CHAPTER SIX
The rear support beam had been taking water for years.
Not enough to stain the dining-room wall.
Not enough to soften the floor beneath it.
Just a slow leak from an old roof penetration, hidden behind plaster and brick, working through wood a little at a time.
By Monday morning, I had a structural engineer, a roofing specialist, and the city inspector on site.
Nobody touched the wall until all three agreed on the sequence.
Nadine arrived at eight thirty wearing a navy suit beneath a long coat.
She had a meeting in Philadelphia at ten, but she came to see the damage before work because I had told her not to make a decision from photographs.
The open wall showed darkened wood, crumbling mortar, and the edge of the beam where a screwdriver had sunk in farther than it should.
She stood in front of it without speaking. I gave her a minute.
“How long?” she asked.
“The engineer estimates eight to ten years.”
“So the seller knew.”
“Not necessarily. The surface was dry. No visible stain. Inspection camera missed it because the cavity was packed with old insulation.”
“My home inspector said the roof was sound.”
“The main roof is. This came from the flashing around an abandoned vent stack. It only leaks under wind-driven rain from the east.”
She folded her arms. “That sounds specific.”
“We checked the weather history against the moisture pattern.”
Nadine looked at me. “Of course you did.”
I handed her the written report.
She read every page.
The engineer, Dr. Lennox, explained the repair: temporary shoring, removal of the damaged section, installation of a steel flitch plate and new framing, roof repair, masonry work, inspection, then closure. The project would pause in the dining room but could continue elsewhere.
“Cost?” Nadine asked.
Dr. Lennox looked at me.
“Preliminary range is eighteen to twenty-four thousand,” I said.
Her face did not change, but she stopped turning the page.
“That isn’t in the contingency.”
“No.”
“How much time?”
“Two weeks if fabrication stays on schedule. Three if the steel is delayed.”
She looked into the wall again. Clients reacted to hidden damage in predictable ways. Some blamed the contractor for finding it. Some demanded a cheaper repair before understanding what cheap meant. Some called a family member who had watched enough home-improvement shows to become dangerous.
Nadine asked, “What happens if I leave it?”
“The beam continues to weaken. You could patch the wall and sell without disclosing what we found, but that would be fraud and somebody eventually gets hurt.”
“I wasn’t asking if I could hide it.”
“Understood. I’m giving you the full answer.”
She nodded. I showed her three estimates: full replacement, engineered reinforcement, and a hybrid option. Each had material costs, labor, schedule impact, and warranty information. I had also included the engineer’s fee and the permit revision.
“You already priced it?” she asked.
“I started yesterday.”
“Yesterday was Sunday.”
“The wall didn’t care.”
Her mouth almost curved, then flattened again.
“What would you do in your own house?”
“Engineered reinforcement. Less demolition. Same structural rating. Better access if somebody ever needs to inspect it.”
“Is it the most expensive?”
“Middle.”
“Why not the highest?”
“Because more expensive isn’t the same as better.”
She read the estimate again.
Her phone rang.
The name on the screen was visible from where I stood.
Terrence.
Nadine declined the call. It rang again. She declined it again.
On the third call, she stepped toward the front room and answered. “What?”
I turned back to Dr. Lennox and asked about the steel lead time. Nadine’s voice carried anyway.
“No, the house is not collapsing.”
A pause.
“Because I’m standing in it.”
Another pause.
“I did not call you because this does not involve you.”
Her tone sharpened. “Who told you?”
I looked at Cedric. He shook his head. Only my crew, the engineer, inspector, roofer, Nadine, and my office knew about the beam. City permit updates were public, but not within an hour of filing. Nadine walked back into the dining room with the phone still against her ear.
“He says twenty-four thousand for one beam is robbery,” she said to me.
“I gave you three estimates.”
“I heard him,” Terrence said loudly enough through the phone for the room to hear. “Ask him how much he marks up the steel.”
I looked at Nadine, not the phone. “My overhead and margin are listed on page four.”
She turned the phone toward herself. “It’s listed.”
“Baby, you don’t know construction.”
Her face went cold.
“Do not call me baby.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
“You found out private information about my house and called three times while I’m standing with professionals. That is not help.”
“I called the permit office. It’s public.”
That answered one question.
Nadine looked at the report. “I’m handling it.”
“With what money?”
The room changed.
Nadine’s chin lifted. “Mine.”
“You keep saying that like the settlement appeared from nowhere.”
I stepped away from the group before anger made me less useful.
Nadine did not need me to fight her ex-husband.
She needed accurate numbers, safe construction, and room to make a decision.
I went into the kitchen and called my steel fabricator.
When I returned, the call was over. Nadine was standing alone near the open wall.
Dr. Lennox and Cedric had moved to the rear room to review the shoring points.
“You good?” I asked.
“No.”
I waited.
She looked at me. “But I can still make a decision.”
“Okay.”
“The engineered reinforcement.”
“I agree.”
“I want the longer warranty.”
“That comes with the hybrid package.”
“Then use that package.”
“It’s twenty-two six, assuming no masonry loss behind the beam.”
“I have twelve left in contingency. I can cover the rest.”
“Take twenty-four hours.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re angry.”
“I’m not buying shoes.”
“Same rule.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think I’m making an emotional decision?”
