Page 93 of A Little Too Late
“For a lot of money,” Block adds.
“Right. He wants to retire. But I’m not sure the Sharpes’ development plans are in synch with the character of the town. And I thought we could all do better.”
“Better on price?” Block asks, his bush eyebrows drawing together.
“No,” I admit. “Not on price. Not at first, anyway. My motivations aren’t financial.”
Block sighs. “Well, my motivationsarefinancial. I want to retire too, Reed. I’m ready. And I am disinclined to turn down the pile of cash the Sharpes are offering me.”
“The money is attractive, I’m sure,” I say carefully. “But what if you could have a say in the design? You’d help me secure all the property rights, and then we’d buy the land from you. I bet your deal with Sharpe depends on what they’re able to construct, right? And if they can’t build the massively ambitious projectthey showed you, then you probably won’t see all that cash, anyway.”
He frowns at me. “How much do you know about this private transaction?”
Honesty seems the best policy here since I’m running out of time. “I saw the plans, but I’m only speculating on your compensation package. If I were the Sharpes, I would have offered you an initial lump sum payment for the land, plus a back-end profit share.”
“Hrmh,” he says in a way that conveys I’m probably right.
“But your long-term profits could vanish if the town planning board shoots down a proposal which would massively reshape the character and traffic pattern of Penny Ridge.”
Block pinches the bridge of his nose. “That thought had occurred to me as well. Although the Sharpes are very persuasive. They have a track record. They were able to triple the size of two other resorts they purchased.”
“They are persuasive, because they don’t care who they harm. They commonly violate their building permits, choosing to pay fines rather than follow the rules. The township where they bought one of their golf resorts is suing them for seventeen million dollars. The Sharpes’ plan is to drag out the lawsuit as long as they can, hoping the township’s legal bills are so crippling that they just give up. These aren’t people that you want to do business with.”
Block’s jaw hardens. “Then why are you here? Why am I getting this speech and not your father?”
That is, of course, the real problem. “He needs to retire. His new wife wants to travel. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to take on a project like this. But I do.”
He regards me for what feels like a long moment. “Do you work in commercial real estate development, Reed?”
“Nope,” I say, going once again with honesty. “But I’m well connected to people who can help me figure it out every step of the way. Raising investor money is my day job.”
He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of with your father on this one.”
“Explain that to me,” I say before I can think better of it. “Why you and my father never agree on anything.”
He makes a face, and I wonder if I’ve just worn out my welcome.
On the one hand, my mother’s been dead for over a decade. It really doesn’t matter what transpired over thirty years ago, does it?
On the other hand, if Ava left me for another guy, I’d rather punch him in the face than do business with him.
Maybe I just answered my own question. “I know you once dated my mother. But that must have been thirty-five years ago.”
“That’s true,” he says slowly. “But my disagreement with your father only dates back about half as far as that.”
I feel a cold prickle on the back of my neck, and a dozen ugly ideas float through my head. “Why is that?”
“Your mother’s art,” he says. “You know I helped place it in galleries?”
I lean forward in my chair. “Really?”
He nods. “She had several dealers. I used to own a gallery in Denver. Your mother and I had an ongoing business relationship. Nothing fishy about it, though. The fact that we dated once for a couple of weeks wasn’t ever a problem.”
“Oh. I see.” It takes me a minute to wrap my head around that. “So what happened? Did some kind of transaction go wrong?”
“Not exactly.” He tips his head to the side, as if considering what to say. “You must have been in middle school. I wanted her to go to New Mexico to collaborate with another studio artist. I’dintroduced the two of them. It would have meant six weeks away from your dad and you boys. But the collaboration would have widened her platform a lot. It could have taken her career from successful local artist to international success.”
Oh. “And she didn’t go.” Of course she didn’t. I would have noticed.
