Chapter 39 Sam
Chapter thirty-nine
Sam
I'm three pages into the updated site plan when my screen flashes. The sender line makes my jaw tighten before I've read a single word.
From: Vincent Castellano To: Richard Mitchell CC: Sam Morgan, Developer Aldridge, Board Members
Subject: Concerns Re: Photography Vendor—Harbor District
I don't open it immediately. My hand stays on the mouse, cursor hovering over the preview pane. The CC list is a power play. Castellano didn't send this to me. He sent it to my boss and made sure I watched him do it.
I click.
The email is three paragraphs. Professionally worded. Polite tone. Every sentence calibrated to sound like fiscal prudence instead of what it actually is.
Given the critical juncture of the Harbor District project, I recommend bringing in a second photography vendor or replacing the current contractor entirely.
Mr. Bennett’s improvisational style and disregard for standard protocol introduces unnecessary risk at this stage.
I can recommend several experienced photographers who are accustomed to working within corporate oversight and Board reporting requirements.
My elbow lands on the desk. I rest my forehead into my fingers and massage my temples.
He didn't say Tom's work is bad. He said it's risky. He said improvisational like it's a liability. He offered to fix the problem for us.
I close the email without replying.
My phone buzzes. Richard's assistant: Richard would like to see you. Now available.
I stand, smooth my skirt, and walk to his office.
Richard's door is open. He waves me in and gestures to the chair across from his desk without preamble.
"You saw the email."
"I did."
He leans back, fingers steepled. "You know Castellano. Old guard. He didn't like a freelance photographer standing up and lecturing him in front of the Board yesterday. He wants to reassert his authority."
"So, this isn't about Tom's work."
"It's about control." Richard picks up a pen, taps it twice against his desk. "You could replace Tom. Give Castellano the win."
The offer lands flat. No emotion behind it.
"I chose Tom originally for this project. So this blow back is partially on me," Richard adds. "If you think Castellano is right, if you want someone different, say so."
"Tom's work isn't improvisational. His visuals brings the value of the Harbor District to life. Replacing him weakens the presentation."
Richard sets the pen down. "Are you defending Tom because his work is genuinely essential? Or because you're too attached to your vision to see when something isn't working?"
My throat tightens.
For three seconds, I actually ask myself if he's right.
I swallow once, then meet Richard's eyes. "His work is essential. Replacing him would be the mistake."
Richard nods. "Good. I think he's the right choice." He pauses. "Back down and you prove Castellano right."
I stand. Richard returns to his screen.
I walk back to my desk and sit down.
Richard trusts my judgment.
I stare at the site plan still open on my screen. Close it. Reopen my email. Scroll back to Castellano's message and read it again.
Castellano wants data. I can't point to a formula that explains why Tom's images work. I can't quantify why Tom's images make people stop and look.
Can I defend a choice I can't explain?
I pick up my phone and text the Boss Babes group chat
Emergency session. Can you meet tonight?
Three responses come in under a minute. All yes.
***
Priya, Liv, and Nadia are already in the corner booth when I walk through the door at seven. Priya stands when she sees me, grabs my left hand, and checks for a ring.
"No ring. Okay, he didn't propose."
Liv studies my face. "No puffy eyes. He didn't break up with you either."
Nadia crosses her arms. "Spill."
I slide into the booth. "It's not about that. It's work."
They exchange a look.
"Professional," Nadia repeats. "With Tom."
"Yes."
Priya waves a hand. "Go."
I give them the short version. Castellano's email. Richard's offer to replace Tom. My defense of Tom's work. Richard telling me to trust my judgment.
"So you defended him," Liv says. "Richard backed you. What's the problem?"
I press my palms flat against the table. "What if I'm too close to it? What if I'm missing something?"
"Do you think Tom's work is excellent?" Priya asks.
"Yes. Objectively yes."
"Would you have defended any photographer whose work was this good?" Liv asks.
I don't hesitate. "Yes. Because losing him would hurt the project."
"Then you're not defending Tom because you can't see straight," Nadia says. "You're defending him because replacing him would be the mistake."
My sternum still feels tight.
"This isn't about Tom," Priya adds. "It's about whether you'll let Castellano bully you into compromising your vision."
Liv leans forward. "You need to tell Tom what's happening."
My stomach drops. "It's handled. Richard backed me. There's nothing Tom needs to do."
"He deserves to know Castellano is targeting him to get to you," Nadia says.
"It'll just make him uncomfortable. What if it makes things weird?"
Priya's expression doesn't change. "It doesn't always have to be comfortable to be right."
Liv's voice is quieter. "Partners communicate. Even when it's hard."
Priya tilts her head slightly, waiting.
I exhale once, then nod. "I'll text him."
I pull out my phone under the table.
Can you meet me at the harbor bench in twenty?
His reply comes back a moment later.
On my way.
I stand, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. "Thanks, guys."
Priya squeezes my hand. "You've got this."
I walk out of the wine bar and head straight for the harbor.
***
I get to the waterfront bench seven minutes early. The amber glow of the streetlamps reflects off the dark, choppy water, and the wind off the river bites through my clothes. I sit down and pull my jacket tighter.
Tom appears a few minutes later, his hands buried deep in his pockets against the chill. He sits down next to me, close but not touching.
"Hey." His voice is steady. "What's up?"
I don't ease into it. "Castellano sent an email this afternoon. To Richard. He wants to replace you with a different photographer."
Tom's expression doesn't change. "Okay."
"Richard offered me an out. Said I could bring someone else in if I wanted. Give Castellano the win and remove the friction."
"And?"
"I told him no. I'm keeping you on the project."
Tom exhales slowly. "Are you sure? If keeping me makes things harder for you, I'll walk. No questions asked."
He means it.
His voice is steady, no bravado, no wounded pride. Just an offer.
"If Richard had given me this option on Day One—before we'd worked together—I probably would have said yes." I exhale. "But Tom, you're the best photographer I've ever worked with."
He doesn't interrupt.
“Castellano wants data. ROI projections. Proven formulas.” My hands twist together in my lap.
“I can’t give him that. I can’t put what you do into a spreadsheet or point to a metric. I look at your photos and they just… work.”
My throat tightens. "I don't know. It's sort of like magic."
The word sounds ridiculous. I hate it the moment it leaves my mouth.
Tom is quiet for a beat.
“Magic,” he repeats quietly.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my work.”
His voice shifts, gets quieter. "Thank you."
I meet his eyes.
"I know you hate not being able to explain it. Yet you still defended it."
We sit in silence. A jogger passes on the path behind us. The water laps against the concrete barrier.
My shoulders drop.
Tom studies me for a second.
"Next time," he says, "we handle it together."
I glance at him. "Next time?"
He doesn't smile. "There's always a next time."
I don't argue.
Tom stands and offers me his hand. I take it, and we walk back toward the street together.