Читать книгу Topsail Island - Paul Boardman - Страница 7

Three Years Earlier

Wendell Forbes had been scrolling through computerized lists of heavy equipment for his young but successful, Florida based construction company when a pop-up appeared on his screen. It said, “Fully describe your type of business and equipment needs. Note type of machine (bulldozer, pay loader, hi-hoe, backhoe etc.) type of work (commercial, residential, road work, farm, etc), load demand on machine (light, medium, heavy), usage (every day, twice a week, weekly, occasionally), average hours of daily usage. Instructions on the screen indicated that the reply had to be sent by email. Forbes hesitated for a second before muttering “What the hell,” and drafted a quick reply.

The next day he received an unusual response. It recapped his needs but asked for additional detail. Wendell had simply stated that he needed a backhoe but new questions were asked regarding boom length and bucket size. There was a short questionnaire about his business. Was the machine for use on commercial or residential sites? Would it be primarily used on a single site use or would it travel on roadways between jobs, under its own power? What were the company’s future aspirations and what additional demands might be put on the machine in the future? In fact, the email asked a dozen new questions. Part of Wendell’s psyche was annoyed by this intrusion but the other, less emotional part, appreciated the fact that whoever was asking for this information was at least attempting to match the machine to the buyer’s needs. He decided to answer the questions. When he got to the final question about future aspirations, he took a good deal of time thinking before typing his response.

“Possible road work and trenching for services in future land development project.”

That was the closest he had ever come to actually writing down his dream to take a piece of raw land and turn it into a small subdivision. He realized it had taken him over an hour of thinking and dreaming to write that simple response but the exercise had been uplifting and when he fell asleep that night he was still dreaming about his future plans for a subdivision.

The next morning a reply appeared in his email in-box. Wendell opened it expecting to find a list of used backhoes the equipment dealer with the pop-up add had in stock. Instead, he received an email stating that the search for the appropriate machine would require at least a week. It suggested the delay would be worth Wendell’s while.

The machine was not the highest priority on Wendell’s agenda and he erased the email and got onto other things. A week later, he opened up his email after supper and before prime time television, not even thinking about the previous correspondence or his heavy equipment needs. There was an email with the subject line reading ‘Backhoe.’ Once again he anticipated a list of backhoes at various prices and opened the reply. What he found was entirely different than expected. It was like a Christmas present! There, in front of him on the screen was a four year old machine that looked just like it was brand new. There were photos of every component, shots from every angle. Shots of the tires, the hydraulic hoses, the controls, the cab, the boom and the bucket. This machine had seen at best, very minimal usage and the price tag was equivalent to that of a worn out, ten year old piece of scrap metal.

“There’s got to be a catch,” thought Wendell.

At the end of the email was a note.

“If the information you sent is accurate, then I believe this machine will suit your purposes. The machine will be held for your personal inspection for seven days. You are under no obligation to purchase it. ……”

The email went on to describe the location and hours of operation to inspect the machine, which could be seen by appointment only. The appointment must be made with twenty-four hours advance notice. If the machine was suitable, it would be held with a token deposit while finance and delivery arrangements were completed. There was no high pressure. There was no talk of other bidders. This offer of sale seemed in every way to be an exclusive offer, made only to Wendell Forbes. Odd, but too attractive to ignore.

The machine was located a hundred miles away. Forbes wrote back saying he would look at it the following Saturday morning. The arrangement was confirmed and Forbes left early that morning to allow him time to stop for breakfast part way through the drive. When he arrived at the location he expected to see a dealership but instead was a clean but vacant industrial garage. A Cadillac was parked in front of the small office that took up a corner of the building.

Inside, sitting at a desk, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup and reading a newspaper was what could only be described as a salesman. Wendell was immediately on guard as he approached the man who wore a dark suit over an open neck sports shirt. His hair was slicked down with some kind of cream or gel. He had a gold chain around his neck and another, heavier gold chain on his wrist. He looked very healthy and decent enough but if you had to put a label on his forehead it would read “Slick” in big bold letters. The salesman stood up and pumped Wendell’s hand.

“You must be Wendell Forbes, the man I was sent here to meet.”

The comment caught Forbes off guard. “I don’t understand,” he questioned, “What do you mean, sent here?”

