Paradise
Page 182
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"You don't sound very elated."
"I'm worried about poor sales in all our stores," she admitted. "I shouldn't be telling Bancroft and Company's banker that, but he's my friend too."
"As of tomorrow morning," Parker said a little hesitantly, "I'll be your friend—period."
Meredith stiffened in her chair. "What does that mean?"
"We need cash," he said with a reluctant sigh, "so we're selling your loans off to the same investors who are going to lend you the money for the Houston project. You'll be making your payments to the Collier Trust from now on."
Meredith wrinkled her nose, lost in thought. "Who?"
"A partnership called the Collier Trust. They use Criterion Bank right around the corner from you, and Criterion vouched for them. In fact, Criterion's people approached me on their behalf. The Collier Trust is a private partnership with plenty of capital to lend, and they've been looking for good loans to buy up. Just to be on the safe side, I checked them out with my own sources. They're solid and completely aboveboard."
Meredith felt vaguely uneasy. A few months before, everything seemed so stable and predictable—like Reynolds Mercantile's relationship with Bancroft & Company, and her personal life. Now all of it was in a state of sudden and complete flux. She thanked Parker for getting her the Houston financing, but when she hung up, something about the Collier Trust continued to bother her. She'd never heard it before, and yet it seemed almost familiar.
A minute later Mark Braden walked into her office, grim and unshaven, and she prepared to deal with the more urgent problem of the bombings. "I came here straight from the airport, just as you wanted me to do," he explained by way of apology for his appearance. He was shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over a chair, when there was a flurry of surprised greetings outside her office as secretaries exclaimed, "Welcome back, Mr. Bancroft!" and "Good afternoon, Mr. Bancroft!" Meredith stood up, bracing herself for the confrontation with her father that she'd been dreading.
"All right, let's hear it!" Philip began, slamming his office door. "The damn plane had mechanical trouble or I'd have been here hours ago." Taking over in his inimitable style, he walked forward, flinging off his coat, and demanded of Mark Braden, "Well? What have you found out about these bomb scares? Who's behind it? Why aren't you in New Orleans—that store seems to be the prime target!"
"I just got back from New Orleans, and all we have now are theories," Mark began patiently, then he paused as Philip marched over to the computer screens on the credenza behind the desk and punched in commands on the keyboard that brought onto the screen the total sales in all the stores for the day. When he compared that figure with last year's, on the other screen, his face turned an alarming shade of gray beneath his newly acquired tan. "Good God!" he whispered. "It's worse than I expected."
"It'll get better soon," Meredith said, trying to sound soothing as he belatedly pressed an absentminded kiss on her cheek. If things hadn't been so dire, she'd have laughed at his appearance. Never less than impeccably attired, her father now wore a suit wrinkled from the long transatlantic flight, he needed a shave, and his hair looked as if he'd been combing it with his fingers. "People are staying away from our stores right now," she added, "but in a couple of days, when the publicity about the bombs is over, they'll come back." She started to move away from his desk so that he could sit in the chair behind it, but he surprised her by distractedly motioning her to stay there. Walking over to one of the guest chairs, he eased himself into it, and she realized that he was more exhausted and strained than he looked.
"Start from the day I left," he told her. "Sit down, Mark. Before I hear your theories, I want to hear some facts from Meredith first. Did you complete the purchase of the land in Houston yet?"
Meredith froze at the mention of that particular project, then she glanced at Mark. "Would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes, Mark, while I discuss this with my—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Meredith," her father said. "Braden can be trusted, and you should know it"
"I do know it," she said, chafing at his tone, but she remained firm. "Mark, would you please give us five minutes?"
She waited until he left, then she came around the desk. "If we're going to talk about the Houston project, we're going to have to talk about Matt. Are you calm enough to listen without going into a rage?"
"You're damned right we're going to talk about Farrell! But first I want to try to salvage my business—"
Instinct told Meredith that this was the right time to tell him about everything, including her involvement with Matt—now, when he was distracted with business concerns and Braden was outside waiting to fill them in on whatever he knew. For one thing, he wouldn't have much time to rant and rave over each event. "You said you want to hear everything that's happened, and I'm going to tell you all of it—I'll keep it short and in chronological order, so it'll only take a few minutes, but you're going to have to understand that Matt is involved in some of it."
"Start talking," he ordered, scowling.
"Fine," she said, and reached out for the diary she'd kept at his instruction before he went on the cruise. As she flipped through pages she said, "We did try to buy the Houston land, but in the midst of the negotiations, someone else bought it." Glancing up, she said levelly, "Intercorp bought it—"
He half rose out of his chair, his eyes blazing with fury and shock. "Sit down and stay calm," she warned him quietly. "Intercorp bought it for twenty million and upped the price to thirty million. Matt did it," she emphasized, "in retaliation against you—because he discovered that you'd had his rezoning in Southville blocked. He also planned to sue you and Senator Davies and the Southville zoning commission." He paled at that and she quickly added, "It's all been settled already. There'll be no lawsuits, and Matt is selling us the property for the original twenty million."
She watched him, hoping to see some sign of softening toward Matt after that, but he was rigid with the effort to control his hatred and anger, and she dragged her gaze back to the business diary, flipping through the pages. Glad that the next matter didn't involve Matt, she said, "Sam Green said there's been an unusual amount of interest in our stock on the market. It drove the price up until this week, when the price began dropping because of the bomb scares. We should know any day now who the new shareholders are and how large a block they own—"
"I'm worried about poor sales in all our stores," she admitted. "I shouldn't be telling Bancroft and Company's banker that, but he's my friend too."
