“Actually, I’m better than fine.”

I looked out the window at the glowing highway signs.

“The press conference is on Friday?” I asked.

“Yes,” Julian said.

“Ten o’clock at the old municipal pier.”

“The Mayor’s office confirmed their attendance an hour ago.”

“Every major architectural journal in the country will have a reporter there.”

“They want to see the woman who redesigned the Chicago shoreline.”

I felt a quiet thrill in my chest.

This was the moment I had worked toward since leaving Boston with nothing but a suitcase.

The blueprints, the long hours in the temporary office, the endless calculations.

It was finally real.

“We need to finalize the presentation boards tomorrow,” I said.

“I want the structural models to be clear.”

“They will be,” Julian said, offering a small, reassuring smile.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting another automated alert.

Instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

The screen glowed in the dark car.

I opened the message.

There was a single photo attached.

It was a shot of my original waterfront schematics, but there were red lines drawn through the main support pillars.