“First of all let me introduce myself. My name is George Nichol. I was asked to meet you here and show you the backhoe. It’s in the garage. But first I want to explain something. If you want it, we can sign the papers. I have them all prepared. If you don’t want it, we shake hands and you walk away. That’s it! I want you to know that I’ve been paid already. I get no extra commission for a sale …. Nothing. Not one red cent. Look … You seem a bit surprised. I don’t understand this any more than you do. I’ve gone over the machine …. It’s like new. I’ve looked at the contracts and they are gold. I’ve personally checked out title. I guarantee it’s clean, and I’ve come across about a hundred hot machines over the years, so I know how to spot them. Given the price on the contract, I had to believe this baby was hot ….. but it isn’t. Title sparkles like Mr. Clean himself. So come on back and check her out yourself. It’s in the shop.”

Wendell followed, trying to figure out what kind of a scam he had fallen into. The salesman definitely knew his stuff. He started the machine and ran the hydraulics expertly, the bucket and shovel operating smoothly without any sign of bouncing that comes with old, tired machinery. He pointed out every hose connection where hydraulics were likely to leak and every grease fitting, just to prove that the machine had been well maintained. “If I had this baby in my own showroom, I’d ask fifteen thousand more than the contract and have it sold in a week!”

“What do you mean …. Your showroom?” demanded Wendell.

“My showroom, my yard, my equipment. I sell heavy equipment …. I own a dealership. But this one ain’t mine. That’s what I’m telling you. I got asked to broker this deal. Normally I wouldn’t do that but I’m being paid full commission, so what the hell! You must have some kinda sugar daddy to sell you this machine at the price on the contract. I’d buy it myself … for cash … today. But it’s not for sale. You are the only person who can buy it. The only catch is, you are not supposed to flip it. You have to agree not to sell it or lease it for one full year.”

“What happens if I do?” asked Wendell.

“Nothing, really,” answered the salesman. “Just that the vendor will refuse to do future business with you. It’s not legal to actually prevent you from selling what is rightfully yours. Like I said, I don’t get it.”

Wendell was more confused than ever. The thought that “anything that seems too good to be true, probably is,” went through his head and wouldn’t leave. He climbed up into the machine.

“Don’t lift that bucket too high or you’ll put it right through the roof,” warned the salesman. “I’ll drive it outside if you want to play with it.”

“Just open the door. I’ll drive it out myself,” stated Wendell, firmly.

“OK. This isn’t my shop. Just be careful.”

The salesman walked over to the garage door and opened it with the automatic opener. Wendell drove the machine out in low gear. He tested all the controls but had less experience and was not as quick or as smooth with it as the salesman. Finally he climbed down, satisfied that the motor and transmission, the hydraulics, the electrics and even the air conditioning worked perfectly.

“OK. Let’s look at the paperwork,” he said, still skeptical.

The two men returned to the office. George Nichol opened his brief case and laid all the paperwork out on the desk. All that was required to cement the deal was a five hundred dollar deposit, fully refundable if any title problems were uncovered within the week. There was only one oddity. The current owner of the machine was listed as “Mentor Corporation.”

“Strange name for a heavy equipment dealer, ain’t it?” said the salesman.

“Yeah. Sure is,” said Wendell, quietly.

“I ship it anywhere you want within three hundred miles. You inspect it on delivery and after you check it out, then you pay me the balance. This is my card and that’s my cell phone number. Like I said, I’m just the broker but you are welcome to check out my credentials if you want to. I’ve been selling construction equipment for twenty years and I have a good reputation. I’ll guarantee title but if you want to do that independently, that’s fine. You have a week to check title and another week to arrange financing before I deliver it. You just give me a phone call and tell me you are ready and I’ll have it there for you the next day. You go over the machine again and when you are done you give me a certified check. That’s it. I tell you, I’d be out of business if I did deals like this! Nothin’ moves off my yard until I have the cash in my hand.

Wendell decided the most he had to risk was five hundred dollars. He signed the offer to purchase and initialed all the conditions to get out of the deal if he changed his mind on delivery. The two men shook hands and Wendell climbed into his SUV and drove back home. Ten days later the machine was delivered to his jobsite. Wendell asked his foreman to assess the machine. His foreman couldn’t believe it.

“Just buy it! Then burn that old pig we’ve been using and sell it for scrap iron!” the foreman exclaimed, pointing at the old backhoe that spent more time being repaired than it did working.

