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Because I found a note hidden in Samson’s bedframe.

“Because Stanley mentioned the foundation schedule last night,” I say evenly, “and the donor board will expect updated materials before the next round of commitments.”

“Stanley talks too much.”

“He mentioned timing,” I say. “Nothing more.”

What he said is we’d better stay on schedule. Not that I care what Quenton Stanley thinks. He’s a fucking blowhard.

“Anyway,” I continue, “the plans need to be revised.”

“Do they?”

“Yes.”

A pen scratches on his end. “Explain,” he says.

I look down at the blueprints. “The restricted areas are too obvious,” I say. “The second-level coaching cluster has no exterior access, no windows, reinforced separation, and a dedicated service corridor. On its own, that might pass. Combined with the sublevel configuration, it reads wrong.”

“Wrong to whom?”

“Anyone qualified to review institutional plans.”

“We choose who reviews them.”

“Not forever.”

He says nothing.

“Donors ask questions when projects go over budget,” I continue. “Municipal partners ask more when timelines shift. Inspectors can be handled, but not every consultant can be bought without becoming a liability. And if even one person with architectural experience sees the actual floor plan, they’ll know those spaces aren’t standard wellness rooms.”

My father exhales softly. “You seem very interested in this today.”

“I’m interested in avoiding exposure,” I say. “That’s what you trained me to do.”

A faint chuckle. “Careful, Nathaniel. That sounded a little…accusatory.”

“It’s me doing my job,” I say, my tone abrupt.

My father clears his throat. “What do you suggest?”

I glance at the plans again. “Postpone the next phase.”

“No.”

I expected as much. Postponements cost money. They also invite questions from self-important louts like Quenton Stanley.

“Not publicly,” I say. “Internally. We delay the finalized construction release and revise the plans before the full bid package circulates. The public schedule remains unchanged until we decide how to announce.”

“We?”

“Yes.” I draw in a breath. “We can soften the design. Break up the restricted spaces. Reclassify access points. Add plausible exterior-facing offices or observation rooms that don’t look like observation rooms. Move the sublevel utility area so the square footage doesn’t look so obvious.”

The line goes still.

Too still.

My heartbeat is loud in my ears.