Pax MultiChapter 7
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We sat in Angela's architectural firm's presentation room. Dad and Mom were there, of course. Angela and a partner from her firm named Bob Daniels sat with us. Stan was front row center armed with his marketing plan.
After some preliminary enquiries, we'd decided that we'd prefer to work with Wells Fargo Bank. Two executives from Wells Fargo sat at the table with us, Mr. Joshua Peyton and Ms. Maria Canella. Peyton was local, in his mid-thirties, fit and tan. Canella had flown in from the home office for the presentation. I put her age in the mid-fifties. Like, Peyton, she was fit, but looked like the responsibility of her job or a stressful personal matter weighed heavily on her. She wore a navy wool business suit, with slacks, though, not a skirt.
We were ready. Bound presentation books rested on the conference table in front of each attendee. We'd spent a bundle preparing the books. They covered every detail. The narrative copy was well-written and proofread, not once but three times. The photography depicting the various renderings and design boards in the books was professional, and the captions for the photographs were easy to read. We'd rehearsed the presentation, not once, but three times over a three-day period, improving with each rehearsal.
I'd start off the dog-and-pony show presenting the preliminary designs for the project. Then I'd introduce Bob Daniels and Angela to discuss their architectural firm's involvement in the project, and they'd list the engineers that had been engaged to round out the design team. Dad would take the floor next to detail development issues and problems and our solutions for the problems. Then he'd move on to construction costs and schedules and list the subcontractors that he'd hire as the general contractor, at which time he'd turn the presentation over to Stan, who would present our marketing plan. I'd take the floor again for the question and answer period.
The presentation proceeded as rehearsed. I dazzled them with the preliminary designs. Dad's presentation was as professional as any developer presentation I'd witnessed during my life as Aaron MacDonald, and the construction numbers not only worked but were also corroborated in the presentation book with preliminary bids from material suppliers and sub-contractors. Stan's presentation was outstanding. Like me, he was familiar with slide show and PowerPoint presentations, and his sales prattle was just right, not too hard-sell, not too soft. I noticed the bankers were impressed when Stan stated that we'd presold two units at this stage, but I found out later that it was the money we were willing to plow into the marketing effort that really impressed them. Then I took the floor again.
"Questions? Comments?" I said.
"I have a comment and an admission," Maria Canella said. Of the two representatives from Wells Fargo, she'd impressed me the most, and it hadn't taken me long to figure out that Peyton answered to her, not the other way around. "Your presentation is the most professional and comprehensive for a project of this size I've ever seen. That's my comment. Now my admission, I came here today expecting an amateurish presentation, at best, and was prepared to turn your loan request down without looking any deeper." She smiled. "Now we must look deeper. Your presentation didn't include your financial statement, Garth."
"The financial statement for the LLC that will develop the project, and a financial statement for the corporation I use to operate my general contracting business are included in the presentation book," he said. "This is my first development and my first job as a general contractor, so I knew I'd be required to sign personally for the construction loan, so I also included my personal financial statement as well as a resume listing my previous construction experience. The inn is free and clear, which after demolition, provides equity of $3,300,000, or the appraised value of the land. The appraisal is included in the presentation book. If you study the development costs, you'll see that I deferred payment of half the value of the land until each unit sells, at which time I'll add additional land costs in the construction draws for sales realized during each draw period. Katy, Debra, and I also have bank accounts and other investments that total over $1,000,000. We have no debts."
Joshua Peyton said, "Garth, you'll be the general contractor for the project as well as the developer. I noticed that you're taking fees for both activities. Wouldn't one or the other be sufficient?"
"For my needs yes, but if I didn't take developer fees, for example, then that would say to you and me and everyone involved that my time and effort as a developer has no worth," Dad said. "I can't and won't say that. I wear two hats on this project. I should be paid for both functions. Besides, as a developer, I'll have expenses that aren't covered by the general contractor fees."
"Good answer," Maria said. "If you'd caved on the issue, I would've had some doubts about the potential success of the project." She looked at Stan. "Your marketing plan impressed me, and I was happy to see that you've presold two units, but the amount of funds committed to advertising, promotion, and sales really impressed me. You did an excellent job getting these folks to allocate that much money to market the project."
Stan said, "I didn't have to twist any arms for the money allocated for marketing, Maria. If anything, Debra pushed the issue more than I. She understands marketing. For someone her age, with no experience in marketing, she's phenomenal."
Maria turned to me. "You're also a phenomenal architectural designer."
"Thank you," I said.
Maria picked up the presentation book and said, "We'll study this, but I can assure you right now that Wells Fargo wants your business. We'll get back to you next week with a construction loan proposal."