"As of tomorrow morning," Parker said a little hesitantly, "I'll be your friend—period."
Meredith stiffened in her chair. "What does that mean?"
"We need cash," he said with a reluctant sigh, "so we're selling your loans off to the same investors who are going to lend you the money for the Houston project. You'll be making your payments to the Collier Trust from now on."
Meredith wrinkled her nose, lost in thought. "Who?"
"A partnership called the Collier Trust. They use Criterion Bank right around the corner from you, and Criterion vouched for them. In fact, Criterion's people approached me on their behalf. The Collier Trust is a private partnership with plenty of capital to lend, and they've been looking for good loans to buy up. Just to be on the safe side, I checked them out with my own sources. They're solid and completely aboveboard."
Meredith felt vaguely uneasy. A few months before, everything seemed so stable and predictable—like Reynolds Mercantile's relationship with Bancroft & Company, and her personal life. Now all of it was in a state of sudden and complete flux. She thanked Parker for getting her the Houston financing, but when she hung up, something about the Collier Trust continued to bother her. She'd never heard it before, and yet it seemed almost familiar.
A minute later Mark Braden walked into her office, grim and unshaven, and she prepared to deal with the more urgent problem of the bombings. "I came here straight from the airport, just as you wanted me to do," he explained by way of apology for his appearance. He was shrugging out of his coat and tossing it over a chair, when there was a flurry of surprised greetings outside her office as secretaries exclaimed, "Welcome back, Mr. Bancroft!" and "Good afternoon, Mr. Bancroft!" Meredith stood up, bracing herself for the confrontation with her father that she'd been dreading.
"All right, let's hear it!" Philip began, slamming his office door. "The damn plane had mechanical trouble or I'd have been here hours ago." Taking over in his inimitable style, he walked forward, flinging off his coat, and demanded of Mark Braden, "Well? What have you found out about these bomb scares? Who's behind it? Why aren't you in New Orleans—that store seems to be the prime target!"
"I just got back from New Orleans, and all we have now are theories," Mark began patiently, then he paused as Philip marched over to the computer screens on the credenza behind the desk and punched in commands on the keyboard that brought onto the screen the total sales in all the stores for the day. When he compared that figure with last year's, on the other screen, his face turned an alarming shade of gray beneath his newly acquired tan. "Good God!" he whispered. "It's worse than I expected."
"It'll get better soon," Meredith said, trying to sound soothing as he belatedly pressed an absentminded kiss on her cheek. If things hadn't been so dire, she'd have laughed at his appearance. Never less than impeccably attired, her father now wore a suit wrinkled from the long transatlantic flight, he needed a shave, and his hair looked as if he'd been combing it with his fingers. "People are staying away from our stores right now," she added, "but in a couple of days, when the publicity about the bombs is over, they'll come back." She started to move away from his desk so that he could sit in the chair behind it, but he surprised her by distractedly motioning her to stay there. Walking over to one of the guest chairs, he eased himself into it, and she realized that he was more exhausted and strained than he looked.
"Start from the day I left," he told her. "Sit down, Mark. Before I hear your theories, I want to hear some facts from Meredith first. Did you complete the purchase of the land in Houston yet?"
Meredith froze at the mention of that particular project, then she glanced at Mark. "Would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes, Mark, while I discuss this with my—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Meredith," her father said. "Braden can be trusted, and you should know it"
"I do know it," she said, chafing at his tone, but she remained firm. "Mark, would you please give us five minutes?"
She waited until he left, then she came around the desk. "If we're going to talk about the Houston project, we're going to have to talk about Matt. Are you calm enough to listen without going into a rage?"
"You're damned right we're going to talk about Farrell! But first I want to try to salvage my business—"
Instinct told Meredith that this was the right time to tell him about everything, including her involvement with Matt—now, when he was distracted with business concerns and Braden was outside waiting to fill them in on whatever he knew. For one thing, he wouldn't have much time to rant and rave over each event. "You said you want to hear everything that's happened, and I'm going to tell you all of it—I'll keep it short and in chronological order, so it'll only take a few minutes, but you're going to have to understand that Matt is involved in some of it."
"Start talking," he ordered, scowling.
"Fine," she said, and reached out for the diary she'd kept at his instruction before he went on the cruise. As she flipped through pages she said, "We did try to buy the Houston land, but in the midst of the negotiations, someone else bought it." Glancing up, she said levelly, "Intercorp bought it—"
He half rose out of his chair, his eyes blazing with fury and shock. "Sit down and stay calm," she warned him quietly. "Intercorp bought it for twenty million and upped the price to thirty million. Matt did it," she emphasized, "in retaliation against you—because he discovered that you'd had his rezoning in Southville blocked. He also planned to sue you and Senator Davies and the Southville zoning commission." He paled at that and she quickly added, "It's all been settled already. There'll be no lawsuits, and Matt is selling us the property for the original twenty million."
She watched him, hoping to see some sign of softening toward Matt after that, but he was rigid with the effort to control his hatred and anger, and she dragged her gaze back to the business diary, flipping through the pages. Glad that the next matter didn't involve Matt, she said, "Sam Green said there's been an unusual amount of interest in our stock on the market. It drove the price up until this week, when the price began dropping because of the bomb scares. We should know any day now who the new shareholders are and how large a block they own—"
