“Not yet.”
“He will.”
Martin sighed.
“Good.”
Construction started two weeks later.
The first day was excavation.
Then formwork.
Then concrete.
Silver Ridge barely reacted.
From across the road, foundation work looked ordinary.
On day three, steel columns arrived.
That got attention.
Carol Bennett walked over while my contractor was setting the first upright.
“What are you building?”
“Fabrication shop.”
She looked at the steel.
“How high?”
“Twenty feet.”
“Twenty?”
“That’s the approved elevation.”
Carol slowly turned toward her house.
“Vanessa is going to lose her mind.”
“She can call the county.”
By the end of the week, the frame was unmistakable.
Then the wall panels arrived.
Dark charcoal.
Matte.
Industrial but clean.
Nothing reflective.
Nothing theatrical.
From my side, the building looked exactly like what it was supposed to be.
A practical fabrication shop.
From Silver Ridge, the western wall looked like a steel curtain rising between six homes and Lake Hartwell.
The panels went up section by section.
Eight feet.
Twelve.
Sixteen.
Twenty.