Chapter 3

I did not go home. I drove from the theater to the office with my mother's ruler on the passenger seat beside me.

By the time I reached Cole & Hart, the lobby lights were off. Only the boardroom on the third floor was bright.

Owen was already inside.

Three board members sat at the long table. Their coats were still on. A screen at the far end showed the Bell Street account, open beneath a heading that read Emergency Transition Vote.

Owen looked up when I entered. "Mara. Thank God."

He said it as if he had been waiting for me to calm down.

"You called a vote before telling me what it was about."

"I called a vote because the award committee is asking questions, the press release goes out in the morning, and you walked out of a public event accusing the firm of fraud."

"I accused you of using my signature."

One of the board members, Dean, shifted in his chair.

"Owen told us the transition had been discussed. We thought tonight was about protecting Bell Street from bad publicity," he said.

"Was my approval attached to the meeting notice?"

Dean looked at the screen. "No."

"Was the signed transition document attached?"

He did not answer.

Owen leaned both hands on the table. "This is exactly why we need to move quickly. You're too close to it."

For years, that sentence had worked on me. Too close. Too detailed. Too involved. It had always meant that Owen would speak while I repaired whatever his speaking cost.

I placed the ruler on the table between us.

"I'm the original architect on Bell Street. I hold the design copyright and sixty percent of this firm. No one transfers my account or uses my name tonight," I said.

Owen's face changed.

His face moved just enough for me to see it, then settled.

"No one is stealing your account."

"Then remove the motion."

Silence filled the room.

The board secretary, Harper, stood near the screen with her laptop open.

"Mara can request a temporary access hold as rights holder. It would delay any reassignment until the board reviews the authorization," she said.

Owen turned toward her. "That would freeze the client portal."

"Only Bell Street," Harper said.

"And tomorrow's briefing," he replied.

He wanted everyone to hear the cost before I could decide. The account held contractor messages, resident approvals, permit notes, and the drawings Owen had been using to pitch the new development. If I froze it, the firm would spend the morning explaining why its own project had stopped moving.

If I did not, he would have my work before sunrise.

I looked at Dean. "Would you let a client move a project designed by someone else without confirming her signature?"

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "No."

"Then don't ask me to do it because I'm married to the man requesting it."

Owen's voice dropped. "You're punishing everyone because you feel humiliated."

I picked up the ruler. "I'm stopping you from making another decision for me."

Harper turned her laptop toward me. The request was one line long. Freeze reassignment and external use of Bell Street materials pending authorization review.

My hand did not shake when I clicked approve. Owen stepped back from the table. No one spoke for several seconds.

Then Harper's phone chimed. She read the message, and her expression changed.

"The contractor just confirmed the site crew. They're putting barriers around the community garden at seven tomorrow morning," she said.