“I haven’t moved anything in this room since the HOA acquired the building.”
“You knew this was here?”
“Yes.”
“For thirty years?”
“Not all of it.”
I turned toward him.
“Start at the beginning.”
Richard pulled one of the folding chairs from the outer room.
We sat around the drafting table.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“When Daniel and I met, neither of us had money.”
Ethan leaned against the wall.
“That part I knew about you.”
Richard nodded.
“We met at an engineering firm. I was working on finance and project acquisition. Daniel was the best young site engineer in the company.”
I smiled despite myself.
“That sounds like him.”
“He was impossible.”
“That also sounds like him.”
Richard laughed quietly.
“He questioned everything. Drainage calculations. Road widths. Soil reports. If somebody told him something would probably be fine, Daniel would ask for evidence.”
“So how did you become partners?”
“Because I was almost as stubborn.”
Richard looked around the room.
“We believed we could build neighborhoods differently.”
“Differently how?”
“Smaller developments. More green space. Walkable streets. Houses that weren’t pushed together simply because the zoning allowed it.”
I looked through the dusty window at Larksburg Court.
The mature trees.
The sidewalks.
The central park.
All the things I had liked without knowing why.
“That was his idea.”
“Most of it.”
Richard pointed toward the old map.
“Your father designed the curved streets because he hated neighborhoods where drivers could accelerate straight through. He insisted on preserving the original oaks. He fought me for six months over the size of the park.”
“Who won?”
“Look outside.”
I smiled.
Then remembered why we were there.
“What happened?”
Richard’s smile faded.
“We got an investor.”
Ethan crossed his arms.
“Grandpa?”
“No.”
That surprised him.
“A man named Leonard Pierce. Local businessman. He offered enough funding to buy the entire parcel.”
Richard paused.
“At first, it seemed like the opportunity we had been waiting for. Then construction costs rose. Pierce wanted changes.”
“What changes?”
“More houses. Smaller lots. Less public space.”
I glanced outside again.
“My father refused.”
“Immediately.”
“And you?”
Richard stared at his hands.
“I told myself compromise was necessary.”
The room became quiet.
“I was thirty,” he continued. “I had a newborn son at home.”
Ethan straightened.
“My brother.”
“Yes.”
I knew Richard had another son.
Michael Caldwell.
