NINETY DAYS OF WANTING YOU

chapter 2

Elias Wolfe waited in his car across the street from the Cole Dynamics tower, showing up eleven minutes early. He spent nine of those minutes just staring at the building.

Forty-two stories of glass and white steel, all new and blinding—like it was trying too hard to look modern. The kind of place that almost dares you to remember what they destroyed to put it up. He remembered the permits. He’d read them two years back. Only seen the tower from a distance since then, driving by a handful of times since the ribbon-cutting. Never set foot inside. Not once.

Sitting in his car,he could see the Guardian Building down Griswold. The building's decorative top was made of terra cotta, and sunlight still hit it beautifully like it had for almost 100 years . Its turquoise and dark orange tiles stood out brightly. Stubborn building, never flinching at Detroit’s mess, kind of smug in its endurance. Old money, looking down on the new money pulling up in their spotless German sedans. Elias got both sides of the story.

He checked his watch even though he could easily check the time on his phone. The watch was an old Longines from 1967 with cracked glass , and it had belonged to his grandfather. It calmed him. Nothing else worked quite the same way. 8:49. Two minutes left.

By the main doors, some woman in a gray coat let loose on a parking attendant, waving her coffee cup like she was striking down a verdict. The attendant didn’t move an inch. She dropped the whole argument mid-sentence and stormed inside, already onto her next battle.

Time to go in.

Inside, the lobby felt expensive and cold. Pale stone everywhere, built to project authority, not comfort. The guards watched him carefully as he entered through the spinning door. The receptionist ,Her smile looked perfect and professional,but not warm or personal. Just the right balance she’d practiced.

“Mr. Wolfe. Welcome to Cole Dynamics. I’ll inform the people you came to meet that you've arrived.

“He thanked her after reading her name from the desk nameplate,then moved aside. Ignored the cluster of chairs along the wall. They looked deliberately uncomfortable, meant to manage people, not welcome them. The lobby wanted you to make a choice: stand exposed in the center, or fade into waiting on the edge.

He stayed in the center, reading the directory.

Charcoal jacket, deep blue tie—every detail planned. Not for looks. For what it all signaled. Not vanity, though. He’d never seen the point of vanity.

Then the elevator doors opened. Mara Cole stepped out.

She looked faster than her photos. Moved like the place belonged to her—steady, each step direct, people shifting for her without thinking. She wore black blazer ,her hair tie was tied back neatly, and she had small gold stud earrings. She carried papers in one hand,held a phone to her ear, kept reading while walking directly across the lobby with purpose.

She stopped close in front of him , looked at him for the first time, and lowered the papers to her side . Finished her call—"I’ll call you back"—and now her focus was sharp and fixed on him, eyes nearly black under the lobby lights. Controlled, not soft, nothing wasted.

She studied him the way you’d study a contract.

“You’re early.”

“I’m on time. Just happened to get here early.”

There was a flicker in her expression—a mental note, not a smile.

“Mara Cole.”

“Elias Wolfe.”

“I know who you are.”

“I know,” he said, like it wasn't a big deal

They rode the elevator up to thirty - eight floors in silence, and he didn't bother trying to make conversation. She claimed her space, like she’d designed the car herself. He found his spot and left hers alone. Detroit slipped away below, looking small and—almost—easy from above. He knew better. Twelve years in the city had taught him not to trust that feeling.

She smelled like coffee and cold air. That just-before-dawn scent people collect on winter mornings. He noticed. Filed it away. Moved on.

He still had no idea what kind of trouble Mara Cole would bring. He guessed she was the kind that made the whole concept of “trouble” look small.

The boardroom: twelve people already seated, all eyes swinging his way as he walked in. He scanned the faces, fast. Knew two of the lawyers. Spotted the CFO, already gripping his water glass tight every time Mara spoke (Elias had read the pre-meeting transcript). Four directors, each projecting a different flavor of hostility. One woman at the end, absorbed in her phone, only looking up when everyone else did—yet listening the entire time.

Mara took the head of the table. Calm, not a wasted motion. No one offered Elias a seat but one chair waited at her right, turned out from the rest—a silent message: this is where the observer sits.

He took it.

Twelve copies of the agenda in front of everyone. He didn’t bother. He’d read it, every draft. Pressed his hands flat on the table. Kept watching.

Forty minutes went by before he said a word. He didn’t mind. He watched how the room worked—who bent, who forced through, how the CFO’s jaw tightened at any surprise number Mara dropped. Sitting silent taught more than talking ever could. He knew the difference.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet , but still clear enough that everyone paid attention.

“The federal arbitration clause on the transit contract—I want to see that before Phase Two funding goes through.”

Heads turned. That was the reaction he wanted.

Mara’s pen went still. She set it down, slow and careful.

“That clause was finalized this morning,” she said.

“I know. I still want a look at it.”

The room got quiet. He locked eyes with Mara—not to win, but to see how she’d react to being pushed right after closing a victory.

She stared back. When she turned away it wasn’t surrender, just a decision to move on.

“We’ll schedule a document review after this meeting.” She moved to the next item, like he’d only asked for the time.

Elias pulled a small index card from his pocket—his grandfather’s habit, keeping secret notes. He jotted four lines.

Federal clause. She pulled it from Keating this morning. She knew I’d catch it. Testing if I’d done my homework.

After thinking,he writes something down and adds "Good".

After the meeting, Mara stopped him in the hallway before he reached the elevator.

She didn't hesitation. Three feet away, holding her document, chin up, every movement intentional.

“Why are you here?”

Not angry, just clinical, like she’d already heard every useless answer and wanted a real one.

No one else in sight. Through the glass, Detroit stretched away—river, stacks belching smoke, the new bridge rising, the whole city layered on its own ruins.

“Your company’s good,” he said. “It could be something else.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” Elias said. “It isn’t.”

He walked past her, and pressed the elevator button, keeping his back turned . He almost looked over his shoulder,but stopped himself .He could still feel her standing there, watching him.

When the elevator doors opened, he finally glanced back.

She still hadn’t moved. She stood there,arms relaxed, not shifting at all . She just watched him,like she was trying to figure him out .

The doors slid shut.

He rode down, exhaling slowly through his nose. Slipped his watch back on, the cracked glass pressing against his wrist. The ritual grounded him.

He walked through the lobby, stepped outside, and headed over to his car.

There was a white envelope sitting on the driver’s seat.

He frowned . The door had been locked. He always locked it. He knew he had.

Hand paused on the handle, he stared at the envelope through the window. No name, no stamp, just a single word in machine-stamped capitals:

MERIDIAN.

He hadn’t heard that word outside his father’s office in four years.

He hadn’t told anyone it was the whole reason he was here.