Grant looked at the caller ID, and his chest rose and fell in a shallow, rapid breath.

“It’s Marcus Vance,” Grant muttered.

Marcus Vance was the managing partner of Pacific Sovereign, the primary pension fund backing eighty percent of Harbor Point.

Grant pressed the phone to his ear, his hand trembling slightly.

“Marcus,” Grant said, trying to force his usual smooth, sales-pitch baritone into his voice.

He did not get another word in.

Even from three feet away, I could hear the metallic, angry tin of Marcus’s voice leaking from the receiver.

“I am looking at a state board alert on my terminal, Grant,” the voice buzzes.

“It’s a temporary misunderstanding, Marcus,” Grant said, his eyes darting to the floor. “Our legal team is already—”

“Save it,” Marcus cut him off. “The contract is explicit. Any suspension of the principal developer’s license constitutes an immediate material default.”

“We can appeal,” Grant pleaded, his voice cracking slightly at the edge. “Give me forty-eight hours.”

“We are pulling our funding,” Marcus said.

The line went dead.

Grant slowly lowered the phone, his arm dropping to his side as if it had suddenly turned to lead.