2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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Stiff with tension, Yael tried to work the kinks from her shoulders. After speaking with the detective the other day, she'd taken it upon herself to sort through some of the paperwork from Peter's department, searching for answers. She'd spent the entire morning looking at a stack of files and what she found disturbed her. Peter used to be a big believer in micromanaging—doling out tasks to those under him, being an encouraging and educational leader, even going as far as filing important documents in triplicate. The Warren Street project, where the crane had been, was different. Peter handled every single piece of paper, permit, and information himself. For that construction site only. It didn't make sense. Plus, she found no evidence of the permit for the crane being filed at all. So how did it get into the city offices?
She pushed away from her desk and paced, stretching her legs and refusing to believe Peter would deliberately sabotage her family's company just to make Casey look bad. It wasn't even about Casey. If Peter was responsible, how could he do it to her? Hurting Casey, hurt her family and, in turn, her. It baffled Yael to no end.
Desperate to dispel the increasingly answer staring at her, she tossed a couple files in her satchel and fled, punching digits into her phone.
"Hey, Yael." Wendy answered.
"Cantina break?"
"Absolutely! When?"
"Half an hour? Is that too soon? I'm leaving work early."
"Say no more. I'll be there."
The fresh summer air invigorated Yael and cleared the cobwebs from her head. Late afternoon sunlight streamed between the buildings and her stomach rumbled. She considered stopping by Miriam's afterwards, but didn't want to deal with the stark reality of her illness at the moment. It'd been a tough couple days and the idea of watching her waste away terrified Yael. And, because her grandmother had been so weak, they hadn't had a chance to talk about Miriam's impression of Haustin.
Yael made her way to her and Wendy's favorite college hangout, a Mexican restaurant called Bob's Cantina. She smiled at the memories as she approached the bright green door—late nights studying and flirting with other customers, Wendy's twentieth birthday party, sitting at a table by the window watching snowflakes drift down and wishing they actually were in Mexico instead. It was a miracle the place still existed. It didn't look like much, and the name might have been deceivingly simple, but the place served amazing, authentic cuisine. Hopefully, it hadn't changed.
Bowls of homemade chips and salsa were being delivered when Wendy breezed in and gave her drink order to the server.
"I thought about this place the other day and how we needed to come here for old time's sake." She unwound a thin fuchsia and dark purple scarf from her neck. "You don't look too good. I'm glad you called."
"Rough day, rough week. You know how it gets. Good and bad days." She drummed her fingers on the table. "I'm thankful there are more good days than bad, though."
