Foreclosure: A Novel (9 page)

David remembered all the news he had to tell Frank about his meeting with Justin and Meridian Bank and their plan to default him. “Yeah, but we need to talk first.”

“About what?”

“About your bank.”

“What the hell does my bank have to do with this asshole Dr. Herington?”

“Let’s just say I know you’ve got problems.”

“No shit I’ve got problems. And the only one I’m worried about today, the only one you should be worried about, is sitting in my conference room demanding I pay him a hundred grand. You take care of that problem, maybe we’ll talk about the next one.”

David followed Frank to the conference room. Frank nodded for David to enter first. David took a breath and opened the door. The room was stale and bare—white walls with no décor other than a few framed photos of game fish. The perfect counterpart to Frank’s office. Inside, Dr. Herington, a lanky, anxious man in his early sixties, sat across the conference table.

His attorney, Bryce Cummings, a real estate attorney from Sarasota with a knack for attracting wealthy clients all along the Gulf Coast, stood and introduced himself to David. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

David handed Bryce his card and introduced himself. “And you know my client, Frank O’Reilly.” David felt a surge of pride as he referred to Frank as
his
client. Frank shook their hands without speaking, and then he took the seat facing the doctor.

“Is Alton Holloway still running your firm?” Bryce asked David. “His wife and I were on a board together a few years ago. I always liked him.”

David nodded and noticed Dr. Herington hadn’t budged, likely at the advice of his counsel. David was sure Cummings was here to play a gentleman’s game. “He’s still our managing partner.”

Bryce stood with his head tilted and his mouth slightly ajar, as though waiting for David to say something witty or charming. “Well, please send him my regards.”

David strutted around the table and took the seat next to Frank. He pulled out a notepad and set his pen on the table. “So, what’s on your minds?”

Bryce took his seat next to Dr. Herington. “I presume you know what’s on my client’s mind. We’ve set that out in our demand letter. The condominium you built for Dr. Herington is not what he contracted to purchase. As a result, he’s entitled to rescind his contract and have his escrow deposit returned.”

David rolled his pen back and forth across the tablet, and met Bryce’s stare. “Bryce, as you know, Pinnacle Homes is currently in litigation with a few dozen purchasers who want their money back, not because there’s a damn thing wrong with their condos, but because the market took a shit in between the time they signed their contracts and when the condos were built. If your client wants his money back, he can file a lawsuit and get in line.”

Bryce winced like a nun hearing vulgarity. “Dr. Herington has absolutely no reservations about filing a lawsuit against your client.” He glanced at Frank, and then back to David. “We simply thought your client might want to avoid incurring attorneys’ fees and, well, do the right thing.”

David felt the heat steaming off Frank. “Hear that, Frank? They want you to do the right thing. Do you feel like writing Dr. Herington a check for a hundred grand?”

Frank looked at David incredulously.

“You’re right, Frank. That doesn’t warrant an answer.” David returned to Bryce. “Sorry, Mr. Cummings. We’ll pass on doing the right thing.”

“Well, have it your way. We’ll be filing our complaint tomorrow.”

“Like I said, get in line.”

“You know, he’s not like these speculator investors. He had no intention of flipping this unit. He really wanted to live there.”

David leaned forward. “Is that what you’re going to put in your complaint?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then let me tell you what we’re going to put in our answer and counterclaim.” David pulled a file from his bag and slid it across the table. “I totally agree with you, Bryce: Dr. Herington had no interest in flipping this unit. He had every intention of having a nice place where he could spend some time with
her
.”

Bryce opened the folder and studied the mug shot of a black woman who could pass for a super model under more favorable circumstances and cosmetics. He feigned indifference as he raised his eyes back to David.

“Does the name Loanda Rawlings ring a bell?” David asked.

Bryce looked dumfounded. Dr. Herington bit his lip and faintly mumbled.

“How about Peaches Lexington?” David snickered. “That’s her stage name. Or is
Craigslist
name more appropriate?” Dr. Herington averted David’s wink, so David looked to the attorney. “Bryce, your client here was Peaches’ sugar daddy for two years, spending thousands of dollars a week on her. A real big spender. And what love he had for sweet Peaches. So much that he invested in a luxurious unit at Gaspar Towers to give them a place where she could stay, he could keep an eye on her, and, if he was lucky, he might even earn a return on his investment when the fling with Peaches ended. Isn’t that right, good doctor?”

