The interior of the company was just as she had remembered.
And yet, standing there now, Gianna felt as though memory had softened the edges…
The lobby was larger than it had ever been in her mind, stretching upward with exposed steel beams and high glass panels that let in slabs of morning light. The concrete floor bore the quiet evidence of years of work—fine scratches, dull scuffs, the kind that came from boots that didn't linger and machinery that never rested.
Framed blueprints lined one wall, yellowed with age, alongside photographs of completed projects: bridges, high-rises, foundations sunk deep into stubborn earth. Her father's world, rendered in steel and sweat.
The air hummed with movement. Phones rang in quick succession. Voices rose and fell in clipped exchanges. Keyboards clicked. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere, purpose stitched into their stride, eyes fixed ahead as if pausing might unravel the day.
Gianna felt momentarily out of place.
