Snow Buried Every Old Dream Across Bellwether

Chapter 2: The Rialto

I reached the Rialto with snow packed into the seams of my boots and my old report folded inside my coat.

The building stood on the edge of Bellwether's downtown, where the storefronts narrowed and the road dipped toward the river. Its brick face had once been painted a warm cream. Now rain had streaked it gray, and a c***k ran from the second-floor windows to the top of the marquee. The sign still held the metal letters of its old name, but only RIAL and the lower curve of the T remained. The rest had come loose years ago.

I stood across the street and counted windows before crossing. It was a habit from site inspections, a way to make myself notice the building before I noticed what I felt about it.

One window on the west side had been boarded with plywood. Two panes were missing above the loading entrance. The roofline looked uneven, but snow made it hard to judge.

At the front gate, a security guard checked my city authorization and called the owner's representative. Daniel appeared a few minutes later carrying a hard hat and a ring of keys.

"Your inspector is late," I said.

"I'm the representative today."

"Your company owns the building."

"We own a controlling interest."

"That sounds like something a lawyer says when he wants to avoid a direct answer."

"Then let me be direct." He unlocked the gate. "The partnership owns the Rialto. I manage the partnership."

He handed me a hard hat. I accepted it. His fingers brushed mine, and I pulled my hand back too quickly.

Inside, the lobby smelled like wet plaster and old carpet. I had last seen it at night, with the house lights on and sample boards spread across the ticket counter. Daniel had stood beneath the brass chandelier and told me he'd found an investor who believed in the restoration. I had believed him. Then, three days later, he'd said the investor wanted a different project, a smaller one, and he was going to take the offer.

He'd said he could not keep fighting for a building no one in town wanted to save.

Now the chandelier hung at an angle. A section of the ceiling had fallen behind the concessions stand. The tiled floor beneath my boots was cracked, but not collapsed.

I took photographs and recorded the visible damage. Daniel stayed several steps behind me.

"The demolition contractor says the roof has shifted," I said.

"Their assessment is in the file."

"I haven't seen it yet."

"They identified structural movement in the south truss."

"That's what I found years ago."

"You found more than that."

"I found a need for shoring. That's not a demolition order."

He watched me measure the lobby columns. "If the roof comes down, it could take the side walls with it."

"Which is why I need to inspect the roof."

"The stairs are unsafe."

"Then I'll use the lift."

"The lift hasn't worked in years."

"Is there a ladder?"

"I can have one brought over."

"I need to see the second-floor walkways first."

He nodded toward a corridor. "This way."

The stairwell had been blocked by a plywood panel. A painted sign read NO ACCESS. Daniel lifted the panel aside, then waited while I checked the steps. The treads were worn, but the rail was steady. I clipped my flashlight to my coat and climbed.

The balcony ran in a shallow curve around the auditorium. The red seats were still there, their fabric faded and dust filmed. The rear doors had been left open, and cold air moved through the room. I walked slowly, testing each section before putting my weight on it.

From there, the building's age looked almost tender. The painted ceiling had been built to resemble a night sky. The gold leaf around the proscenium had dulled, but it caught the light when I moved. Daniel used to joke that I could find beauty in a building nobody else could afford to repair.

I didn't let myself answer the memory.

The upper walkway ended near a narrow service ladder leading to the roof access hatch. I checked the surrounding joists, took measurements, and stopped at the opening. The ladder had been replaced recently.

"When did you put that in?" I asked.

"Two months ago."

"Why?"

"Our engineer wanted access for a closer inspection."

I looked at him. "So the roof can be inspected safely."

"If we want to spend another day on it."

"You're asking the council to authorize emergency demolition. I'd say it's worth another day."

He held my gaze, then looked away. "I didn't expect the job to be yours."

"Neither did I."

"I thought the city would choose someone else."

"That's comforting."

He didn't reply. I climbed far enough to look through the hatch. The roof space was dark. A portable work light stood near the opening. I could see the bottom of a truss, a line of fresh lumber, and what looked like a brace bolted into place.

I came down again. "Who installed the brace?"

"Contractor."

"When?"

"Last week."

"Was that before or after your engineer inspected the roof?"

"After."

I wrote it down. The detail mattered. A temporary brace could mean the roof was worse than the original report, or it could mean the building had been made safer long enough for a full inspection. I needed measurements.

"You said the owner could provide access," I told him. "I need a structural engineer present, and I need the complete report, not the summary."

"Our engineer can meet you tomorrow."

"I need the report today."

"I can ask."

"No. You can provide it. The city's authorization gives me access to owner records relevant to the emergency review."

"You've had the same clause in your contract before."

"I've had clients who didn't make me ask twice."

His face tightened. "The report is under legal review."

"Then I'll note that it was withheld."

"I'll get it to you tonight."

I walked the length of the balcony, taking photographs of the handrail connections and wall cracks. On the way back, I paused at the center of the auditorium. The stage curtains had gone missing, but the painted arch still framed the empty space.

Daniel came to stand beside me. "You know there's a path forward besides pretending the old plan was viable."

"I'm not pretending anything."

"Your concept study called for a full restoration. The roof alone will cost more than the city can raise."

"I haven't seen current estimates."

"You've seen the building."

"I've seen a building that needs an engineer."

"The numbers don't change because you want the theater back."

I turned toward him. "It was never mine to take back."

For a moment, he looked like he might answer with something personal. Instead, he handed me the report folder he'd brought.

"Make your assessment," he said. "I'll provide the rest tonight."

I put the folder under my arm. "And if the roof can be stabilized?"

"Then the council can decide whether that's worth the cost."

"Will you support it?"

"I'll support what the numbers can justify."

We left the auditorium through the lobby. At the front doors, he stood with the keys in his hand.

"Lena," he said. "I didn't know they used that version."

"You filed it."

"I did."

"Then we'll start with what you can prove."

He lowered his eyes to the keys. "Fair enough."

I crossed back to the courthouse through the snow. I didn't know whether his apology was coming or whether he'd never intended to offer one. I only knew the roof had a temporary brace, the city had been given a false sentence, and the man who had once promised to rebuild the Rialto with me now held the keys.