Wendell handed over the bank draft to the salesman who had arrived in the passenger seat of the semi, hauling the float.

A month passed. Then one day a UPS truck arrived with a letter from Mentor Corporation.

Dear Mr. Forbes,

“I would like to thank you for your purchase of a backhoe from Mentor Corporation and I trust that you are satisfied with your acquisition.”

“Satisfied!” thought Wendell. “The thing works like a charm and I bought it for half price! Damn straight I’m satisfied.”

The letter continued:

“Mentor Corporation is a unique facility designed to assist worthy entrepreneurs to achieve their goals. We became aware of your desire to purchase a piece of heavy equipment through the inquiries you made on-line, to several suppliers. We recognized your need and clarified details of that need through our initial e-mail. When we were convinced that your commitment was genuine and that you conducted your business in an appropriate manner, we commenced our own search for a machine that we felt would suit you. When we found it, we informed you of it and I believe I can safely say that certain assumptions we made, worked out favorably. You purchased the equipment and I assume that you are pleased with it.

So let’s move on.

At Mentor Corporation we utilize extensive search engines and contacts to facilitate acquisitions for our clients. There is no fee, no contract and no obligation on the part of our clients. If they need something, whether it is machinery, real estate, personnel or product, we use our resources to find a cost effective remedy to the supply dilemma.

The only thing we ask in return is that the source of supply, i.e. our name, be kept confidential. We choose our clients. They do not choose us. In order to maintain that relationship we remain as anonymous as possible. We have no intention of offering our services to the public, be that any individual or firm, not of our own choosing.

In order to help your business grow, I will send you in a few days time, a questionnaire about the future plans for your company. If you wish to complete the questionnaire you may do so but please understand that you are under no obligation to extend this relationship. Before answering the questionnaire I suggest you take a bit of time to dream. This exercise is not intended to be one hundred percent practical. It is more intended to determine the direction of your endeavors in a perfect (or almost perfect) world, where expansion is based more on desire and ability than it is on cash flow.

I guarantee that your reply will be analyzed and kept confidential. Beyond that I make no promises. I promise absolutely nothing. Not even future correspondence. We are highly selective and do not respond to replies from individuals who we do not choose to do further business with.

Sincerely,

Your Mentor

“What kind of a crazy scheme is this?” thought Wendell.

Nevertheless, over the next few days he did dream. His business of building custom homes was moving along well but he had always wanted to build on his own land, where he maintained a higher level of control over the finished product and could profit from both the construction of the building and the land. But that required money. In the meantime, he was forced to deal with too many dumb, indecisive customers who had impractical imaginings and with too many architects who overbuilt their pet ideas and milked the rest of the project by constantly making change orders.

When the questionnaire arrived in his inbox, he spent three hours answering questions and drafting replies. The exercise itself seemed to have a mental cleansing effect on him. Writing out his responses clarified his goals and regardless of whether or not he ever heard from Mentor Corporation again, he knew he had done something in those three hours that he had never done before. Long range, goal oriented planning.

A week later he had received no reply and assumed that his portrayal of his goals had not been well received. He refused to admit that he was disappointed, but deep inside he felt that he had done a good job of explaining a “perfect world” scenario and truly did feel rejected by the lack of response.

Two weeks later he received a thick envelope from a law firm in Charleston, South Carolina describing a small parcel of land on Topsail Island that was being offered for sale. The property was described and supporting data such as surveys and building requirements were presented in detail. The price was attractive and the terms were exceptional. They included a vendor take-back mortgage that could be paid off in balloon payments with each lot sale. This was an ideal scenario.

Subdivision of land always included inherent risk. Local municipalities could shut down a proposal on a whim. They could always justify their refusal by hiding behind some weird environmental issue or some piece of legalese in their bylaws that expensive, high powered lawyers might take years, often interrupted by elections and the introduction of new people, to resolve. But in this case, the vendor had already obtained an agreement in principle from the local council. That meant that the local municipal government was in favor of development.

