Chapter 24
CALVIN
The Manhattan skyline stretches before me, stories upon stories of glass and steel and ambition. I should feel at home here in this office, this view, this life I spent years building.
But walking back into my New York office after weeks away, I felt like I was entering a stranger’s life. Everything here is duller than I remember it.
I turn back to my laptop, to the email I’ve been drafting and deleting for the past hour.
Dear Dr. Hosier,
I’m writing to inform you of a significant archaeological discovery at our Jumayah excavation site. An intact burial chamber, dated to approximately 1700 BCE, containing what appears to be a double burial…
My finger hovers over the delete button.
Three weeks ago, right after Georgia left, I halted the excavation. Stood in front of the team and told them to stop work, cover the site, secure everything. No more documentation. No more analysis.
Not until I said otherwise.
And I haven’t said otherwise.
The tomb sits there in the desert, covered and waiting. Exactly as Georgia wanted: preserved, protected, given the time and respect it deserves.
Finding someone to pick up her mantle makes the most sense, but I just can’t bring myself to move forward without her.
Shaking my head, I close out of the email. I don’t delete it, but it goes to my drafts along with ten others of its kind. I sit back in my chair, rubbing my eyes. The headlines write themselves in my mind:
Major Discovery at Jumayah Site: Ancient Lovers’ Tomb Unearthed
Billionaire’s Gamble Pays Off: Temple Complex Confirmed
Love Through the Ages: Archaeologists Find Intact Burial Chamber
This is what I wanted. Proof that the project was worthwhile, that my grandmother’s stories were real. Something to wave in my father’s face and say, “See? I was right. You were wrong.”
But every time I try to write the announcement, I hear Georgia’s voice. These were real people. They deserve more than being a headline.
And she was right. God, she was so right.
Their story deserves to be told completely, carefully, with the respect it merits. Not rushed. Not sensationalized. Not used as a weapon in my personal war with my father. I was being impulsive when I argued with her against that point.
So, I don’t make the calls. Don’t send the emails. Don’t alert anyone to what we’ve found.
There’s a sudden knock at my door, and I blink my eyes into focus. “Come in.”
Ollie enters with a cup of coffee and sets it on the coaster on my desk. “Thought you could use this.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t leave, which means he has something to say. I’ve worked with Ollie long enough to know his tells, and that little way he’s rocking his weight is one of the larger ones.
“What is it?” I ask, turning my face up to him.
His voice is careful. “Should I… reschedule anything for today?”
“No. Why would you?”
“Are you sure? Because you seem…” He trails off.
“Distracted?”
“I was going to say miserable.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “That obvious?”
“You’ve been… scattered since you came back. Yesterday you left without your phone.”
That’s because I know Georgia won’t be calling, so what’s the point?
He gestures to my computer. “And you keep looking at those photos.”
I follow his gaze to where I’ve pulled up images of the excavation. The unopened tomb. The pottery fragments.
And Georgia. Multiple shots of Georgia working, crouched over the site, directing her team, looking like a model and the head in her field all at once.
“Have you talked to her?” Ollie asks quietly.
“No.”
He clicks his tongue.
“She made her position clear. She quit. I accepted. End of story.”
“Is it, though?” He sits in the chair across from my desk without being invited, a liberty only Ollie would take. “Because you halted the excavation. You haven’t hired a replacement. You haven’t announced the discovery. You’re basically frozen, waiting for something.”
“I’m being respectful. Taking the time to do things right.”
“Or you’re punishing yourself. And hoping she’ll come back.”
The accusation hits too close to home.
“She’s not coming back,” I say flatly. “Why would she? I told her she was replaceable. Let her walk away. I’ve proven exactly who I am.”
“Have you tried apologizing?”
“What good would that do? ‘Sorry’ doesn’t fix fundamental character flaws.”
Ollie is quiet for a moment, studying me. “You really love her.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”
“Then maybe try anyway. Maybe give her the chance to decide if ‘sorry’ is enough.”
“It won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I turn back to my laptop, to the blank email waiting to be written. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a board meeting to prepare for.”
Ollie stands, but pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth, I think she’d come back if you asked. Really asked. Not as her boss, but as a man who’s in love with her.”
After he leaves, I sit in the silence of my office, staring at the cursor blinking on the screen.
A man who’s in love with her.
I do love her, but love isn’t enough to overcome what I broke, the trust I shattered. The way I showed her, in the moment that mattered most, that I couldn’t choose her over my own fear and pride.
My phone rings, and a quick glance at it tells me it’s my father. I consider not answering, but that will only delay the inevitable.
“Hello?” I answer, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.
“Calvin. I’ve been trying to reach you for a week.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to respond to your own father? The board wants updates. They’re concerned about your extended absence.”
I stare at the pictures on my screen. “Tell the board I’ll return when the project is complete.”
“And when will that be?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” His voice is sharp. “Calvin, this is exactly what I was afraid of. Meet me at my office today at four.”
For years, that tone would have worked. Would have made me feel like a disappointing child who needed to fall in line. But something in me has shifted. “No.”
The silence on the other end is profound.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“Your grandmother filled your head with fairy tales, and now you’re wasting your potential chasing ghosts. She did you no favors with those stories.”
The words ignite something in me. Rage, hot and immediate. “Don’t.” My voice is low. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Someone has to be honest with you. She coddled you, made you soft, filled you with sentiment that has no place in business. If she’d focused on making you strong instead of telling you bedtime stories—”
“She made me human,” I interrupt. “She’s the only reason I have any capacity for connection or care or anything beyond the cold, calculating machine you tried to turn me into.”
“That machine built an empire.”
It’s disgusting, the fact that he doesn’t even try to argue how he raised me. It sounds like he’s proud.
I’m breathing hard, my hand shaking around the phone.
My father is silent.
“Calvin—”
“I have to go.”
I hang up before he can respond. I look at my laptop screen, at the unsent email, at the photos of Georgia working with such passion and purpose. And I close it all.
I lied to my father about finishing this project. I won’t be finishing it, because none of it matters without her.