The company’s newest contract depended on fixing it.
If they failed, Hayes Renewables would lose the largest infrastructure deal of Wendell’s career.
“How old are you again?” Wendell asked.
“Thirteen.”
“You talk like one of my engineers.”
Jaylen gave a faint smile.
“Maybe your engineers talk like boys who read ant books.”
The smile vanished as they turned down a narrower lane.
The houses grew smaller. Some had porches sagging at the corners. Some had cars in the yard with weeds growing around the tires. Laundry hung motionless in the heat.
Jaylen pointed.
“Here.”
Wendell slowed near a small blue house set back behind a wire fence. The paint was peeling. One window had cardboard taped over the inside. A rusted mailbox leaned at the edge of the yard with the name TATE written in fading black marker.
Before Wendell could speak, the front door opened.
A woman stepped onto the porch.
