctual.
We are well aware there are two other companies being considered for this project, but I can assure you by the end of this meeting, they will not matter.
” I hold my hand up when Ted Lincoln, one of the city officials and a royal pain in my ass, frowns.
“I’m not bad-talking them, that’s not my style.
When you’re as good as we are, throwing other companies under the bus isn’t necessary.
We got where we are through our dedication and work.
The other companies are not bad at what they do—we are just better. ”
My team smiles, always proud of how I speak the truth so bluntly.
I shift on my feet, meeting the eyes of each of the four city employees here today.
There have been plenty of meetings for this project over the last year, and they’re eager to make a decision.
I understand it’s a close choice—even though it shouldn’t be.
Caldwell Enterprises is the way to go, now and always.
But this is an important decision, and if they choose wrong, it’ll be their asses.
I go on to explain that we have a positive track record with this city, completing tens of projects for them, and with zero issues.
We especially have experience in what they’re asking for, and they know it.
Mixed developments are our specialty. It’s our backbone.
It’s what skyrocketed my company straight to the top.
“And let’s be serious here, gentlemen. The only issue you have with us is our cost, not our work.
But you must know something like this will not be cheap, no matter who you go with.
You cannot cut corners on such a massive project.
Lives will be at risk. The city will be held liable.
You will run into issues down the road if you go with another company, but I assure you that will not happen with us.
Just look at the numbers and you’ll see.
My company does extraordinary work, and our statistics prove that.
We are committed to this city and the cause. ”
“With all due respect, Mr. Caldwell, we’ve looked over the numbers multiple times and can’t wrap our heads around where this cost is coming from,” Ted Lincoln chimes in.
As I said, a pain in my ass. Has been ever since college. How the hell we both ended up in Seattle at this point in our lives, I’ll never know. Fate, I suppose. A little reminder that I can’t get everything that I want all the time. Or at least if I do, there will be a thorn in my side as I do it.
Mr. Lincoln is not a terrible person, certainly not the worst I’ve encountered, he’s just a bitter little man who hates me for reasons that shouldn’t matter anymore.
In college, boys will be boys. We’re immature and worry about all the wrong things.
Namely, girls. And Tim didn’t like the fact that his wanted me, then left him for me—after cheating on him with me.
Terrible thing to do, I know. But what can I say? I was young and dumb.
“Jim, can you please break it down for them?” I gesture to my CFO, who is already getting out of his seat to do just that.
“It would be my pleasure,” he says, picking up the remote for the projector.
When he turns it on, the breakdown is up on the screen already.
Colorful bars against a white background.
We anticipated this being brought up, and it being their biggest concern.
Money is always an issue with the city. They never want to spend it when they feel they don’t have to, but when they cut corners, they have to come up with bullshit stories to tell the taxpayers about why they’re constantly fixing this and that.
Do it right the first time, and it wouldn’t be an issue. Caldwell does it right the first time.
“It isn’t always true that the best is the most expensive,” Jim begins. “But in this case? It is.”
Jim goes on to break down the cost of everything, while we all look on intently.
I, of course, am well aware of this information as it’s my company and I decide on the final cost of everything, so I sneak looks around the table to see what we’re working with.
Three of the officials look convinced, while Ted Lincoln, the royal pain in the ass that he is, is frowning at the screen.
If I were an evil man, I’d have him killed.
Alas, I am not. Sometimes cruel, often stern, but evil?
No. I’m not in the business of ending people’s lives.
I like to build things, create things. That’s where my passion lies.
“The fact of the matter is, we are going to give you the best quality work,” I say, getting to my feet once Jim sits back in his. “You all know this. It isn’t a question about that. The question is: are you good enough at your job to convince your boss that it’s worth the cost?”
I look between the four of them, waiting to see if someone will call me out on being so brash, but no one does. One of them even nods in approval.
When the meeting is done, I shake hands with each of them before they go, making sure to give them a bright smile. I’m back in my office for only five minutes when the intercom buzzes.
“Yes, Michelle?”