“This is the most preposterous nonsense I have ever heard,” Bryce said.

David shrugged. “But two things happened that the good doctor wasn’t planning on. One, the market crashed. Two, and more importantly in this case, Peaches was arrested for felony check fraud. She’s currently in jail without bail awaiting trial. You loved her enough to buy a unit here, eh doctor, but not enough to hire her a competent criminal defense attorney?”

Dr. Herington smacked the table with the side of his bony fist. “You scum sucker!”

“Easy, there,” David said. “I’m just stating the facts. Bryce told us what would be in your complaint. I don’t want there to be any question about what will be in our counterclaim. Your claims of fraud and breach of contract are bogus, mere pretext for the ensuing complications in the good doctor’s love life. Scandalous? Perhaps. True? Absolutely. I’m sure the newspapers will have a field day with it. It might even go national.” David pierced Dr. Herington’s angry eyes. “Do you really want to put Mrs. Herington through such a nasty lawsuit? What about your children and all your sweet, innocent grandkids? And all over a measly escrow deposit that probably costs less than the interest earned on your investment accounts last year.”

Dr. Herington shifted his angry glare to Cummings.

“This is extortion,” Bryce said.

“Hey, you’re the one threatening a lawsuit.” David closed his folder.

“I should call Alton Holloway about this.”

“Tell him David sent you.”

Dr. Herington whispered in Bryce’s ear.

David stood. “Take a moment alone with your client.”

Ten minutes later, the conference room door opened and Bryce joined David in the hallway. He looked for Frank, but Frank was long gone.

“So what did the good doctor decide?” David asked.

“He’ll forfeit his deposit if you relieve him of any further obligation under the contract.”

“We can do that.”

Bryce lowered his voice. “We want a full confidentiality provision.”

“As long as it’s mutual. And we get a full release.”

“One other thing—we want copies of the escrow records, the real records that show where my client’s money’s been all this time.”

“What difference does that make?”

Bryce ran his tongue along his lower lip. “For tax purposes.”

“You draw up the settlement agreement, and I’ll run it by my client.”

David entered the diner amid the tranquility of the post-breakfast rush and found Terry seated in the corner painting a deposition transcript with a yellow highlighter.

“I nailed it, Terry. I nailed it. O’Reilly wants to hire me to handle all of Pinnacle’s litigation in Florida.”

Terry finished highlighting a line of testimony, scribbled something in the margin with a silver pen, and finally looked up. “That’s great news, kid.”

David took a seat as the waitress appeared and set a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, soft greasy bacon, and cheese grits in front of Terry. She asked David what he wanted to order.

“Just coffee,” he said. Then he told Terry, “There’s just one snag.”

Terry set the transcript down and loaded up the fork with a mound of eggs and grits. “And what’s that?”

“Remember that trip we made to Miami a few days ago?”

“Justin Baxter and Meridian Bank?”

David nodded. “Well, they want to hire us, too.”

“And that’s a snag?”

The sight and smell of Terry’s greasy cuisine was making David nauseous. “Baxter’s work carries a lot of baggage.”

“What kind of baggage?”

“I think we’d be conflicted out of representing O’Reilly and Meridian Bank.”

Terry chewed loudly. “Why?”

“Meridian holds a first mortgage against Gaspar Towers. Due to all these nervous buyers, Pinnacle can’t pay the note.”

“So they’re directly adverse, or about to be?”

“Meridian’s about to call the loan.”

Terry’s eyes focused. “And how do you know that?”

David took his coffee from the waitress and glanced around to confirm that no one was listening. “Don’t worry about that.”

Terry finished chewing and shrugged it off. “So, back to your dilemma. Meridian’s a national bank that can feed you work for years to come. O’Reilly could be bankrupt by the end of the year. Seems like a no-brainer to me. What am I missing?”

“Other than the fact that Justin Baxter works there and he’s trying to pay me off for stealing my girlfriend?”

