Page 16 of Letters From Victor

“Apologize to the lady.”

Mr. Kowalski’s face reddened, his jowls quivering as he stammered an apology. “I…I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans. That was…inappropriate of me.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his eyes darted nervously between Victor’s impassive face and his own trapped wrist.

Victor held him a moment longer, letting the lesson sink in before releasing his grip. He patted Mr. Kowalski’s shoulder, the gesture somehow more threatening than comforting. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

Mr. Kowalski nodded frantically, cradling his wrist to his chest. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to bolt from the room, property maps be damned.

“Now, about these developments,” Victor continued, as if nothing untoward had happened. He tapped the map to draw the developer’s attention back to the matter at hand. “I think we can make this work, but there will need to be some changes.”

Mr. Kowalski swallowed hard. His eyes darted to the map and then back to Victor’s face. “Changes? What kind of changes?”

Victor traced a finger along one of the proposed streets. “For starters, we’ll need to ensure adequate infrastructure to support these new neighborhoods. Roads, sewers, utilities. All of that costs money.” He glanced at the developer, one eyebrow raised. “Money that will need to come from somewhere.”

Mr. Kowalski nodded eagerly, seeing a chance to redeem himself. “Of course, of course. We’ve budgeted for all of that. It’s built into the cost of each lot.”

Victor smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure it is.”

I settled back into my chair, pen poised over my notepad, as I watched the interplay between the two men. The air in the room was thick with tension, and the ticking of the clock practically echoed in the silence.

Victor returned to his high-back leather chair at the head of the table, steepling his fingers under his chin as he studied the map. “Infrastructure is only part of the equation, Mr. Kowalski. We also need to consider the long-term viability of these neighborhoods. The kinds of amenities that will attract buyers away from Lakewood and the other cheaper developments. We need to keep property values high.”

Mr. Kowalski nodded, dabbing at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Absolutely. We’ve planned for parks, schools, and shopping centers. Everything a growing family could want.”

Victor leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee as he lit a cigarette. He took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips as he studied the plans. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant clatter of typewriters.

“You’ve done your homework, Mr. Kowalski,” Victor said at last, tapping ash into a cut crystal tray. “And I’d like to help you. I really would.”

“But…”

Victor took another long pull from his cigarette, the tip flaring bright in the cool white light of the conference room. He exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting toward the drop ceiling.

“But,” he continued, his voice smooth as silk, “I have concerns about the margins on this project. The cost of materials, labor, permits…it all adds up quickly. And with the market being what it is, there’s no guarantee we’ll see your projected returns. We may be in a boom now, but a boom only lasts so long.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the polished mahogany table. The cufflinks at his wrists glinted—twin points of gold against the stark white of his shirt peeking out from his charcoal pinstriped suit jacket.

“If I’m going to put my money, my name, and my reputation behind this, I need to know it’s worth the risk. I need to see the numbers line up in a way that makes sense. I’m not running a charity here.”

A thrill ran through me as I watched Victor work, admiring the initial subtlety of his approach that culminated in a sharp punch.

Mr. Kowalski shifted uneasily in his seat and licked his lips nervously, his eyes darting between the papers and Victor’s impassive face.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Cardello,” he said, his voice wavering slightly. “But I assure you, we’ve done extensive market research. These neighborhoods will practically sell themselves. The demand is there, and with the right marketing strategy, we’ll make a healthy profit.”

Victor leaned back in his chair, fixing the developer with a penetrating stare.

“I don’t doubt your research, Mr. Kowalski. I’m sure your bean counters and number crunchers did a fine job.” He stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “Come back to me with a twenty percent increase in my margin, and we’ll talk.”

Mr. Kowalski blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. “Twenty percent? But that’s…that’s not possible.” He fumbled with his tie. “The margins are already razor-thin as it is. If we increase your cut by that much, there won’t be enough left over to cover our costs, let alone turn a profit.”

My pen flew over the paper as I recorded Victor’s concerns and demands in my notes.

Victor shrugged, the motion fluid and effortless beneath the fine wool of his suit jacket. “Then I suppose we don’t have a deal.” He turned to me, his dark eyes glinting in the fluorescentlight. “Mrs. Evans, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Kowalski out?”

I closed my notebook and stood. “Of course, Mr. Cardello.”

Mr. Kowalski lurched to his feet, desperation etched into his face. “Wait, wait,” he pleaded, holding up his hands, palms out. “Please, Mr. Cardello, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that benefits us both.”

Victor paused, his hand resting on the back of his chair. He cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

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