CHAPTER FOUR — THE DOOR THAT DIDN’T OPEN

Mallory called before six the next morning.
“You know that family room the company keeps advertising?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“There’s a sign on it now saying it opens Monday.”
“Is that good?”
“The sign is taped across a plywood door.”
Jonah sat upright in bed.
“What?”
“The room behind it is still being used to store pallets of packing tape.”
“Have you told your supervisor?”
“We all have.”
Mallory sounded furious.
“They moved twelve employees onto different schedules because this facility was supposed to open.”
“What did the supervisor say?”
“He said the vendor certified it.”
Jonah remembered the green check beside Hollis.
“Please don’t make childcare decisions based on that sign.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“Then tell me whether Belinda knows what’s happening.”


“I asked her, and I didn’t get a clear answer.”
Mallory sighed.
“I need to get my daughter to preschool.”
The call ended.
Jonah stared at the ceiling, then dialed the number Priya had used.
“I’m not asking you for gossip,” he said when she answered.
“Good.”
“My sister works at Hollis, and they’re changing schedules because of this room.”
“I know.”
“Can you meet her directly?”
“Absolutely.”
“Not me.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
She gave him the name of a Hollis employee representative who had already requested a meeting.
Jonah passed the contact to Mallory and stayed out of the discussion.
He went to work and repaired a tin marquee letter whose bulbs had been flickering for months.
At noon his supervisor asked whether he could deliver a finished sign to an office on West Terrace.


He checked the address and realized it was two blocks from Nestwell’s headquarters.
He almost refused, then decided refusing would give the address more power than it deserved.
The delivery took fifteen minutes.
On the walk back to his van, he spotted Belinda standing outside the Nestwell building with Dorian.
Dorian was tall, carefully dressed, and smiling as he spoke into his headset.
Belinda’s shoulders were tight beneath her coat.
When Dorian noticed Jonah, he took off the headset and approached before Belinda could say anything.
“Jonah, I presume.”
“Yes.”
“Dorian Kells.”
“I know.”
Dorian extended a hand.
Jonah did not take it.
“I hear you’re worried about a few finishing touches at our sites,” Dorian said.
“I’m worried about my sister making childcare arrangements based on an opening date.”
“Construction is complex.”
“Then don’t advertise completion until it’s complete.”
Dorian’s smile sharpened.
“Belinda has told me you’re taking this separation hard.”
Jonah glanced at his wife.
She looked at the pavement.
“I’m not discussing my marriage with you,” he said.
“Of course.”
Dorian leaned closer.
“I’ll also suggest that contacting my former employee is unwise.”
“Priya contacted me.”
“She has a grievance.”
“Then the company should answer it with facts.”
Dorian’s expression went flat for half a second.
“We intend to.”
Jonah stepped around him and walked to the van.
Belinda called his name.
He turned.
“Don’t make this a fight at my workplace,” she said.
“I delivered a sign two blocks away.”
“Then keep walking.”
Jonah nodded once.
“I already was.”
He left before Dorian could reply.
That afternoon, Nestwell’s website quietly removed the Hollis opening date.
Mallory sent Jonah a screenshot of the earlier page.
Under the cheerful photograph of a mother rocking a sleeping baby, a caption still promised that the company’s spaces were ready when working parents needed them most.
The photograph had been taken at a different site.