I search her face. She’s clearly not saying everything, but I know that what she has told me is the truth. And somehow, I trust her more for not pretending this is simple.
I ask the question that I’m afraid to ask, yet at the same time, I can’t not ask it. “What does all of this mean for The Shadowridge?”
Charlie studies me. “There are several factors. How much of it do you want? I don’t want to overload you.”
“I think it’s safe to say I’m already overloaded. But give me all you’ve got. I need to know what I’m facing.”
“I totally understand that. There’s a lot that I don’t know, but I can give you my best guess. I think the biggest thing The Shadowridge has going for it is that the building is owned by a historical trust—Giovanniwas just funding the restoration. If he owned the building, it’d likely be seized, and that would put things in limbo for years.
“Since he doesn’t, odds are better that you’ll be able to continue, possibly in a limited capacity, depending on funding. You’ll for sure have to find new donors. I don’t know how long what Giovanni’s already paid will last, but he’ll likely not be able to send more.”
He didn’t pay a lump sum up front—in the contract we signed, it was scheduled to come in a series of five payments, and we’ve only hit the benchmarks for the first two. “It’s not enough to finish.” I feel like I’ve got a brick in my stomach.
“I know you said that finding donors is the hardest part, and that it takes a while. I’m so sorry, Owen.”
I sit there for a moment, staring at the pathway like it might offer some answers.
Giovanni is a smuggler. He was using The Shadowridge. He was using me.
My stomach turns. I feel stupid for not seeing it and for placing so much trust in him. And I’m angry. At Giovanni, at myself, maybe even at the world, for letting something this good get tainted.
I look over at Charlie as she sits right beside me. Her shoulders are tense, but her eyes are steady. She didn’t have to tell me any of this. She could’ve let it unfold on its own, and I would’ve justfound out when everything exploded. But she didn’t. She came to me with the truth. That matters more than everything else crashing down.
Yet, I still can’t help but think of all those things that are crashing down. I shake my head. “Nothing is ever guaranteed, is it?”
“It isn’t.” I’m looking down, but she gently puts her hands on my cheeks and turns my face to meet her eyes. “So, that means that a bad outcome—or the outcome you’re fearing the most—isn’t guaranteed, either.”
Giovanni’s assets will probably be seized and his accounts frozen. The likelihood of my being able to finish the restoration of this building I love and honor my grandpa’s memory by doing it is slim. Especially because a partially finished project is always more difficult to secure funding for, because then there’s a stigma attached to it. New investors almost always assume that a project is doomed if a previous investor pulled out.
The implications of it all start to hit me. How quickly the funds we’ve already received from Giovanni will run out. That all my crew will be out of a job. That I won’t have a reason to stay in Cipher Springs and will need to move on to the next job. That it might greatly affect my relationship with Charlie.
And if I do somehow miraculously find a way to secure new funding, there will still be a loss ofmomentum on the project. And the all the uncertainty will likely cause so much stress every step of the way.
I’m trying not to show how much I am freaking out. But it is so hard to hold in. My chest just feels so tight, and although I’m breathing fast, I’m not getting any air. I’m so dizzy. How did it get so hot? Suddenly, I’m standing, and I say, “I need to think. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
And then I head back along the pathway, speed-walking, leaving Charlie behind.
CHAPTER 30
ALL SYSTEMS OVERLOADED
OWEN
When I get to my truck, I start driving with no plan as to where I’m going. I find myself on a road out of town that’s narrow, with no shoulder, where most of the time, I have green fields spread out on one side and lots of trees on the other. Only an occasional home. I’ve never been on this road before, and I don’t care where it’s taking me.
I only make it about fifteen minutes out of town before the road has a shoulder again, and I pull off to the side. The moment I do, I get out my phone and open the app that shows the cameras in The Shadowridge. Not that I’m expecting to see Giovanni, some courier dropping off a package, or even a hint out a window of whatever officer or agent is watching the building. I do it because I need confirmation thatthis place I love is okay. Fifteen minutes. That’s as long as I made it.
I keep switching between each of the cameras, looking for nothing, yet not being able to bring myself to stop. I can’t believe I never clued in on Giovanni’s plans to use The Shadowridge as a front. When I look for investors, I usually find them through networking in my field, researching philanthropists who may be interested in projects like mine, or talking to past donors of similar projects.
I found Giovanni through a mix of those. Initially, through research, then through someone I didn’t know well, but whom I’d seen at several networking events. He made the introduction, and Giovanni seemed interested, so we talked and I pitched the project to him. I look back at that initial phone call through the lens of the information I learned tonight, searching my mind for any clues. I don’t remember anything that seemed off.
Over the next several weeks, I met with him via video call often, showing him the space, my proposal, discussing the scope, history, impact, timeline, funding needs, all of it. Every step of the way, he seemed as excited by the project as I was. Was he excited because of its potential as a drop location for his illicit business, and I just interpreted it as excitement for the restoration itself? Had I just beenprojecting?
He’d sent out a team to look at the site, and I didn’t notice that anything was off. We worked through a draft of the funding agreement with lawyers together, negotiating the timeline and restoration conditions for nearly two months.
From that first phone call up until now, I’ve given him updates at least weekly. How could I have been so blind to such a big issue? I must not have checked everything as well as I thought I had. And now everything is about to collapse.
I know that everything can change in a single night. It did when my grandpa died. And it did the night of the football banquet when I was injured in that accident. I was blindsided by both of those events, too, just like tonight. Why does badness come after me? I rub my knee that is suddenly hurting. Maybe I haven’t come as far as I thought I had in forgiving Cordell because right now, I’m mad at him again. It just feels like there’s no justice.
