At nine in the morning, the tall glass windows flooded the open room with white coastal light.

A wide oak drafting table stood by the west wall, covered in preliminary site drawings and rolled sheets of vellum.

I sat on a tall wooden stool, elbows resting on the smooth timber, and looked out at the water.

Dark kelp drifted in the turquoise swell beneath the cliffs.

My phone buzzed twice against the edge of the drafting table.

The screen showed a text from an unlisted Manhattan number.