Chapter 44
Mr. Woods flipped to page seventeen and looked down for twenty seconds.
One of the officials beside him leaned over and said something in his ear. Mr. Woods nodded once.
"Third issue."
Mr. Woods closed the proposal, hands folded on the table.
"Taxes. In your investment recovery calculation model, one of the assumptions is a three-year tax incentive. What's the basis for that? Currently, the district's highest tax rebate rate for tourism projects is fifteen percent. Your calculation uses twenty-five percent. That's a ten-point difference."
Evelyn didn't click through the PowerPoint.
"Mr. Woods, the twenty-five percent isn't current policy—it's a policy recommendation."
Her voice was steady.
"Pages twenty-three through twenty-five show a comparative analysis. We calculated the project's comprehensive tax contribution across the construction, cultivation, and maturity phases using three tiers: fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five percent."
She clicked to page twenty-three. Three sets of bar graphs displayed side by side, each with detailed tax breakdown data underneath.
"At the fifteen percent tier, the project's comprehensive tax contribution over five years is 120 million. At twenty percent, 150 million. At twenty-five percent, 180 million."
Evelyn pointed her clicker at the base of the third bar graph.
"The difference doesn't come from smaller tax exemptions—it comes from higher incentives attracting more premium brands, which raises the overall operating tax base. The tax revenue the government foregoes in the first three years comes back in years four through seven as a larger tax base increase. The end of page twenty-five includes empirical data from three benchmark cities. All three projects used high-percentage tax incentive strategies in the first three years. Starting in year four, their tax revenue increases exceeded double the total incentive amount."
Mr. Woods flipped to page twenty-five.
His gaze lingered on the benchmark data for ten seconds.
The planning bureau deputy director leaned over to look as well.
Mr. Woods looked up.
"Data sources?"
"National Bureau of Statistics public database and annual financial reports from the three project locations. Collection dates and sources are noted in the citations—page twenty-five, footnotes one through seven."
Mr. Woods didn't ask anything else.
He closed the proposal and leaned back in his chair.
"Anyone else have questions?"
The three officials on the left exchanged glances. One shook his head.
The planning bureau deputy director lifted his tea and took a sip. When he set it down, the base knocked against the table with a light sound.
"Solid work. I asked about planning issues earlier—she had the answers."
Mr. Woods's fingers tapped twice on the closed proposal cover.
"Ms. Kendall."
"Yes."
"I'll approve Pine Hill for the district-level key support list today. For the three-year tax incentive rate, we'll submit at twenty percent first. For the twenty-five percent portion, bring us a complete justification report. We'll discuss it in a separate meeting."
Evelyn closed the presentation clicker in her palm.
"Understood. Justification report will be submitted by next Wednesday."
Mr. Woods stood and extended his hand.
Evelyn shook it. Firm, appropriate pressure.
The conference room door opened. The committee members left first. The planning bureau deputy director paused at the doorway and looked back at Evelyn.
"Kendall."
"Deputy Director."
"Plenty of people do tourism planning. You're only the second I've met who got ACHP preliminary approval before starting."
He didn't say who the first was. He turned and left.
Four people from Parker Group remained in the conference room.
Two project assistants were packing up documents. Luna sat in her seat, hadn't moved. The pen cap in her hand still hadn't been removed throughout the entire meeting. But she'd opened the proposal to page twenty-three and drawn a small circle next to the tax calculation bar graphs.
Evelyn pulled out the USB drive and turned off the projector.
Footsteps came from behind her.
Luna walked over and stopped beside her.
"The proposal was fine."
Evelyn turned her head.
Luna's gaze rested on her face, held for a beat.
"So were you."
Evelyn opened her mouth. Didn't get a chance to speak.
Luna had already turned toward the door. At the doorframe, her steps paused for half a second.
"I'll submit your probation evaluation early."
With that, she pushed through the door and left.
Evelyn stood in the mostly empty conference room, USB drive gripped in her hand.
The metal casing pressed into her fingertips.
She looked down at her hand.
A slight tremor in her fingers.
Not nerves. Just the normal response when adrenaline ebbed after an hour of high-intensity output.
She took a deep breath and put the USB drive in her folder.
When she looked up, her gaze passed through the conference room's glass door and landed on the far end of the hallway.
Cedric stood there.
He hadn't entered the meeting room. Charcoal gray suit, tie neat, both hands in his pockets.
He looked at her through the glass door.
Expression unchanged. He pulled his right hand from his pocket and made a subtle gesture in the air—index and middle fingers together, a single nod in her direction.
Then he turned and walked into the elevator bay around the corner.
Evelyn stood still, watching where he'd disappeared.
That gesture wasn't a wave or applause.
It meant "received."
He'd watched the whole thing.
Evelyn tucked the folder under her arm, pushed open the conference room door, and headed back to the thirty-sixth floor office area.
When she reached her desk, her steps slowed by half a beat.
Something new was on her desk.
A manila envelope, letter-sized, not thick.
No sender information on the envelope. No tracking number. The recipient line only read: Evelyn Kendall—Personal.
Evelyn set down the folder and picked up the envelope.
Light. Only the weight of a single sheet inside.
She tore open the seal.
Pulled out a photograph.
High-resolution restored version. Photo paper, higher resolution than any old photo she'd seen.
Two people in the picture.
On the left was a young woman in a white dress, long hair falling over her shoulders, eyes curved, smile bright.
Evelyn knew her.
Mom.
On the right was a young man.
For the first time, his face appeared completely in Evelyn's field of vision.
Strong brows, deep-set eyes, high nose bridge, clean jawline. He wore a navy coat, collar turned up, right hand resting on Lily's shoulder. The corner of his mouth held a faint curve—relaxed, natural.
Evelyn's fingers gripped the edge of the photo. Her fingertips pressed a shallow dent into the paper.
She came back to herself and flipped the photo over. On the back was a line of handwriting. Not her mother's—the strokes were sharp, endings crisp. Not the kind of handwriting a woman would have.