Chapter 4 - The First Tremor
By Monday morning, news of the St. Claire contract had ripped through the county’s elite circles like wildfire.
I arrived at the local municipal building at eight o’clock sharp to pull the initial structural permits, only to find the planning director—a portly man named Howard Finch who played golf with Abel’s father every Sunday—sitting behind his desk with a smug, regretful expression.
"Terribly sorry, Miss Vance," Finch said, barely looking up from his coffee mug as he stamped my application with red ink. "A stop-work order was filed early this morning. Historic landmark preservation clause twelve-B. Any commercial restoration exceeding one million dollars requires a thirty-day public review by the Township Heritage Board."
"That board meets once a quarter, Mr. Finch," I said, leaning over his desk, my voice level and icy cold. "Clause twelve-B only applies to municipal properties, not private acquisitions backed by an accredited historical conservancy. You know that as well as I do."
"Well, now, Clara," Finch said condescendingly, leaning back in his swivel chair. "The law is open to interpretation. And Mrs. Davenport, who happens to chair that board, raised serious concerns about your... emotional stability. Given the unfortunate scene your mother made last month."
The rage surged hot and fast behind my ribs, but before I could reply, the door behind me swung open with such force that it rattled the frosted glass pane.
Julian Cross stepped inside, accompanied by a woman in a razor-sharp charcoal pantsuit carrying two bulging leather briefcases.
"Good morning, Howard," Julian said calmly, taking off his leather driving gloves. "I believe you haven't met Victoria Sterling, senior partner at Sterling & Vance Corporate Law. She also happens to be Clara’s second cousin."
Finch’s face lost every ounce of color. Victoria set her briefcase on Finch’s mahogany desk with a dull, heavy thud.
"Mr. Finch," Victoria spoke with the smooth efficiency of a guillotine. "If that red stamp isn't replaced by an approved permit within sixty seconds, I will file a federal writ of mandamus along with an ethics investigation into the thirty-two zoning exemptions you granted to Abel Davenport’s commercial strip mall project last October. Shall we check your personal savings account for Davenport-funded wire transfers, or would you prefer to use the green stamp?"
Finch’s hand trembled so violently he dropped his pen. Without uttering a single word, he pulled out the green seal, slammed it onto my permits, and handed them over with sweat beading on his forehead.
"Pleasure doing business with the township," Julian murmured.
As we walked out into the crisp autumn morning, I turned to Julian, my heart racing. "You didn't have to bring Victoria. I was ready to fight him myself."
May you like
"I know you were," Julian replied, glancing down at me with an unreadable warmth in his dark eyes. "But when you're fighting hyenas, Clara, you don't use a stick. You use a cannon."
***
