Chapter 4 The Weight of Decisions

Marcus sat in his office at seven in the morning, staring at the Harbor District contracts spread across his desk. The numbers were clean, precise, profitable. Twelve million in initial investment, projected returns of forty million over five years. It was exactly the kind of deal that had built his empire.

His coffee had gone cold an hour ago.

The door opened without a knock. Marcus looked up to see his stepmother Victoria glide into the office, her silver hair perfectly styled, her black suit tailored to perfection. She moved like a woman who had never been denied anything in her life.

"Marcus," she said, settling into the chair across from his desk without invitation. "You look tired."

"I'm fine."

Victoria's eyes moved to the contracts on his desk. "The Harbor District development. David Morrison mentioned you were considering it."

Marcus felt his jaw tighten. Victoria had a way of knowing about his business dealings before he'd made final decisions. It was one of the reasons she'd been so successful at positioning herself and Richard within his company.

"I'm reviewing the terms," he said.

"Of course you are. Though I understand there are some complications with the existing tenants."

Marcus's hand stilled on his coffee cup. "What kind of complications?"

"Oh, the usual. Small business owners who think they can stand in the way of progress." Victoria examined her manicured nails. "There's apparently a tailor shop that's being particularly difficult."

"Is there?"

"Rossi something. The owner seems to think she has some kind of right to stay." Victoria's smile was sharp. "It's almost charming, really. These people never understand how business works."

Marcus set down his cup carefully. "And how does business work, Victoria?"

"You know perfectly well. You make the profitable decision. If some little seamstress gets in the way, you remove the obstacle." Victoria leaned forward slightly. "Marcus, you've never let sentiment interfere with good business before."

"I'm not letting sentiment interfere with anything."

"Good." Victoria stood, smoothing her skirt. "Because Richard has been working very hard on the preliminary negotiations. It would be a shame if all his effort went to waste."

After she left, Marcus stared at the closed door. Victoria had a talent for making her suggestions sound like orders. She'd been doing it since she'd married his father fifteen years ago, slowly inserting herself and Richard into every aspect of the business.

His phone buzzed. A text from David Morrison: "Need your decision today. Other investors getting impatient."

Marcus typed back: "I'll call you this afternoon."

But instead of focusing on the contracts, Marcus found himself thinking about Elena's hands as she'd worked on his jacket. The careful way she'd examined each stitch, making sure everything was perfect. She'd taken pride in her work, even for a stranger who might never return.

At eleven o'clock, Marcus tried to focus on other contracts, but his mind kept drifting to Elena's shop. He wondered if she knew what was coming. He wondered if she would fight or simply accept defeat.

He wondered why he cared so much about what happened to a woman he barely knew.

---

Elena finished the blue dress at noon and hung it carefully on the rack with the other completed orders. Three pieces ready for pickup, two more due by Friday. The steady rhythm of work usually calmed her, but today she felt restless.

She was arranging thread spools when the bell jingled. A man in an expensive suit walked in, his smile too wide, his eyes already calculating the value of everything in the room.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Are you Elena Rossi?"

"I am."

"My name is Carl Peterson. I represent Morrison Development Group." He pulled out a business card. "I'd like to discuss a business opportunity with you."

Elena took the card but didn't look at it. "What kind of opportunity?"

"We're planning some exciting changes for this area. Urban renewal, you might say. We're prepared to make very generous offers to current business owners."

"Generous offers for what?"

Peterson's smile never wavered. "For your lease, of course. We understand you've been here for several years. We're prepared to compensate you well above market value."

Elena set the card on her counter. "I'm not interested in selling."

"Oh, I think you might be once you hear the numbers." Peterson pulled out a folder. "We're offering fifty thousand dollars for a clean transfer of your lease."

Elena stared at him. Fifty thousand dollars was more money than she'd seen in her entire life. It was enough to pay off her debts, help her family, maybe even start over somewhere else.

"And if I don't accept?"

"Well, change is coming whether individual tenants participate or not. The city council is very supportive of urban renewal projects." Peterson's tone remained pleasant. "It's always better to be part of the solution rather than an obstacle to progress."

Elena walked to her sewing machine and ran her hand along its surface. Her mother had saved for two years to buy this machine. Elena had made her first dress on it at age sixteen, her first professional alteration at twenty-one.

"I'll need time to think about it," she said.

"Of course. But I should mention that this offer expires in two weeks. After that, well, we'll be proceeding with or without individual cooperation."

After Peterson left, Elena sat at her machine without threading it. Fifty thousand dollars. She could pay off the medical bills from her mother's final months. She could send money to her sister in the south. She could even afford to rent a small space in another part of the city.

But she would have to start over. Leave the neighborhood where she'd built her reputation. Walk away from the customers who trusted her work.

Elena opened her appointment book and counted the scheduled jobs. Mrs. Liu needed her wedding dress altered. The boutique downtown had three rush orders. Mr. Petrov from the dry cleaner's next door was bringing his daughter's prom dress tomorrow.

People were depending on her.

The bell jingled again. Elena looked up to see Mrs. Liu entering with her daughter Amy.

"Miss Rossi," Mrs. Liu said in her careful English. "We come for the fitting."

Elena smiled for the first time that day. "Of course. Amy, let's see how the dress looks."

For the next hour, Elena worked with pins and measuring tape, adjusting the ivory silk until it flowed perfectly over Amy's young frame. The girl's mother watched with tears in her eyes.

"Is beautiful," Mrs. Liu whispered. "My daughter look like princess."

"She does," Elena agreed, and meant it.

After they left, Elena calculated the payment for the wedding dress. Sixty dollars. It would take eight hundred wedding dresses to equal Peterson's offer.

But when Amy Liu walked down the aisle next month, she would be wearing something created specifically for her, something that would make her feel beautiful on the most important day of her life.

Elena threaded her machine and began work on the next dress. She had two weeks to decide, but she already knew what her answer would be.

Some things couldn't be measured in money.

Back in his office, Marcus called David Morrison.

"David, it's Marcus. About the Harbor District."

"Finally! I was starting to worry. Are you in?"

Marcus looked out his window at the city below. Somewhere out there, Elena was working at her sewing machine, probably planning how to fight a battle she couldn't win.

"I need more time," he said.

"Marcus, we've been over this. The window won't stay open forever."

"I understand. But I need to review a few more details."

"What kind of details?"

Marcus closed his eyes. "The kind that keep me up at night."

After he hung up, Marcus sat in his expensive chair behind his expensive desk and tried to calculate the true cost of forty million dollars. For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure the numbers added up.

Outside his window, the city hummed with commerce and ambition. But all Marcus could think about was a small shop where a woman created beautiful things with her hands, and how easy it would be to make it disappear.