“Edwin Brantly is on the phone, sir. He says it’s urgent.”
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “Thank you, Michelle.”
I pick up the receiver, taking a breath before pushing the flashing button.
“Mr. Brantly. It’s been a while,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“I don’t appreciate the tone, Elliot. I want an update on the changes I asked for over on King.”
I sit in my chair, turning to face the windows to stare out at the bay.
“We’ve had this conversation many times, Mr. Brantly. The work will be done when we get the payment.”
“You’ve been paid in full for nearly two weeks, yet everything is sitting unfinished!” he shouts.
“Had your team not demanded we make last-minute changes that ate up your remaining budget, the work would be done by now.”
“We were never told we would have to pay more!”
“Work isn’t free, Mr. Brantly. That goes without saying.”
“It isn’t in the contract!” he bellows, and I can imagine his chubby face turning as red as a cherry.
“Neither is the new work we’ve done. If you like, I can send my guys down there first thing in the morning to undo everything they did?”
“One of these days, you’re going to fuck with the wrong person, Caldwell,” he growls.
The line goes dead and I hang the phone up, not a single care in the world about his threats.
I get them daily. Though they aren’t typically from clients.
Most of the time, clients love us. We are up front with what we do, how we work, and how much we cost. If we don’t think something will work, we won’t do it.
We explain why. Communication is key. I’ve spent years building the perfect team.
Most of the threats on my company come from people in the community not wanting me to destroy old buildings or land.
I understand wanting to preserve things, but that’s not wise in my line of business.
Keeping an old building is nothing but a liability and a money-eater.
There is a knock on the door, causing me to look up.
“Come in,” I call out, rubbing the bridge of my nose. It’s too early for a headache.
“We’re getting lunch. Would you like to join us?”
Peter, my COO, is leaning into my office, one hand on the frame with the other on the doorknob. He and Jim are my two right-hand men. I don’t consider them friends, but I’m friendlier with them more than the others.
“No, thank you,” I say, as he knew I would.
I don’t typically do anything with my team outside of what’s necessary. We don’t hang out outside of work.
“Good job in there today. I think we got em.”
I lean back, clasping my hands together and resting them on my stomach. “You think so?”
“Oh yeah. None of them like Two-Timing Tim. If he gives them grief, they may lynch him.”
I chuckle, raising a hand. “Enjoy your lunch.”
He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I stare at it for a long moment.
They invite me to lunch just about every day, and every day I deny them.
It’s not that I don’t like them, I like them just fine.
I hand-picked them all, and they wouldn’t be working for me, in such high positions, if I didn’t think they were capable.
But work comes before play, and if I can eat and work in the quiet of my office, then that’s what I’ll do.
No one here takes offense to it. In fact, the only person who hated that I preferred to be alone was my ex-wife. I don’t crave socializing like most people do. I’m happy being alone and doing my own thing, busying myself with work or what I enjoy. I don’t need company for that. I’m happy on my own.
I put in a delivery order at the sub shop around the corner and let Michelle know to look out for it before I lose myself in work.
When the food arrives, I carefully eat as I continue, not wanting crumbs or sauce on my papers.
I drink the bottle of water, then make another coffee.
I’m getting ready to finish up for the day, amazed that there aren’t any fires to put out on a Monday, when my cell rings.
I pick it up and nearly drop it when I see it’s my son.
I haven’t heard from him in months, so I know what this means.
It’s the fire.
He never calls unless he needs something. My fault, since I always give it to him. But he’s my son and a good kid. Twenty-three, in law school, good head on his shoulders. He’s driven and has been dating the same girl for a few years now, though I’ve yet to meet her.
“Harrison, how are you?” I answer.
“I have a problem.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he does.
“What is it?” I ask, leaving out the this time I want to tack on to the end.
My son and I butt heads often. Because of that, I try to keep my temper in check when I speak to him.
“It’s bad,” he says, and I sink into my chair, blowing out a sharp breath.
Of course, a Monday wouldn’t end without some bullshit.
“Just start from the beginning, son.”