Page 26 of Never Quite Gone

My pen tapped against the desk as possibilities unfolded. Vale had been playing games with construction access, weaponizing concerns about emergency vehicles. This property could flip his whole strategy on its head.

“Make it happen,” I signed the authorization with practiced efficiency that made my pen nearly blur. “Full acquisition offer, expedited timeline.”

The team exchanged glances loaded with unspoken questions. They weren't used to seeing me move this fast on relatively small properties. But they couldn't see the larger game unfolding, the careful positioning of pieces that would determine everything.

Will's appearance in the doorway sent them scurrying with relieved efficiency.

“Quite the power move,” he claimed his usual chair like it had his name engraved on it. “That property's been rotting on the market for months. Why the sudden interest?”

“Strategic positioning,” I kept my voice smooth as aged whiskey. “The location has potential.”

“Mm.” His smile could have cut glass. “Nothing to do with tomorrow's hospital board meeting? Or Dr. Monroe's department access requirements?”

The acquisition papers crackled under my suddenly still hands.

“The project needs proper access routes,” I measured each word carefully.

“You've been awfully fixated on this one,” his tone walked the line between casual and surgical.

Sarah's perfectly timed appearance with construction reports felt like a life preserver thrown to a drowning man. She'd developed an almost supernatural ability to read the undercurrents in my meetings, especially the loaded ones with family.

The leather seats of my town car whispered against my suit as Marcus navigated Manhattan's maze of steel and concrete. My tablet glowed with an endless stream of corporate warfare ammunition – property assessments, impact studies, zoning regulations – each document another brick in the wall of my carefully built empire. But my eyes kept drifting to the Presbyterian Hospital blueprints, something about their precise geometry making my chest tight with recognition.

“The board meeting's been moved to two,” Marcus announced, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror with a warning look. “Vale requested the change.”

The bastard's timing was as calculated as his smile. My phone buzzed – a text from my contact in historical archives. The image hit me like a punch to the solar plexus: a sepia photograph from 1893, showing a doctor with Eli's eyes staring back through time. My fingers shook slightly as I saved it to a private folder, buried deep where corporate spies wouldn't think to look.

Traffic crawled past Presbyterian's main entrance, and my body tensed like a tuning fork being struck. Through the glass doors, harsh fluorescent lights somehow transformed the chaos of the ER into something almost sacred. Eli moved through it all with surgical precision, directing his team through what looked like a trauma case with the kind of focus that made the rest of the world fade away.

“The Wall Street Journal reporter is waiting in the conference room,” Marcus's voice pulled me back to reality as we slid into myreserved space. “She's particularly interested in the hospital development.”

I adjusted my tie in the elevator's reflection, armor going up piece by piece. Sandra Li had a reputation for gutting CEOs who tried to feed her PR bullshit. Perfect for maintaining my image as a brilliant but ruthless developer. Less perfect for keeping certain questions from being asked.

The conference room's windows framed Manhattan like a living painting, but Sandra's laser focus never wavered from my face. She launched her questions like perfectly aimed arrows, each one probing for weakness.

“The healthcare sector is new territory for Rothschild Development,” her pen hovered over her notebook like a scalpel. “Why the sudden interest in hospital infrastructure?”

The smile I gave her had charmed billions out of investors' pockets. “Demographics don't lie, Ms. Chen. An aging population means increased demand for medical services. Smart development means anticipating market trends.”

She leaned forward, shark sensing blood in the water. “Yet your focus on Presbyterian seems... personal. The proposed designs go far beyond typical medical office space.”

“Every project deserves full commitment. Presbyterian's history of excellence aligns perfectly with our development philosophy.” The words came smooth as aged scotch, practiced until perfect.

“Your reputation for historical preservation is well-known,” she pressed, “but these designs seem almost... reverential. The attention to original architectural elements, the focus on natural light and healing spaces – it's more like restoring a temple than modernizing a hospital.”

My hands froze on the blueprints between us, her observation hitting closer to home than she could know. “The best development work honors what came before while creating something new. Presbyterian's original architects understood the connectionbetween environment and healing. We're simply building on that foundation.”

The dance continued – every question a potential landmine, every answer carefully balanced between corporate truth and deeper motivations. I spoke market analysis and community impact like a second language, maintaining the mask of the brilliant businessman with an artistic streak.

“One final question.” Her eyes could have cut diamonds. “You could have chosen any number of hospitals for this development. Why Presbyterian specifically?”

The graphs and market analyses spread between us like a shield. My CEO persona slipped on as comfortable as an expensive suit. The answer came polished and perfect – demographics, infrastructure opportunities, community investment. Everything a Wall Street Journal profile needed, while revealing nothing of the fire burning beneath my carefully constructed surface.

“Fascinating.” Her final note scratched across the page like a prophecy. “You've built quite an empire, Mr. Rothschild. One might almost think you were working toward something beyond mere profit.”

If she noticed how my smile felt like cracking glass, she was professional enough not to mention it. “Business success requires a longer view,” I said, each word weighted with meanings she couldn't grasp. “Sometimes the most valuable investments are the ones that take lifetimes to mature.”

CHAPTER 9

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