"One," I said quietly, pointing at the first structural level above the lobby. "Two. Three."
Nobody interrupted. I counted slowly, identifying the double-height entrance and the service mezzanine so no one could accuse me of making the same mistake I was describing. By the time I reached eleven, Owen had risen and moved toward the window beside me. He followed my count from the bottom, moving his lips but making no sound.
"Eleven completed structural decks," I said. "Above that is formwork. Your latest lender materials refer to fourteen. Perhaps the reports use a definition I haven't seen."
I let my hand fall to my side and faced Julian. "Perhaps another wing is further along. I don't know, and I'm not going to pretend I do. But that's a discrepancy your lenders have every right to examine."
Julian remained seated. "You are not our engineer. You were suspended by your own firm. You don't get to declare my building incomplete because you've counted some lines through a window."
"I agree," I said. "I don't get to declare anything. That's why the lender's independent engineer is inspecting the site today."
The silence was immediate. Owen looked sharply toward Julian. Kesler put down his pen, and the color in Julian's face changed so slightly that I might have missed it if I had not been watching him for days. His voice was still smooth when he asked which lender had authorized the visit.
"Harold Beasley has exercised his rights under his loan documents," Constance replied. "We didn't order his inspection. Elijah reported an observable concern, and Harold chose to verify it through an independent professional. What the inspector finds will be between the lender and the appropriate parties."
A gray sedan was visible inside the site gate below. Beside it stood a white American engineer in a hard hat, holding a clipboard and speaking with a site superintendent. They looked like ordinary people beginning an ordinary inspection, which is exactly what they were. But Owen stayed at the window, and Julian was no longer smiling.
"You went around me," Julian said.
"I don't work for you," I answered.
He stood abruptly. "You think this makes you clever? You have no idea how many people depend on this project. If the financing stalls, dozens of businesses get hurt. Subcontractors lose work, suppliers don't get paid, and the city gets another abandoned hole in the ground. You'll be responsible for that."
I thought of the crew at Eastgate, of Danny reading an invoice for an unpoured slab, and of Louise standing on a deck where a careless certification could become somebody else's mistake. I knew exactly how many people depended on a project telling the truth. "The people doing the work deserve to be paid for real work," I said. "They also deserve lenders who know what's been built. If the reports are accurate, the inspection will protect you. If they're not, the problem existed before I walked into this room."
Owen turned from the window. "Julian, I want the last three draw certifications on my desk," he said. "And the supporting inspection reports. Today."
"Not now," Julian snapped.
"Yes, now." Owen's voice remained level, but there was something in it that had been missing earlier. "I'm a partner in this company, and my signature appears on several of the financing documents. I'm not waiting for somebody else to tell me whether three reported floors are missing."