Chapter 10 - The RebuildSix months later.
The summer sun was beating down on the newly laid asphalt of our latest commercial project. Apex Development had grown by thirty percent since I purged the dead weight. My team was efficient, loyal, and heavily incentivized by a profit-sharing model Jason had always vetoed.
I was wearing a sharp white blazer, a hard hat, and aviator sunglasses, reviewing the structural blueprints with my lead foreman on the hood of my truck.
“Foundation looks solid, Megan,” the foreman said, pointing to the cured concrete. “We’re ready for framing by Monday.”
“Excellent work, Dave. Keep the crew on schedule and lunch is on me all next week,” I replied, signing off on the permit.
As Dave walked back to the site, a battered, rust-eaten pickup truck pulled up to the curb. It belonged to one of our subcontractors, a low-tier landscaping service we hired to clear out the heavy brush on the edge of the property line.
A man in a neon yellow safety vest climbed out of the passenger side, carrying a heavy weed whacker. He looked exhausted, covered in dust and sweat, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
I froze. He froze.
It was Jason.
The silence between us was heavy, drowning out the sounds of the heavy machinery echoing across the job site. He looked at my crisp white blazer, the luxury SUV behind me, and the massive commercial development bearing my company's logo. Then he looked down at his own dirty boots and the cheap equipment in his hands.
He took a step toward me, his voice hoarse. “Megan... wow. You look... you look incredible.”
I didn't take off my sunglasses. I just stared at him, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger. No sadness. Just the mild irritation of an executive dealing with an underperforming contractor.
“I miss you,” he choked out, tears mixing with the dirt on his face. “Every single day, I realize what I threw away. My mom lost her house. I’m living in a studio apartment. Please, Megan. Just talk to me. Just give me five minutes.”
I looked at him, remembering the freezing water of the pool. I remembered the laughter. I remembered the realization that I was entirely alone.
“You’re trespassing in a hard-hat zone without proper headgear, Jason,” I said, my voice completely flat.
He blinked, stunned. “What?”
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“If you want to keep this minimum-wage job,” I continued, turning my back to him and opening the door to my SUV, “I suggest you go put a helmet on and clear that brush. My company is on a schedule.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat, closed the door, and turned up the AC. I didn't look in the rearview mirror as I drove away. I didn't need to. I already knew exactly where I was going.
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