The next few pages outlined all the requirements that town council would demand including a budget and timetable. If the project was put on the fast track, the subdivision approval and building permits could be obtained within approximately one year, assuming environmental and engineering reports came back as expected. The soft costs were estimated at a quarter of a million dollars. On top of that, building the road and roughing in the services would cost something not far shy of a million. It was estimated that between twelve and fifteen lots could be developed. Working on the basis of one hundred thousand dollars per lot for development costs, plus the price of the raw land, Wendell could anticipate a profit of roughly one million dollars on the land itself. Of course, he could also anticipate profits on the construction of the homes.

“I could do this,” Wendell said softly to himself.

Immediately his more conservative side began its own battle of negativity. It would take all of his savings to make the small down payment and pay the initial soft costs.

“Today, I am debt free and have a quarter million in the bank, plus work in progress. A year from now I would have no money. Sure, I would own a decent piece of land but I would have a massive mortgage to worry about. How good a deal is that?” argued his inner man.

“Shit!”

“At least look at the land,” encouraged the entrepreneur inside him.

His conservative side spoke almost with distain. “Don’t be an impetuous fool.”

The inner battle continued for three nights before Wendell decided there was no way to resolve the issue without at least looking at the land. He left Florida on the Friday morning and told his foreman he would be back on Monday night.

He headed north on I 95 and turned east toward Wilmington and then north again on Hwy 17. As he crossed the swing bridge over the Intra-Coastal Waterway, he entered Surf City on Topsail Island and his stomach was already gurgling with excitement. His development was just a few miles away. The conservative side of his personality tried to subdue the emotion of ownership of a subdivision, even a small one, but as he inhaled the sea air, with every breath his adventurous side grew stronger. It had already convinced him that this was his ticket. This purchase could springboard him toward a life of prosperity. It was his big chance. If he quit now, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He would end up another wannabe, always saying “should o’, could o’, would o’.

When he saw the actual property he didn’t see the scrub brush on the infertile sand. He saw a gate, green lawns and flower beds in raised gardens. Trellises, swimming pools and luxurious homes. The ocean on the front at one end of the property and the inland waterway at the back.

“Oh yes. This … I can do!” he muttered out loud.

Wendell was not lacking a good head on his shoulders. He was good with numbers as well as being good with people. He constantly argued with himself, his conservative side versus his entrepreneurial nature. The resulting balance had always worked for him. He knew he had a chance … a good chance … of making this work. If this had been his third or fourth project, he could have said with certainty that this project was doable with a decent margin of profit. Yet he knew a half a dozen contractors who had overreached their abilities and bank accounts and had failed. To absolutely predict big profits on his first development project may have been naïve, but it was not impossible.

Wendell drove the length of Topsail Island and stopped to pick up any real estate advertising magazines he could find. Half way through the day, having already driven past the property three times he pulled into a sand parking lot that butted up against a ten foot high dune, sparsely covered with patches of course grass. He opened his briefcase, dug out the info package and scanned through it looking for the phone number that had been listed under “contact number.” Wendell was preparing to leave a message when a voice answered.

“Sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” began Wendell.

“No bother at all. This is my cell number. To be honest, I’m out fishing and I haven’t had a nibble, so you aren’t interrupting much of anything. How can I help you?”

Wendell explained who he was and that he had looked at the property that had been described to him. He wanted some additional information.

“No problem. I’ve got more data on my I Phone. O.K. Here’s what you want. You can speak with the owner directly. There are no realtors. We are working for an outfit called Mentor Corporation, but they have no direct involvement with the vendor and do not wish to be named or even mentioned in this transaction. I can email you the owner’s name and number as well as the name and number for his attorney. If you decide you like this property I suggest you hire some local law firm and make an offer through them, directly to the vendor’s attorney.”

“Are you saying that I should use another law firm … not yours?”

“Oh that’s definite. We couldn’t represent you because of our association with Mentor.”

“So Mentor is not the vendor?” asked Wendell.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well where exactly do they fit into this transaction?”

“Advisors only. No direct involvement, financial or otherwise. I know it’s a bit odd but that’s all I’m at liberty to tell you. I can recommend a local attorney, though. He’s a young fellow but very thorough. I had dealings with him a year ago and was quite impressed.”

“Sure,” said Wendell. “Send his particulars, as well.”

There was a moment of silence on the phone, then what sounded like someone humming.

“Already done. You should be receiving it now.”

“It’s coming through. I’ll read it on my laptop in the car. I have satellite reception.”

“As you can see, my entire office is always attached to my belt. My wife hates my I Phone with a passion, but it helps pay the bills,” the lawyer laughed.

