Chapter 166 Cold November

Chapter 166 Cold November
The cold November wind whipped down the length of the canal, carrying the sharp, metallic smell of fresh river ice forming along the stone embankments.
At the textile wharf, the heavy yellow excavators were completely gone, replaced by a massive, high-grade steel framework that spanned the narrow waterway like an armored bridge. Heavy steel girders—painted in dark, matte-gray rust-resistant sealant—were anchored deep into the granite ridge forty meters back near the old wool market. The cantilevered structure hovered silently over the old maintenance pavilion, custom-engineered to carry every pound of structural weight without putting a single ounce of pressure on the military aggregate slab below.
Leo stood on the newly paved concrete walkway of the elevated monitoring station, his broad hands resting on the cold steel railing. He wore his heavy navy jacket, his hood pulled up against the biting wind. Below him, through the thick, reinforced glass inspection hatch built into the floor, the dark water of the southern fork flowed steadily through its newly capped channel.
The hydraulic leak was sealed. The treaty freeze had been officially lifted three weeks ago, but the new municipal classification meant that not a single piece of heavy machinery could touch the plot without a written permit signed by the city council and stamped by Marcus.
Footsteps echoed softly against the metal decking behind him.
Catherine stepped up to the rail, pulling her thick scarf tighter around her neck. She carried a steaming paper cup of black coffee in each hand, handing one to Leo. The warm cardboard felt good against his freezing fingers.
"The final load-bearing tests came back from the municipal laboratory twenty minutes ago," she said, her breath turning into small, white plumes in the freezing air. "The cantilever frame is holding at ninety-nine point eight percent efficiency. The city engineering board signed off on the structural completion certificate. We’re officially fully operational."
Leo took a slow sip of the hot coffee, his dark eyes fixed on the gray horizon where the canal stretched north toward the shipping ports. "And your father’s firm?"
"The bank restored our primary line of credit on Monday," Catherine said, a genuine, quiet relief softening the lines around her eyes. "Dad signed a two-year maintenance contract with the municipal water board to oversee the entire southern canal sector. We aren't building high-density commercial docks anymore, but the company is completely solvent. For the first time in five years, we aren't drowning in debt."
She turned her back to the rail, leaning against the cold steel as she looked up at him. "Marcus gave us top marks for the term project, by the way. He told the department head that our cantilever load equations were the cleanest work Saint-Luc had seen in a decade. He tried to say it with a completely straight face, but I think I saw him smile when he put the grade in the book."
"Marcus doesn't smile," Leo said flatly, though a faint, rare trace of amusement tugged at the corner of his own mouth. "He just grimaces less when the math is right."
"True," Catherine agreed with a soft laugh.
The low, heavy rumble of a ship’s horn echoed down the river, cutting through the cold afternoon quiet. Leo didn't look at the boat, but his eyes tracked a dark gray executive van that had just pulled up along the public road across the canal. It didn't park in a loading bay, and no one got out. It simply idling near the edge of the timber quay, its dark windows reflecting the dull, gray winter sky.
The Antwerp group hadn't left Brussels. They had pulled back their legal team, they had cancelled their drilling contracts, but they were still on the periphery, watching the daily water table logs and counting down the days until the December freeze.
"The temperature is going to drop below zero by Friday night," Catherine said softly, her eyes following his gaze across the water toward the idling van. "The city locks will shut down the secondary barge traffic on Saturday morning to prevent ice damage to the mechanical gates. The river will be completely still by Sunday, Leo."
"I know," Leo said.
He reached into his jacket, his fingers brushing against the smooth, hard surface of his mother’s notebook, resting right next to the brass key Marcus had given him to keep.
"The treaty protections fall away the moment the water stops moving," she reminded him, her voice dropping into a quiet, serious register. "They know the drives are still down there. Once the canal freezes solid, they won't need a municipal permit to bring a team onto the ice."
Leo turned away from the rail, looking down at the massive, dark gray steel girders anchored deep into the granite bed beneath his boots. The structural frame wasn't just a platform for city inspectors; it was a cage. Eighty tons of high-tensile European steel, locked in place by sixty-four expansion bolts, encasing the subterranean vault in a solid, unyielding vault of industrial engineering.
"They can bring their team to the ice," Leo said, his deep, gravelly voice steady and cold as the November wind blowing off the river. "They can bring their lawyers, and they can bring their cutting torches. But they aren't fighting an abandoned wooden floor anymore, Catherine. They’re fighting eighty tons of municipal steel."
He took a long step back from the rail, swinging his heavy rucksack over his wide shoulders. He looked at Catherine, his dark eyes clear, calm, and entirely ready for whatever cold weather the winter brought down the canal.
"Come on," Leo said, his tall frame cutting through the freezing mist as he headed toward the stairs. "We have two more maintenance blueprints to file before the office closes, and the river is running out of time."