Terry crammed half a slice of bacon in his mouth. “Justin’s seeing Lana?”

“They live together, yeah.”

Terry’s chewing slowed. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Timing wasn’t right. Anyway, back to my dilemma. Meridian is Alton and Mackenzie’s baby. They’ll get the credit for it, and I’ll be left to do the grunt work.” David poured a few cubes of ice into his coffee and chugged. “Plus, I don’t know how to explain it, Terry, but this O’Reilly guy’s some kind of challenge. He’s a total jerk, but I feel some connection to him. And I’m reeling him in on my own.”

“But if Alton and Mackenzie want to take on Meridian Bank, your opinion won’t count for shit. What are you going to do then?”

David grinned. “We’ll see. Alton and I are going golfing tomorrow with some assholes he wants me to meet. I’m hoping to have his ear long enough to run this by him. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to resort to plan B.”

“I don’t even want to know what that means.”

“You’re right. You don’t.”

Terry chewed on his food and David’s news for a moment longer. Finally, he nodded his approval. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

David parked in the lot at the Forest Glenn Country Club, Gaspar County’s oldest and most prominent country club. Alton had served on the board of directors here for more than ten years, which was why there was a portrait of him and about a dozen other wealthy white philanderers on the north wall of the club’s dining room. They had an 8:30 tee-time with the bankers, but Alton wanted to meet with David fifteen minutes early to “prep.” Running ten minutes late, David pulled his clubs from the trunk of his car and lugged them to the entrance of the club. He avoided eye contact with a caddy who offered him a hand.

A minute later he found Alton seated inside, sipping a coffee and reading the news.

Alton looked up from his
Wall Street Journal
. “You’re late.”

“I know.”

“Did you do your homework?”

David nodded. “JBC Investments, a private equity firm based in Orange County, California. They buy distressed loans, mainly from failed banks.”

“And who are we meeting?”

“Dan Chase and Steve Salvo. CEO and CFO.”

“You got that backwards. Dan is the CFO and Steve the CEO. You’re probably confused because I said Dan calls all the shots.”

“You’re probably right, Alton.” He knew this would be a long day.

“I know Dan quite well. He’s pretty straight-laced. Steve’s the wildcard—an uncanny access to money and investors, but a real loose cannon. He needs Dan like a baby needs the mother’s tit. Let’s see what you can get out of him.”

David had no idea what that meant. He had no time to seek clarification before Alton turned on his phony grin and pointed it in the direction of the arriving guests. Two dweebs were walking through the door. The first guy could have passed for a heavyset Steve Colbert. He waved at Alton, which told David he must be Dan Chase. The second guy, who David deduced to be Steve Salvo, was puffy, unshaven, and scruffy. Everything about him said he wanted to be there less than David.

“Dan, good to see you.” Alton greeted him with a firm handshake. “And Steve, good to finally meet you in person.”

Dan and Steve looked to David, prompting Alton for the introduction.

Alton obliged. “And let me introduce David Friedman, senior counsel and one of our firm’s top litigators.”

David shook Dan’s hand first and exchanged pleasantries.

“Senior counsel?” Steve said. “What’s that mean? You look pretty young to me.”

“I’m not an associate anymore,” David said while shaking Steve’s moist, limp hand.

Steve looked to Alton. “So’s that a title for guys who don’t make partner?”

David took his hand back.

“Partnership is tricky these days,” Alton said. He started pushing Dan along. “Let’s hit the links.”

A few minutes later, Alton appeared from inside the pro shop and threw David a set of cart keys. “Dan and I will ride together.” Alton nodded toward Steve and encouraged David to get to work.

David found Steve kicking pebbles around their golf cart and asked him if he wanted to drive.

Steve held his bloated gut and shook his head. “I’m actually still drunk from last night.”

David drove hard and fast, cognizant that with each bump they hit, Steve probably wanted to hurl. He slammed the brakes near the first tee, and the cart skidded a few feet before halting.

“Bottoms up,” David said. He pulled a driver from his bag and met Alton and Dan, who were practicing their swings.

Dan seemed in a chipper mood, most likely because he had stopped drinking much earlier than Steve last night. “So, David, Alton told me about your big win last year. Congratulations.”