“Thanks for your help. I hope the fish start biting.”

For a split second Wendell wondered if he was the fish who had just struck the bait but the thought passed quickly. The two men said goodbye and Wendell got out of his car and wandered over to a path that led through the dune. A few feet later he emerged onto soft sand and found himself staring out across a wide beach at the ocean. He wondered who Mentor was. He decided to drive past the property again, still unsure of his next move. He made his way back to his car and retrieved his laptop from his briefcase. A few minutes later he was reading the vendor’s name for the first time. Bob and Cynthia Loughton.

He stared at the screen, a bit frightened but equally excited. Finally he punched the numbers into his phone and arranged an appointment to meet Mr. Loughton at 2:00 PM on the property.

X X X X X

Wendell arrived right on time and Bob Loughton was already there, just wandering around on the small acreage. He waved and Wendell parked and walked over to him. Loughton was sixty years old but appeared much older than that. He was a thin man by nature, but his skin seemed to hang on him as if he had recently lost weight. His smile was friendly though his eyes were sunken and yellow. The two men shook hands.

“Just so you know, it’s the Big C. That’s the reason I’m selling. Never thought I would, but why burden the missus with realtors and lawyers and all kinds of other crap. It’s a good piece of land, plenty high enough to build on and you could put fifteen houses here if you wanted. But to be honest the houses are getting bigger every year and you might want to cut that back to twelve. You are a builder, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been building custom homes in Florida,” answered Wendell.

“Well land here isn’t as dear as it is in Florida … but it ain’t cheap either. All I want is a fair deal. I’m not going to gouge you but I’m not going to be around much longer and I want to make sure my wife is taken care of. We don’t need the money all at once. My lawyer suggested I offer the property with a builder’s mortgage. Down payment first, then you have two years to either come up with the cash or get a subdivision registered and start the roads and services. The interest rate is fair. After registration, we will extend the mortgage for another three years. I don’t expect to be around so you can pay my wife a lump sum each time you sell a lot. The lawyer gives you what he calls a partial discharge so the purchaser get’s free title. It all sounds complicated to me but my lawyer says it’s a good way to do things and it’s all worth my while. He already got something passed by town council to say they are in favor of a subdivision. When Cynthia and me moved here, the island was damn near vacant. Look at it now! I guess everyone wants to live near the ocean and I can’t blame them for that. It’s what I wanted.”

“I understand you live nearby,” said Wendell, a bit lamely.

“That’s my house over there. The Gold Hole is right beside it.”

“The Gold Hole? What’s that?” asked Wendell.

“Hah! I thought you knew about that. It’s nothing really. Just a big hole all covered in weeds. Back in the thirties an industrialist figured he’d found the site of a three hundred year old shipwreck, laden with gold and silver. Some folks even said it was Blackbeard’s treasure trove but I never did believe that. Frankly, I don’t think there is a damn thing down that hole other than a few old ice chests that folks dumped in and maybe even an old car. It used to be a kind of unofficial dump. It seems that whatever goes in, just sinks. But a few people still believe there’s treasure down there. Anyway, it’s too close to my home to sell so it’s not part of the property shown on the survey. It’s just a curiosity, that’s all. That’s the end of your property where you see that orange picket. I understand you already have a copy of the survey and the draft proposal that was put to council.”

“Yes, I have all that,” said Wendell.

“I’d like to walk and talk some more but to tell you the truth, just coming down this path has tuckered me right out. I think I better get back home while I still can. If you are still interested, just talk to my lawyer. You got his name, right?”

“Yes I do.”

“Well you seem like a nice enough young fellow. If I was your age, I’d buy the damn place myself.” Bob Loughton laughed out loud but Wendell didn’t understand the joke. “I guess I did buy it when I was your age. Well, a bit older but that was because of the war.”

It was Wendell’s turn to laugh. “I guess that’s a pretty good recommendation.”

They were at a fork in the path and Bob Loughton stopped and turned.

“You won’t go wrong if you decide you like it.”

The two men shook hands and Wendell looked into Bob’s sunken, yellow eyes. He thought he might see telltale signs of a cagey old horse trader but instead he saw tears forming. He held his gaze long enough to be sure, squeezed the old man’s hand warmly and looked away.

“It won’t take me long to make up my mind,” said Wendell, sympathetically.

