Frank Doyle slid the site elevation blueprints across my oak desk, but my right thumb wouldn’t stop rubbing at my knuckle.

A yellow grease stain ran straight down the side of Garrett’s stainless steel travel thermos where it stood by the desk phone.

“The twelve-million-dollar city contract depends on these foundation specs,” Frank said, tapping his wooden pen on the corner of his legal pad.

“The city board wants our final signature by Friday, Ray.”

“The numbers are solid, Frank,” I said, clearing my throat before pointing at the line items.

“We priced the structural steel three percent under market.”

“The foundation piers on the north wall need four hundred yards of reinforced concrete,” Frank said, running his thumb along the blue margin lines.

“We can’t afford a mistake in the estimate.”

“We poured that exact concrete grade on the Commerce Street tower back in ninety-eight,” I said.

“It holds up.”

Garrett pulled the heavy office door closed behind him and stepped into the morning light.

He adjusted his silver wristwatch, picked up the stainless thermos, and poured dark brown coffee into my ceramic mug.

“You look tired, Dad.

Let me carry the weight for a while,” Garrett said, setting the mug down three inches from my hand.

“Drink up so you stay sharp for the site inspectors.”

“I’ve been up since five,” I said, reaching for the handle of the mug.

“Which is exactly why you need the brew,” Garrett said, smiling gently as he leaned back against the bookshelf.

“Valerie made it fresh down the hall.”