“So you’re moving it?” Marcus asked, squinting through the dust. “Where?”

“Just down to the staging area at the bottom of the hill,” Nathan said, pointing toward the public road. “We have to clear the weight off the site so we can drill new micro-piers.”

“How long is that going to take?” Marcus asked.

“Three days to drill, four days to cure,” Nathan said. “Then we lift it back into place.”

Marcus looked at his phone screen, then rubbed the back of his neck.

“Richard is going to have a heart attack,” Marcus muttered.

“Richard isn’t the one who would have been sued if the house slid onto the highway below,” I said.

I stepped closer to Marcus, blocking his view of the second flatbed backing up toward the kitchen wing.

“Are you here to help us secure the site, Marcus, or do you just want to stand in the dust?” I asked.

He held up his hands in surrender.

“No, no,” Marcus said, backing toward his Lexus. “This is residential stuff. I just came by to pick up the spare surveyor maps Richard left in the garage.”