But Amir knew. He was the silent guardian of the physical world, translating the messy chaos of human ambition into the cold, perfect logic of steel.

He sighed. The foundation guys. The concrete pour phases weren’t aligned with the steel embeds. If the concrete was poured a week before the embeds arrived, the steel columns would have nothing to grab onto. This was the curse of a Tekla Designer—you had to be an architect, an engineer, a logistics planner, and a fortune teller, all rolled into one.

Amir would be sitting in his living room, watching the game on a small TV. And when the camera panned to the sweeping roof trusses, he would smile, take a sip of coffee, and whisper to no one in particular: “You’re welcome.”