I picked up my briefcase.

“Have your personal belongings cleared from the site office by five,” I said.

“If you are on the property after that, security will remove you.”

I walked out of the conference room, my heels clicking on the tile.

Diane followed me into the bright Newport Beach sunshine.

The air smelled of salt and warm asphalt.

“That went exactly as planned,” Diane said.

“But we still have the forensic audit on the tax filings to deliver to the federal prosecutor.”

“Let them have it,” I said.

“I want every single cent traced.”

We walked down the stone steps toward the parking lot.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

It was a text from the site manager, Marcus.

*The new bronze letters for the entrance gate have just arrived,* the message read.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, thinking of my mother.

She had died before she could see her dream realized.

But her name would be carved into the stone forever.

I drove down the coast highway toward the construction site.

The skeleton of the four-story residential building stood against the blue sky.