“Hello?” she answered.
“Is this Ms. Winston?” a voice asked.
“This is,” Tachina replied. She rolled her eyes and already sensed what this call was going to be about.
“Morning. This is Stephany from Channel 8 News. I have a few questions I want to ask you.”
“This is not the time?—”
“Critics are expressing concerns that the Artisan Avenue project may be damaging the region’s cultural footprint,” the woman said with the falsely warm tone of someone spreading gossip. “Do you believe the modernization plans are respectful to the legacy of the district?”
“Yes,” she answered, carefully and upbeat. If she was going to be forced to answer the questions, then she would,but it wouldn’t stop her from wanting to punch a wall—or someone. “Absolutely. We aren’t destroying a legacy. We are evolving it. Preserving history doesn’t require freezing a building in time. The district deserves to breathe, to expand with the city that is growing around it. This should be celebrated not fossilized.”
Tachina bit back the part that the building was not considered a historical monument. It was just an old building in a part of town that was now in the hands of developers. If they cared so much about this building before when it was crumbling, why hadn’t they done something about it?
But she wasn’t going to say that. When it came to reporters, anything she said and did would be plastered all over the media. Hence why she hadn’t hung up on good ol’ Stephany from Channel 8 News.
Stephany was a pro and tried to circle back. She poked for soft spots, but Tachina was not new to this. She knew how to handle the media. Unfortunately, it was a part of her job. One would think as the architectural designer, she would be locked away in her office or studio or even on a construction site where no one knew who she was.
But that was not the case. With projects such as this, people wanted to know who the designer was. Her name was attached to this. According to the media, the public had a right to know.
“Some community members are worried that the aggressive designs are profit-driven rather than community centered. Can you speak to who influenced these changes?”
She recognized the trap. Aggressive. Profit-driven. It was a dog whistle for the developer—Vic and his company.
Tachina wasn’t going to fall for it.
“The developers trust our firm. They trust me, and the community will benefit from the addition of homes to help combat the housing shortage and added commerce which means jobs and accessibility the vision will bring. We’re building something for everyone.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Winston,” the reporter said. “We will be following this closely.”
Translation—we are stirring the gossip pot.
“I’m sure you will, and I thank you for highlighting our project to the public.” Tachina hung up before she could say anything else. She stared at her phone like it had personally insulted her. How had Stephany got her backline? That wasn’t given out to anyone. Even her family just called her on her cellphone.
Her vision for the Artisan Avenue wasn’t reckless. Nor was it careless. She believed in it. She’d poured years of research in this type of design and now she’d finally got the chance. This project was her career’s breakout masterpiece. Once this was completed, there was no telling who she’d be designing for. She could see herself going around the world and putting her stamp in other countries.
That would be amazing.
A quick knock sounded on her door. She bid whoever it was to come in. The door opened, and her boss waltzed in. Theo Goodman was a gentleman in his early sixties, and at the moment, he had an expression of frustration.
Her muscles automatically tensed.
This man had been her mentor since she’d graduated and had been as much a father figure as a boss.
“Busy morning?” he asked, though he clearly already knew the answer.
“You could say that,” she huffed.
He closed the door behind him. That said plenty.
“I’ve gotten some calls,” he said simply. He walked across the room and took a seat in the chair across from her desk.
Her stomach dropped, but his expression wasn’t angry.
He tilted his head to the side while he studied her. “You haven’t made any changes that I’m unaware of on the Artisan, correct?”
“No.” She frowned and crossed her legs. This was a weird question. If anything changed, he would have been notified immediately. “The plan hasn’t changed since last month. We’re moving on to the official renovation phase. Demolition was completed. The brickwork and scaling beams will start next week. We are on target.”