I pulled her against me, wrapped my arm around her waist. “Look at me,” I said. Not down, not at the ground, at me. She pressed her face into my chest. Her whole body was rigid. “Tell me about the building,” I said. “Tell me what your father wanted it to be.” “I can’t.” “Yes, you can. Tell me,” she took a shuddtering breath. He wanted it to be a place where people felt small in a good way, like they were part of something bigger, like the building was lifting them up, not crushing them down.
What else? He wanted the cantalver to look like it was floating, like it defied gravity. We passed the 30th floor. keep talking. He said, “Buildings should be honest about what they are. Steel and glass and concrete, but they should make you feel something. They should make you believe in human achievement.” 40th floor. Almost there, I said. Maverick, I can’t breathe. Yes, you can. In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me. I breathed. She breathed with me.
In, out, in, out. The elevator stopped at the 47th floor. The operator opened the gate. Sophia didn’t move. Chen stepped out onto the open floor. There were no walls here, just steel beams and plywood. Open air on all sides. The city spread out 400 ft below. Wind whipped across the platform. Miss Cooper, Chen called. Sterling smirked. She’s not coming. I told you. I looked down at Sophia. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Tears leaked from the corners. I can’t.
She whispered. Maverick, I can’t. Yes, you can because your father is watching and he didn’t raise a quitter. Her eyes opened. They were full of pain and fear and something else. Something fierce. He didn’t raise a quitter, she repeated. Then she stepped out of the elevator. Her legs wobbled. She grabbed onto me immediately, her fingers digging into my arm, but she was out. She was standing on the 47th floor. “Show me the cantaliever,” Chen said. Sophia couldn’t move.
She was frozen, her back against the elevator shaft, her eyes locked on the horizon. I stepped toward the edge where the candle lever extended out over nothing. “The problem is here,” I said, kneeling down to point at the beam connection. In high winds, this joint will flex. Without dampers, that flex becomes oscillation. Oscillation becomes structural fatigue. Fatigue becomes a metallic snap echoed across the floor. Everyone froze. I looked up. The safety cable that ran along the edge of the floor, the cable that was supposed to catch anyone who fell, was hanging loose, severed, not frayed, cut, clean through.
“What the hell?” the foreman started. Another snap, this one louder. A bolt sheared off the beam right next to Chen. “Everyone, back to the elevator,” I shouted. But before anyone could move, the plywood beneath Chen’s feet cracked. He lurched sideways. His foot went through, windmilled, trying to catch balance, and fell forward toward the open. “Edge!” Sophia screamed. I dove, caught Chen’s wrist as he went over. His weight yanked me down. My chest slammed into the steel beam.
My other hand scrabbled for purchase, found a bolt, gripped it. Chen dangled 47 stories above 4th Avenue. “Don’t let go,” he gasped. My shoulder was on fire. Chen weighed at least 200 lb. The bolt I was holding was bending. I could feel it giving way. Maverick, Sophia’s voice. I looked back. She was moving toward me, not away from the edge, toward it, toward the terror that had paralyzed her for 3 years. Sophia, stay back. But she didn’t.
She dropped to her knees next to me, grabbed Chen’s other wrist, and pulled together. We dragged him back onto the floor. Chen collapsed on the plywood, gasping. Sophia sat back, her whole body shaking. The foreman was on his radio. We need safety up here now. Equipment failure on 47. Not equipment failure, I said, looking at the severed cable. Sabotage. Everyone turned to look at Kipo Sterling. He’d gone pale. I didn’t. I would never. You wanted her to fail, I said.
You wanted this project to fall apart so the board would force a sail. I didn’t sabotage anything. Then who did? Chen demanded. But I was looking at Sophia. She was sitting on the edge of the floor, her legs dangling over 400 ft of empty air, staring at the city below. “Sophia.” I moved toward her carefully. She looked back at me. Her face was stre with tears and dust, but she was smiling. “I didn’t fall,” she said. “No, you didn’t.
I jumped and you caught me. I told you I would.” She stood up, walked to the canal lever edge, looked down at the street far below. Then she turned to Chen. The redesign works, she said. Fund it or don’t. But this building will be built the right way, my father’s way, and anyone who tries to cut corners or sabotage it will answer to me. Chen stared at her. Then he started laughing. You just saved my life, Miss Cooper.
