Jonah Mercer laughed under his breath. Grant Evers looked at Richard as if warning him to choose his next words carefully. Richard ignored the warning.
"This area is becoming something better," he said. "Luxury housing. New businesses. People who belong in a building of this value. You two are keeping the place stuck in the past."
Eleanor raised her head. "What sort of people do you think belong here, Mr. Caldwell?"
Jonah answered before Richard could stop him. "Look at the new condos. Do you see people like you in their sales brochures? Take the money and go somewhere you'll be comfortable."
Grant turned sharply. "Jonah. Enough."
But the remark had already landed. Eleanor had encountered prejudice in hospitals, board meetings, medical schools, and neighborhoods where her name was welcomed only until someone saw her face. She recognized its rhythm. First came the suggestion that her presence was inappropriate. Then came the claim that exclusion was only business, only preference, only the direction of a changing market.
"My husband and I are comfortable here," she said. "That is precisely why we are staying."
Richard snatched the notice from James's hand. "You have no idea how much trouble you are making for yourselves."
When James asked him to step aside, Richard reached for one of the grocery bags, apparently intending to pull it out of the way. The plastic handles stretched, then broke. Milk fell onto the steps and burst against the stone. The bag containing the eggs followed, spilling apples, onions, a chicken wrapped in paper, and a carton that landed hard enough to crack almost every shell. Eleanor made a sound of disbelief before she could stop herself.
"Look what you've done," Richard said, as if the mess belonged to them. "This is what I mean. No respect for property."
James bent to retrieve the food. He was careful and deliberate, but Eleanor saw his right hand tremble as he picked up the bread. It disturbed her more than the insults. James had inspected bridge supports high above rivers, crossed unfinished structures in winter storms, and stayed calm when machinery failed on a construction site. Now he was kneeling on his own building's steps gathering groceries while a wealthy man threatened to throw them out.
Eleanor knelt beside him. An apple rolled toward the gutter, and she reached for it before realizing how ridiculous it was to rescue something so small. The rain thickened. Richard continued talking above them, boasting of investors, lawyers, politicians, and judges who would make their objections useless. A phone emerged from his coat pocket, its glossy screen catching the weak evening light.
"I can have the police here in five minutes," he said. "Tell them you're trespassing. Tell them you're causing a scene. Who do you think they'll listen to?"