Page 127 of The Silver Fox Brother

"Not bad?" Fletcher scoffs.

"That was textbook."

We play through the next few holes with the usual banter—Fletcher giving David grief about his form, David insisting his clubs are sabotaging him, me staying mostly quiet and focused on my game.

By the time we reach the twelfth hole, the conversation shifts to business.

"How's the Riverside development coming?" I ask Fletcher as we wait for David to take his shot.

Fletcher runs a hand through his hair.

"Ahead of schedule, surprisingly. The contractor we brought in from Boston is worth every penny we're paying him. We broke ground three weeks ago and we're already at foundation stage for the first building."

"That's good progress."

"Better than good. If we maintain this pace, we'll be ready for the luxury condo presale by next spring instead of summer." He pauses, then adds, "What about you? How's the Tribeca project? I haven't gotten a full update in a few weeks."

I line up my putt, focusing on the slope of the green.

"It's coming along. Record timing, actually."

"Yeah? Winter Hayes living up to the hype?"

I sink the putt and straighten up.

"She's exceeded expectations."

Fletcher raises an eyebrow.

"High praise coming from you."

I shrug and walk toward the next hole without elaborating.

David catches up to us, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Speaking of developments, did either of you see the article in the Journal about the new zoning proposals downtown? Could affect a lot of upcoming projects."

Fletcher launches into a discussion about zoning regulations and political maneuvering, and I'm grateful for the redirect. We play through the next several holes debating city planning, market trends, and which investors are worth courting for future projects.

By the time we finish the eighteenth hole, I'm feeling more centered than I have in days. Golf does that—forces me to focus, clears my head, reminds me there's a rhythm to things even when everything feels unpredictable.

We head back to the clubhouse and David checks his watch.

"I need to get going," he says, pulling out his phone.

"Denise has got that charity thing tonight and I promised I'd be home by three to help set up."

"Charity thing?" Fletcher asks.

"Some fundraiser for the children's hospital. She's on the board, so I'm contractually obligated to show up and smile at rich people."

I shake his hand. "Good luck with that."

"Thanks. Next time, I'm bringing my own clubs. These rentals are garbage."

Fletcher laughs. "Sure, David. That's definitely the problem."

David flips him off good-naturedly and heads toward the parking lot. Fletcher turns to me.