“I think you just had a man question whether your money belongs to you.”
“It does belong to me.”
“I’m not disputing that.”
“Then stop telling me to wait.”
I held her gaze. “I don’t sign change orders with clients while they’re activated.”
“Activated?”
“Mad enough to hear pressure where there isn’t any.”
She stared at me for two seconds, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “You got some nerve.”
“Probably.”
“I have a ten o’clock meeting.”
“It’s on the schedule.”
“And a rotten beam.”
“It’ll still be here tonight.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
She pressed the report against her side. “Fine. Send the change order at six.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Warren.”
“Tomorrow.”
She stepped closer. “You work for me.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you telling me no?”
“Because you pay me to protect the project, not agree with everything you say.”
Her eyes flashed.
I stayed where I was.
For a moment, I thought she might fire me. The contract allowed termination with written notice, and Nadine had read the clause well enough to quote it.
Instead, she pointed one finger at my chest without touching me. “I’m still choosing the hybrid.”
“Then you’ll choose it tomorrow.”
She walked out. Cedric came back into the room after the front door slammed.
“You enjoy your job?” he asked.
“Most days.”
“She gonna fire you?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
He looked toward the door. “That was almost a joke.”
“Get the shoring installed.”
He grinned and went back to work. At five forty-three that evening, Nadine emailed me. I have reviewed all three options again. I choose the hybrid reinforcement with the longer warranty. This decision is not emotional. You may continue being irritating. I read it twice. Then I called her.
She answered, “What?”
“You said email was fine.”
“It is.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“To verify the authorization.”
“You created that rule because of Terrence.”
“I apply rules evenly.”
A pause.
“Hybrid reinforcement,” she said. “Twenty-two thousand six hundred, subject to documented masonry conditions. Longer warranty. Steel plate and replacement framing. Roof flashing repaired before the wall closes.”
“Correct.”
“Proceed.”
“Authorized.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
“I’m sorry I used the word activated.”
“You should be.”
“It was accurate and badly timed.”
“That is not a good apology.”
“It’s the one I have.”
Silence.
Then, “I wasn’t mad because you told me to wait.”
“I figured.”
“Stop saying that.”
I leaned back in my chair. The office was empty except for the light over my desk.
“Why were you mad?” I asked.
“Because he spent years making me prove I was capable, and then you made me feel like I had to prove it again.”
I could have defended myself. Explained the policy. Reminded her I delayed large change orders for every client under stress. All of that could be true and still miss what she said.
“I did,” I said.
Her breathing changed on the line.
“I wasn’t questioning whether you could decide,” I continued. “I was slowing the decision down. But I understand why it didn’t feel different.”
She stayed quiet. I did too.
Finally, she said, “That apology was better.”
“I had time.”
“Twenty seconds?”
“Long enough.”
A small laugh came through the phone. The tension in my shoulders eased.
“I’ll send the final schedule tonight,” I said. “Shoring is in. Your house is safe.”
“Thank you.”
“Nadine.”
“What?”
“How did Terrence know about the permit?”
“He called the city. Apparently he has alerts set up for the property address.”
“That’s not standard.”
“No.”
“Do you want my attorney to document it?”
“Mine already is.”
I nodded though she could not see me. Capable. She was not a woman waiting to be rescued. The quickest way to lose her trust would be to treat her like one.
“I’ll have the project portal require two-factor verification,” I said. “And the crew won’t discuss the job with anybody who isn’t on the authorized list.”
“Who’s on the list?”
“You. Asha, for emergency access only. Portia, because you added her.”
“She added herself.”
“I assumed.”
“What about Terrence?”
“He’s listed under do not disclose.”
There was a beat of silence.
“That’s a real category?”
“It is now.”
She laughed again. When the call ended, I opened the project-management system and made the changes myself. At seven, Milan walked into my office carrying two takeout containers.
“You didn’t eat,” she said.
“I was going to.”
“You lie badly after six.”
She put one container in front of me and sat across from the desk. “How bad is the beam?”
“Repairable.”
“How bad is the client?”
I looked at her.
“Nadine,” she clarified.
“I know who the client is.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“She’s handling it.”
Milan opened her food. “You like her.”
I picked up the plastic fork.
“Dad.”
“She’s a client.”
“That sentence did not answer me.”
“It answered enough.”
Milan studied me with the patience of somebody who knew silence was not an ending. I ate two bites before she spoke again.
“You know the ethical issue isn’t liking her.”
“That part is clear.”
“It’s doing something while you control the money, schedule, and access to her house.”
“So is that.”
“Then transfer daily oversight to me and Cedric when you’re ready to do something.”
I set down the fork.
Milan shrugged. “I’m an architect. I solve problems.”
“This is not your problem.”
“No. It’s yours. You just raised me to point out bad design.”
I looked through the glass wall of my office at the plans pinned across the studio. I had built Mercer Row on clean contracts, clear responsibility, and the belief that a man should not hide personal desire inside professional authority. Nadine deserved that clarity. So did I.
“I’m not ready to do anything,” I said.
Milan smiled into her food. “Okay.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You got that from your mother.”
“Good genes.”
I let it go. But after she left, I opened Nadine’s contract and read the reassignment clause. I did not plan to use it. For the first time, I wanted the option.