Chapter 4
Three of them were project invitations.
One was from Westhaven, a concept design for a tech park.
Another was from Ashford, a renovation project for an old district.
And the third was from Southport.
An international firm was inviting Maynard Studio to join a joint bid for a resort in the Southern Isles.
They were offering 2.5 million dollars just for the design, plus a bonus if we actually landed the contract.
I closed my laptop.
Stella had no clue about any of this.
For seven years, she thought all I did was buy groceries, cook dinner, and pick Jessica up from school.
She never knew that every night, from 11 PM to 3 AM, I'd be hunched over this table, sketching designs, submitting bids, and dealing with clients.
Under Maynard Studio, I'd wrapped up twenty-three projects and racked up six design awards.
Last year, the studio brought in 4 million dollars.
My account balance? 15 million dollars.
I hadn't spent a single cent of it on myself.
I put every dollar toward Jessica's education fund and a private equity investment.
It wasn't that I was stingy.
I didn't want Stella to find out.
She needed to be the one holding all the financial cards; if she ever realized she wasn't the only one bringing in money, the whole balance would tip.
She needed to feel like she was the one doing me a favor.
She needed to be the one looking down at me from above.
So I played along for seven years.
But now? I didn't have to play along anymore.
*****
The next morning, I called Johann back.
"I'll take the project out west," I said.
"Awesome." Johann was clearly thrilled. "I'll let the client know this afternoon. But—"
"But what?"
"The client is Everstone Properties."
My hand froze for a second.
That was Stella's company.
"You know that, right?" Johann asked.
"Yeah, I know."
"So, are you—"
"It's fine."
I glanced toward the bedroom door. Jessica was still asleep.
"Work is work," I said. "But there's one condition."
"What is it?"
"Just keep my name out of it. Sign everything as Maynard Studio."
"Okay."
After hanging up, I leaned back in my chair.
Everstone Properties was a project of the creative district out west.
If I remembered right, the client contact for this project was Stella herself.
Now that was interesting.
*****
Getting Jessica enrolled in school was a breeze.
There was a pretty good public elementary school on the east side, just a ten-minute walk from home.
When I took her to register, the homeroom teacher glanced over the paperwork.
"Arturo Maynard?" the teacher asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Are you Jessica's father?"
"That's right."
She glanced at the guardian section and then looked back at me. "And the mother's section—"
"We're divorced. Jessica lives with me."
The teacher didn't ask any more questions.
But she gave me a look I knew all too well.
To her, I was a stay-at-home dad, raising a six-year-old daughter alone in an old neighborhood.
She probably already had me pegged as one of those "struggling families."
But it didn't matter.
After dropping Jessica off, I headed over to Johann's office.
He was waiting for me in the conference room on the third floor.
The table was piled high with files and blueprints for the creative district out west.
"The client wants the concept design by next month," Johann said.
"That's a tight deadline," I replied.
"Can you handle it?"
I flipped through the files.
The site was about 1.2 million square feet; they wanted to build a creative park with supporting commercial facilities.
The plot had a river to the east and mountains to the west.
"I can handle it," I said.
I picked up a pen and quickly sketched two lines across the site plan, saying, "We'll follow the river's path and leave the mountain untouched.
"The main buildings will be laid out as low-rise courtyard clusters, and the commercial spaces will be box-like structures elevated along the hillside."
Johann leaned in for a closer look.
"You already have a plan in mind?" he asked.
"I had the idea seven years ago," I said.
I set the pen down. "But back then, nobody listened."
He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. "This time, it's different."
As I walked out of the office, my phone rang again.
It was Stella.
I picked up.
No greeting, no small talk, she straight to the point. "Did you take Jessica's registration papers?"
"Yeah," I replied.
"I need a copy. The company has a form to fill out."
"What form?"
"It's an employee child registration form. It doesn't concern you."
I paused for a second and said, "Jessica's staying with me now. No need for you to fill it out."
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
"Fine, whatever." She hung up.
I stared at the screen for a while, lost in thought.
Seven years of marriage, and now all we had left was this kind of conversation.
It was even colder than strangers.
On the weekend, Jessica kept pestering me to take her to the park.
I took her to the free riverside park out east.
She darted across the lawn chasing butterflies while I sat on a bench, answering emails.
The Southport project team sent another follow-up email.
They said the deadline was approaching and asked if Maynard Studio was still in.
Just as I was typing, my phone rang.
"Arturo," a woman's voice said.
A woman's voice, but it wasn't Stella.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"It's Amari Morris," she replied.