Page 123 of Under Construction

"Could be selling it off somewhere else," one of the crew suggests, scratching his head. "Happens more than you'd think. Materials fetch good money on the black market."

"This is perfect. Just perfect." Dennis drops his head into his hands, staring at the progress photos due for investors. The crew mills around below his window, some playing cards while others reorganize tools they've already organized twice today. Without permits or materials, they're stuck.

If this drags on much longer, they'll start looking elsewhere. Dennis has seen enough crews poached to know idle hands lead to wandering eyes. The last thing they need is more electrical team drama.

His phone buzzes. Dad.

"Have you located the truck yet?" His father's tone could strip paint.

"We're working on it."

“Well, work on it faster. CranePoint Capital is on the phone right now expecting a full progress report. I cannot tell them my son lost an entire shipment.”

“Then lie.” Dennis massages the bridge of his nose, too stressed to care.

“Dennis Ki—”

“I'm handling it, okay? I'll have to call you back.”

That night over dinner, Chris slides his prawns onto Dennis’s plate while they dissect everything. Dennis scoots the dumplings from his side of the table to Chris's.

"Could be competition," Chris suggests, pushing his rice around. "Though sabotaging permits is new. Usually they just undercut bids."

Dennis nibbles on a prawn—his absolute favorite—even though his stomach's too knotted to enjoy them.

"But why now? We're halfway through." Dennis collects and dumps Chris's broccoli onto his own plate, earning a grateful grin. "And who'd want to mess with experimental sustainable construction anyway?"

"Someone who sees it as a threat?" Chris suggests as Dennis divides their dessert, making Chris's portion dwarf his own. "Or someone with old grudges? This industry's built on them."

A week crawls by. The truck finally appears—minus most of its cargo. Two more permits get rejected. Then a "Community Action Committee" no one's ever heard of files noise complaints.

By the next dinner, Dennis is too drained to even pretend to eat. He rambles through theories while Chris just watches, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid.

Friday finds Dennis scanning the site for Chris, trying to look casual about it.

Jason's contacts at city hall keep stonewalling them with "We're looking into it." His father's breathing fire. Investor concerns are multiplying like rabbits.

He needs his rock right now.

"Anyone seen Chris?" he asks the nearest worker.

The foreman tugs off his hardhat, scratching his head. "Caught him for maybe five minutes this morning? Hey guys—any of you seen the boss man?" He turns to the crew, getting only confused shrugs in response.

Dennis has sent texts. Called. Nothing but silence

By two, Chris strolls in like it's nothing. Sunglasses hiding his eyes, hair only half-styled, tank top riding up as he juggles boxes of donuts and a bag of Cokes.

"Food break!" he calls to the crew.

A low whistle cuts through the air followed by shuffling feet as guys emerge from various corners of the site.

"Chris!" Dennis calls from the trailer door.

The crew exchanges looks, someone muttering "Boss is in trouble" as they scatter with their snacks.

Chris climbs the steps into their makeshift common room, closing the door behind them. He moves to kiss Dennis but gets a palm to his chest instead.

"What?"

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