The irony of saying that was not lost on me.
I had failed to do exactly that.
Courtney’s father approached me near the end of the party.
Randall.
He looked uncomfortable.
“I had no idea.”
“Most people didn’t.”
He laughed weakly.
“Marek sure knows how to keep a secret.”
I did not tell him Marek had not known either.
Then Randall mentioned the medical clinic.
He had been trying for nearly a year to put together an urgent-care center with two investors.
Small building.
Good location.
Medical-grade electrical upgrades required.
He had mentioned it casually once months earlier.
Now his tone changed.
“You know, given what your company does, maybe we should talk.”
There it was.
Not malicious.
Human.
Twenty minutes earlier, I had been a retired electrician.
Now I was a possible solution.
I said:
“This probably isn’t the day.”
He looked embarrassed.
“Of course.”
I left soon after.
Marek did not call me that night.
Neither did Courtney.
I drove home alone.
Vine Street looked exactly the same.
The porch still leaned.
A neighbor had left recycling bins out too early.
Inside, Danuta’s photograph sat on the shelf near the stairs.
I took off my jacket.
Sat at the kitchen table.
For a long time, I did nothing.
Then I spoke aloud.
“You were right.”
The house, predictably, offered no response.
The next morning, I went to the office.
My executive team already knew something had happened because Scranton is large enough to have secrets and small enough that they rarely survive a weekend.
Nobody asked.
I appreciated that.
At ten-thirty, I called my project manager.
“Tom.”
“Morning, Walt.”
“If an inquiry comes from Randall Mercer or any ownership group connected to his proposed urgent-care clinic, decline it.”
A pause.
“Reason?”
“We’re not a fit.”
“Capacity?”
“Use capacity.”
Another pause.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I did not tell Tom to interfere with anyone else.
I did not contact competitors.
I did not call lenders.
I did not manipulate permits.
I simply decided Nowak Power Systems would not work on that project.
Was that decision purely professional?
No.
I would be lying if I said it was.
I had a personal conflict.
I was angry.
And I did not want our company entangled financially with Courtney’s family.
The cleanest answer was no.
Five weeks later, I heard the other qualified regional contractor had also declined.
Their reasons had nothing to do with me.
Scheduling.
Labor.
Backlog.
The project timeline slipped.
One investor became nervous.
Then another.
The clinic never opened.
I knew what my refusal contributed.
Not everything.
But something.
That decision still bothers me.
It should.
Marek and Courtney separated three months after the shower.
For a while, people assumed it was because of the revelation.
It wasn’t.
Not exactly.
Marek told me later that the real damage happened during the drive home.
They argued for forty-five minutes.
Courtney kept explaining that her speech had been intended as praise.