On sheet four, the load calculations for the Munich transit station were six millimeters off, but structural concrete was the last thing Trevor wanted to talk about.

“Stay on through the twenty-eighth, Val,” Trevor said over the speakerphone.

“They need you there for the foundation sign-off regardless.”

“The foundation sign-off is at nine tomorrow morning,” I said.

“My flight home is booked for Thursday.”

“I’ve already talked to your project manager,” he said.

“He agrees you ought to stay the extra seven days.”

I tapped my thumb against my index finger in sets of three.

Before today, Trevor had never said one word to my German site director.

“Why would you go around me and call Marcus?” I asked.

“I didn’t go around you, honey,” Trevor said, his voice smooth and even over the line.

“I called to help you out.

You work so hard, and you deserve to see through what you started over there.”

On the hotel desk, my printed itinerary showed my return flight leaving Munich in under forty-eight hours.

“Is something wrong at the house?” I asked.

“The house is fine,” Trevor said.

“Colleen’s here cooking a pork roast, and Sadie’s up in her room doing homework.”

“Let me talk to Sadie,” I said.