Page 50 of Finding Home

Jensen turned his pen over once on the table. “How long have you known about the Sargeson Group’s involvement?”

“About six weeks,” Cole said. “I had suspicions before that, but nothing I could put in front of you.”

“Six weeks?” Jensen wasn’t angry, but he was measuring the truth of what Cole had said. “And you waited until now to tell us?”

Cole didn’t look away. “I waited until I could show you the full picture instead of a partial one. I didn’t want to bring you a problem without understanding the shape of it first.”

Jensen looked at Dwight, Chris, and Tim. Then he said something Cole hadn’t anticipated. “That’s not what concerns me most.”

Cole waited.

“What concerns me the most,” Jensen said, “is that you didn’t tell us what was happening.” He set the pen down. “I’ve been investing in property developments for twenty-two years, Cole. The developers who fail aren’t usually the ones who make mistakes. They’re the ones who stop talking to the people around them when the mistakes happen. They go quiet. They try to fix it themselves. And they run out of road before they ask for help.”

The room was very still.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Cole said.

“Good.” Jensen leaned back. “Then hear this too. I’m still in. The project is sound, the community support is real, and the sabotage failed. Marcus Harmon’s facing charges. The story your reporter writes will help us, not hurt us.” He glanced at Farris, who gave a small nod. “But I need you to call me sooner next time. Not when you have the whole picture. When you have a piece of it.”

“Agreed,” Cole said, and he meant it.

The other investors asked questions for another forty minutes. Cole answered them all. Noah handled the financial projections and the revised construction timeline with the kind of calm competence that had made Cole bring him on in the first place. By the time they stood to leave, the room felt different from when they’d walked in.

Tim Batthurst turned out to be a new investor Jensen was considering for a second phase of the Finley Point project. Cole filed that away.

In the elevator going down, Noah exhaled slowly and looked at the ceiling.

“Well,” he said.

“Yes,” Cole agreed.

They didn’t say anything else until they were outside, standing on the pavement in the Denver afternoon. The sun was strong down here, nothing like the mountain light Cole had grown used to. He felt it on his face and thought about the lake.

“You should’ve heard yourself in there,” Noah said.

Cole looked at him.

“I mean it as a compliment.” Noah pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. “They appreciated your honesty.”

Cole thought about that. “I’m just glad it’s over. I’m exhausted.”

Noah stepped closer to him. “Our taxi should be here soon. We’ll be on the plane before you know it.”

Cole hoped so. They still had to talk to two other investors. He was just glad they’d arranged to call them over the next few days. It would give him time to recover from this trip and plan the next phase of their project.

While they were driving out to the airport, Cole thought about what Jensen had said. Not about the investment, but the other part. The part about going quiet. About trying to carry the weight alone until you ran out of road.

He’d been doing that his whole working life. Longer than that, if he was honest.

He thought about the cardiac event, and the hospital, and the seven days Julie had given him. He thought about his brother, and the questions Cole hadn’t wanted to answer.

He thought about the way his grandfather had run his hand along the cabin wall the last day Cole saw him alive. It was the gesture of a man who understood what it meant to have somewhere that was yours.

Cole had been building places for other people to live in for thirty-two years, but he’d never built his own.

He took out his phone and sent Julie a text. Four words.

The meeting went well.