“You know what’s right for you.”

The two men parted without another word. Wendell started walking back to his SUV but looked back long enough to see the old man trudging slowly toward his house. He wondered if the old fellow would ever walk to the end of his property again. Probably not.

Wendell stayed longer on Topsail Island than he had intended but his foreman assured him that everything was going fine in Florida and there was no need to hurry back. Wendell met with the lawyer, Ian Knox, who had been recommended and was also impressed by him. He agreed to prepare an offer to purchase and have it ready in two days. Wendell wondered why it would take so long.

“It’s not like buying a house. It’s a commercial deal. The offer will be at least twenty pages long and each paragraph is important. For example, Town Council’s approval in principle. We have to ensure it is transferrable. Then there is the mortgage. I don’t have to actually prepare the mortgage but I have to lay out the terms and the partial discharge component. It’s complicated but don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

Two days later Wendell signed the first document. Then another few days passed as Bob Loughton’s lawyer made some minor amendments. Finally Wendell initialed the last change and the deposit was transferred to Loughton’s lawyer’s trust account. Wendell rushed back to Florida bristling with excitement. Closing was set to take place in six weeks.

Wendell decided that he would stay in Florida for at least another six months and deal with details of his application for subdivision from there. Ian Knox, in North Carolina would handle the matters locally but Wendell would travel to Topsail Island to be present at important council meetings. Wendell would have preferred to stay closer but he had contracts to fulfill in Florida and he would need the money in the near future. Nevertheless, he had already begun to watch out for “House for Rent” signs. He also kept an eye out for a place to set up office. He needed some place with a small office and a warehouse. On his second trip, he found an ideal place nearby in Sneads Ferry, on the mainland, about five miles from the subdivision. It was a vacant, brown brick building that had suffered a few broken windows and a bit of minor vandalism. He didn’t need it until he got his approvals but spoke to the owner anyway. They struck a three year rental agreement, the first six months, rent free provided the windows were repaired and the building cleaned up.

The next six months were exciting. As well as his regular work, Wendell spent many hours a week fine tuning his subdivision, dealing long distance with engineers, environmentalists, surveyors and politicians. Town council was as good as its word and fast tracked the project as much as possible. More houses meant more taxes and more growth of the private sector, which also meant more taxes. The experience was heady and Wendell’s confidence in the project grew. The homes he was building in Florida were nearing completion and Wendell was already packing up his rented condo, longing for the move to North Carolina where he could walk on his own land.

His foreman was also prepared to join him but he had a family and needed full time work when he got there. Wendell knew that he would need at least a couple of months getting things ready before any actual work began on site. He managed to get his foreman a renovation project that would keep him going for three or four months. He hoped the man would not get too independent in that time and would join him when the on-site work began in North Carolina. It was a gamble but it was also a test of loyalty, which was a rarity in the workplace.

Wendell rented a small house in Sneads Ferry, about a mile from his new office. It was a bit shabby but the price was right and Wendell wanted to minimize his expenditures until lots began to sell and cash flow became positive instead of a constant drain.

Then it happened. Almost synonymous with his final approvals, the recession hit. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were the first casualties. Wendell was caught between a rock and a hard place. In order to get the extension to the builder’s mortgage he had agreed to with Bob Loughton, Wendell was required to have registered the subdivision and roughed in the roads and services within two years. The first part was completed. The subdivision was fully registered. The roads and services were not yet begun.

Nor could Wendell re-negotiate. Bob Loughton had died and his lawyer had full control of the land. Now that it was a registered subdivision, the land was considerably more valuable as individual lots than it had been as a single parcel. Or at least it would be when the recession ended. Loughton’s lawyer made it clear that he had no qualms about foreclosing and taking back the land with its new status if the terms of the mortgage were not met. The only thing Wendell could do to protect his interest was to forge on, build the roads and hope the recession ended quickly.

The problem was money. Two years ago, financing roads in a registered subdivision would have been easy. Not anymore! Now there was more land for sale under foreclosure than there had been land for sale a few years ago. Wendell had presented his business plan to his local bank who had been totally supportive of him while he was financing the registration process with his own capital but they apologetically rejected his application for a mortgage loan with which to build the roads. He presented a similar proposal to banks in Jacksonville and Wilmington with identical results.

