CHAPTER NINE
NASH
The day after the Developers Summit, Archer and I shifted into hyperdrive.
I stared at the aerial photos spread across the conference table, showcasing the exact neighborhood of Queens that we were working in.
Green represented our properties—as of now, just three.
Cross properties took up a full quarter of the aerial view with his Meridian Manufacturing acquisition.
Everything that was actively on the market was in yellow.
But that left tons of properties—and families, livelihoods, futures—hanging in the balance.
The bastard knew what we were doing already. And while we were moving quickly, he’d been two steps ahead the entire time.
“We need to acquire more, immediately,” Archer said grimly, pointing to the street on the north side of Meridian. “We’re focusing on everything adjacent to his property just to be a thorn in his side, but we haven’t got anything up here yet.”
I scrolled through my phone, pausing on a folder of contacts I’d been gathering since our initial visit to Farwell.
Archer and I specialized in networking. We could get any granny on our side, no matter what she’d heard about us before.
Give us a family of hardworking immigrants, and they’d be putty in our hands within an hour.
It wasn’t hard for us because we were them, regular, working-class people. Sebastian had lobbed it at us like an insult, but he was right, even though I didn’t want him to be right about anything. We weren’t from his 1-percent world.
We were nothing like him.
And that’s why what we did was so important.
The second we let off the gas, he and his ilk would take over.
Mold this world into their own playground, the 99 percent be damned.
On paper, it didn’t seem so dangerous. Until it kept happening, time and time again, and then one day, no lower- and middle-class New Yorkers would be left.
Nobody would be able to buy a home for themselves, because greedy corporations like Cross Developments wanted not just their piece of the pie, but the entire fucking thing.
So when we’d gone to Farwell that day and purchased those buildings, we’d stopped into every bodega imaginable. We got the word on the street. We met with a few other property owners who were thinking of selling. We listened. We learned. We handed our number out like candy.
And now I had seven contacts in my phone who I could call for anything I needed.
I bet Sebastian fucking Cross hadn’t done that.
“We didn’t canvas on that side when we visited,” I murmured, cross-checking my contacts with the map on the table.
“The location farthest north is this one”—I pointed to a mixed-use building where we’d met a deli owner who passed us the info for the landlord—“and that’s still about a quarter block away. ”
Archer’s phone rang. It was Julia. He swiped to answer, putting it on speaker.
“Hey, Julia. Nash and I are here on speaker.”
“I got four more properties lined up,” Julia said, her voice firm. “But I have some bad news.”
Archer and I shared a look over the table. “What is it?”
“I would have had a fifth building but in between our outreach and about ten minutes ago…Sebastian Cross purchased it.”
“Fuck.” I leaned back into my seat, turning the news over in my head.
“He’s started buying,” Archer said quietly.
“He already knows we are,” I said. “Probably wants to get ahead of us. Again.”
“Well, it gets a bit worse. Sebastian paid forty percent over asking price.”
“Jesus,” I blurted. “Someone’s desperate.”
“That just means we have to crank the dial,” Archer said, leaning toward the table. “Julia, purchase whatever you can right now. You can go up to thirty over asking. If we can add four more properties to the holdings today, I’ll consider it a good day.”
“On it,” Julia said. “And I’m still waiting to hear back on roughly five more. But that’s about all we’ve got available to us within the vicinity you specified.”
The line went dead, and Archer and I stared at each other for a few moments, speaking volumes without a single word.
“I’m just worried it’s not gonna be enough,” Archer finally said, his gaze moving back to the map.
“The property moves or the money?”
“Both.”
“Well, don’t forget. We have the Gideon Hotel project,” I reminded him. “That’s gonna keep us afloat for the next couple of years, even if we get a little risky with additional investments.”
“Yeah.” Archer nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “We have the Gideon project. That’ll save us.”
In the silence, the memory of last night crept into my thoughts—the way Clara had stood toe-to-toe with Sebastian, the heat of her body against mine when we'd gotten lost in that moment in the ballroom. I pushed the thoughts away. I needed to focus, not think about how fucking delicious her body had felt beneath my grip. When I closed my eyes I could still see her sexy curves. I’d stared at her ass more last night than a real boyfriend might have.
