The expansive solid-oak dining table in Mario’s Emory-area home had been completely converted into a temporary design studio. Blueprints were rolled out across the dark wood, held down at the corners by heavy art history textbooks and half-empty coffee mugs. Sunlight poured through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, casting bright geometric shapes across the floor.
It was ten o'clock on a Tuesday morning, and they were supposed to be reviewing the final structural load distribution before submitting the phase-one permits to the city of Atlanta.
"Mario, you’re looking at the wrong elevation map," Maya said, her voice carrying a mix of amused exasperation and professional focus.
She was sitting at the head of the table, propped up on her elbows. She had swapped her usual armored business