Wendell tried to keep his foreman busy but there wasn’t much that could be done without an input of fresh capital. He had already cut back the number of hours his foreman worked. At first he worried that he might lose his top man but as sad as it was, he knew no one else was offering jobs. Wendell had tried to pre-sell a couple of lots but there had been no takers. The realtors were begging him to lower his prices.

At this rate, Wendell figured he could hold out until the last day before the mortgage matured. Maybe Bob Loughton’s attorney would relent and extend the mortgage for a short period of time if the roadwork was well underway. If not, the foreclosure would take some time but the writing was on the wall. Without either sales, which seemed unlikely, or a White Knight which seemed even more unlikely, Wendell was headed toward losing everything.

Wendell established a drop dead date. If he hadn’t arranged financing by that date, there was no possible way he could have the roads built in the allotted time. As the deadline approached his sleep became more sporadic until one night, at three o’clock in the morning, he snapped back to consciousness from a deep sleep. He could hear the wind howling, blowing outside his window at near gale force. It was an east wind, straight off the Atlantic. Forty miles offshore, in the Gulf Stream, waves were breaching twenty feet. He had been dreaming he was out there struggling for his life. The dream was all turmoil and confusion. He had no idea how he had gotten out to the ocean but there he was, being tossed about by massive waves. Somehow he found a piece of flotsam and grabbed it seconds before it was swept away. As he clutched the floating debris close to his chest he felt himself being buoyed up long enough to draw in a deep breath. With the intake of oxygen came a vague idea of how he might save himself. The dream was fast fading into obscurity but the idea, vague as it was, remained. The terrible wind seemed to abate. He concentrated on the idea. An hour later the wind had died but by then a feeling of hope, maybe even confidence, was firmly entrenched in his mind. He had a plan to save himself.

Instinctively he knew that he could not achieve success locally. He had already exhausted that. Part of the plan still required obtaining financing so his only choice was to travel further afield. Mentally he reviewed the location of major urban centers in the Carolinas. He selected Charleston as his target on the basis that they would be more appreciative of a waterfront subdivision than other locations such as Raleigh or Charlottesville. Furthermore, it was an older city with older money.

A week later he had repackaged his proposal and prepared to leave with no definite date of return. He met with his foreman in the morning and asked him about his experience laying bricks and doing stone work.

“I’m no expert, but I can do a reasonable job,” the foreman answered.

“All right. Stop the ground work at the back of the property. We are going to concentrate on stuff that is visual. I want you to build a stone and stucco wall at the entrance to the property. Plants … flowers … the whole nine yards. Normally I would just sub that out but you know things are tight and if they don’t change soon, we are both going to be out of work. We’ll make the entrance to the subdivision top priority. If I can afford it, I’ll pave the first hundred feet. If not, at least we’ll have an attractive entrance, even if it does have a sand and gravel road.”

Wendell provided some sketches of the proposed entrance.

“This is just a concept of what I want. I’m giving you a green light to use your imagination. Dress the thing up with some natural stone. It’s got to look good …. But keep it on a low budget. I’m going to be out of town for a few weeks or a month. You’ll be on your own. The bookkeeper has your pay and will take care of expenses. Just go see her every Friday. Keep one man on as a laborer and let the rest go. Tell the other men I’m sorry. I’ll put an extra fifty bucks in each of their pay envelopes. It’s not much but at least they can go out and get drunk.”

“They understand. They know you have kept them on longer than you really needed them,” answered the foreman, sadly.

Wendell left quickly. He didn’t envy the job he had just given to his foreman. It was one thing laying guys off when things were busy. You knew they would have new jobs within a few days. It was something else when you knew they had no place to go.

Wendell climbed back into his SUV and started the engine. The air conditioning immediately began to pour out frigid air. Wendell shuddered and shut it off. He had set his plan in motion but it was a plan born in desperation and he was more afraid of failing than at any other time in his life.

He already felt guilty but Guilty suddenly took on a new meaning. His thoughts were confusing. If he was caught doing something wrong, Guilty would result in a long jail term and social humiliation worse than anything he could ever imagine. He was headed off to South Carolina ostensibly to find a White Knight. He shuddered again. That was a very bad choice of words, though he didn’t understand why. His entire body shook as he tried to block images from his mind.

Finally he regained enough composure to shift his SUV into gear.