The first shovel of dirt turned on a cold March morning.
Adam stood at the edge of the construction site, watching the excavators bite into the frozen ground. The Docks were changing. Cranes rose against the gray sky. Trucks rumbled past, carrying steel and concrete. Men in hard hats shouted over the sound of diesel engines.
Diana Cross had kept her promises. The memorial remained untouched, a quiet island in a sea of development. The new buildings would be apartments, shops, a community center. Affordable housing. Union jobs. A fresh start.
But Adam couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
“You're brooding,” Sandra said, walking up beside him.
“I'm observing.”
“Same thing, different word.”
She handed him a coffee. He took it, wrapped his hands around the warmth.
“It lo