And fuck if I wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again.
My cell phone rang, interrupting my brooding. Mrs. Young, one of the new contacts I’d made earlier this week, owned a small apartment building with eight rent-controlled units.
"Mrs. Young," I said, putting the call on speaker so Archer could hear. "How are you?"
"Mr. Nightingale, I'm sorry to bother you, but something happened today." Her voice was shaky, uncertain, different from when we’d met previously. "A man from Cross Developments called me. He made an offer on my building."
My stomach dropped. "What kind of offer?"
The pause felt eternal. "Ten million dollars."
I nearly choked. Archer's eyebrows shot up. That was nearing double what the property should be worth, even in a hot market.
"Mrs. Young, that's...that's a very generous offer," I managed.
"Listen, I know it’s absurd," she said quietly. "My building is worth maybe half that on a good day. I had it appraised recently so I know what it would go for. This feels wrong, Mr. Nightingale. Like they're trying to buy me out before I can think about it."
She was right. It was exactly what they were doing.
"Mrs. Young, if you're comfortable holding off on making any decisions, I'd like to make you a counteroffer.
I'll beat their highest offer by twenty percent if you'll commit to selling only to me.” Archer’s eyes widened at me from across the table.
“But really, I want you to hold onto it.
Our priority is that everyone who wants to stay in your neighborhood can stay.
For the rest of their lives. But if you must sell, I want you to sell to me. Not to that guy."
“I understand. I need to think about it," she said. "But thank you, Mr. Nightingale. I wanted you to know what was happening."
After she hung up, I thought Archer’s eyes would pop out of his head.
"Ten million?" Archer said finally. "For eight rent-controlled units?”
"It doesn’t make sense,” I said, rubbing at my face. “It’s so much money. The math isn’t there.”
My phone rang again. Then again. Over the next hour, I fielded calls from three more property owners in the area, all with similar stories. Sebastian's people were making offers so far above market value that it felt almost desperate.
“I officially hate Sebastian Cross,” Archer muttered after the most recent call.
"I guess this is his version of shots fired," I said with a sigh.
My gut roiled as we continued plotting our way forward.
Everything seemed so much bleaker now, and not knowing why Sebastian had bought Meridian only made it worse.
His aggression was increasing, which meant that he did see us as a threat.
That alone was enough proof that we needed to continue the work.
But our pockets weren’t as deep as his. The end of the road would come much sooner for us than for him.
Just before lunch, Marina knocked on the conference room door and entered with her tablet. "You need to see this," she said, pulling up the New York Real Estate Journal website. “Word has leaked about the tiff you have going on with Sebastian Cross.”
“Tiff?” I scoffed as she handed me the tablet, but the headline made my gut plummet. "Development Titans Clash: Nightingale vs. Cross in Queens Land Grab Battle."
The article was accompanied by a press photo of Archer and me, followed by what looked to be the entire Cross family—Sebastian, flanked by three men I didn’t recognize, two older and one about the same age as Sebastian.
The writer speculated about an emerging rivalry between Nightly Developments and Cross Developments, complete with quotes from unnamed industry insiders suggesting that both companies were making aggressive plays for the same Queens properties.
"Well, the good news is that your relationship with Clara is definitely public now," Archer said, pointing at another photo further down the article. It was from our arrival at the Development Summit the evening before. “That didn’t take long.”
I studied the photo, my gaze lingering on Clara. Our first event had gone well—better than well, actually. There'd been no need for awkward PDA, no forced intimacy. Clara had been brilliant with Commissioner Torres, and that moment when we'd gotten lost in each other's gaze...
I rubbed my eyes. That was the problem. Clara was supposed to be a business arrangement, a means to an end. But last night, holding her close, breathing in her scent, I'd forgotten entirely that we were putting on a show.
“Things are in motion,” I said. “We hard launched. Now the relationship has time stamps. We are establishing legitimacy.”
"We can't let the inheritance money slip away," Archer said. "We have to make good on this marriage arrangement, especially if we’re going to have to pay thirty percent over for every ten-million-dollar rent-controlled unit we stumble upon."