The bank performed as promised. Dad accepted their loan proposal. He had no reason to do otherwise. The terms and conditions they offered fit our needs and were even more favorable than I had expected.
Mom was happy, too. We closed the inn. She vowed that she'd never put herself in a situation again where she had to serve ungrateful, demanding sourpusses.
After the presentation to Wells Fargo for a construction loan, Angela asked me to stay, stating that Bob Daniels wanted to speak with me about another subject.
I was thirsty. Angela offered soft drinks, coffee or iced tea. I asked for a glass of tea. "No sugar and a wedge of lemon if possible," I said.
"No problem," she said.
Bob didn't open the subject of the meeting while Angela retrieved our drinks. He talked about the outstanding success of the presentation. He was an interesting man. Short, thin and wiry, he was a dapper dresser, close to sixty years old, I guessed. He wore his still thick but pure white hair long, but it wasn't shaggy. He was the managing partner for the firm but was not charismatic. He led with his tenacity, Angela had told me. He went at any problem from all sides until he found a solution.
When Angela returned with our drinks, I took a large swallow of iced tea and smacked my lips. "I needed that. Talking dries out my throat. Bob, Angela told me that you wanted to speak to me about something. What's on your mind?"
"Daniels, Harrison & Billings is a good architectural firm," he said. "We are not, however, an exceptional firm. We're not exceptional for one reason. We're weak in creative design. Boyd Harrison is a good designer, but he isn't an exceptional designer. Tom Billings is more an engineer than an architect. I'm a better business manager than a designer. Angela, here, is probably the best designer in the firm. She's been elevated to partner, by the way."
"Angela! Congratulations!" I exclaimed.
She grinned.
"On the other hand, you, Ms. Oakman, are an exceptional designer," Bob said.
"Maybe so, but I am not a licensed architect," I said.
"This is true," Bob said. "But that issue can be handled. We'd like to engage you as a design consultant for the firm. Because of licensing requirements, your work out of necessity will be presented under the banner of our firm but would also include your name as the designer. Such an approach circumvents licensing requirements."
"I hope you're not talking about a fulltime job, Bob."
"Not at all. Believe it or not, most of our clients don't want exceptional design. Their top priority is cost of construction. Other clients want what I call tried-and-true design. Anything ground breaking or different would frighten them away. I'd say only about two or three clients a year have the taste to appreciate exceptional design." He grimaced. "In the past, we've tried to satisfy clients with taste, but almost always fell short, not seriously short, but nonetheless we didn't perform to the discerning design requirements of the client."
"What kind of projects are you talking about?"
"Private contracts, mostly expensive custom homes, but right now we have a client who wants to develop a garden office project for professional tenants. He's turned down two of our preliminary designs already. Angela says you could knock his socks off if you designed the project. I tend to agree with her."
"Do I have to do the work in your offices?" I said.
"No, except for a weekly design review meeting, which I think would work best in our presentation room," he said.
"What would be my cut of the fee?" I said.
"That would vary. The firm must cover our expenses and make a profit after paying your fee, though. This arrangement must work for both of us, or it won't work period."
"What is your fee for the garden office project?"
"Three percent of the construction costs, which the developer estimates at $15,000,000."
"What would be my cut?"
"Three-fourths of one percent," he said. "Approximately $112,500 for less than one month's work."
I nodded. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for supervising the production of working drawings, drafting the specifications, working with engineers beyond the preliminary design stage, or be involved in any inspections," I said. "And most of all, I wouldn't want to hold the client's hand. I'll consider your proposal, Bob; in fact, I think I like the idea, but when the client signs off on the preliminary design, I'm finished."
On the surface, Bob's proposal sounded ideal, but I worried. I'd be sliding back into the kind of work I performed as Aaron MacDonald, work that had not satisfied all my professional needs.
"Angela will work with you to prepare the preliminary designs, and then she'll take over from there, including babysitting the client," Bob said.
I looked at Angela, grinned and said, "We work well together."
"We do," she said, returning my smile.
"What's the timing on the office project?" I asked Bob.
"I understand you're currently doing preliminary work for a residential compound for you and your family and some adjoining acreage for another home and a small horse ranch. If you'll take the time to present the condo project to the client as an example of your work, I think he'll accept a delay until your current work is finished," Bob said.
"Okay, let's try it," I said. "Please schedule two hours with the client for tomorrow or the next day at his convenience, and I'll make the presentation. If he'll accept a delay for..." I sighed. "I forgot; we're moving into a rent house on the first of April. The world is too much with me, Bob. I won't be able to start work on his project until about April 7th. If he'll accept that much delay after seeing my work, send a consulting contract to my attorney, Shelly Melton, for her review."
"You'll be doing the work on spec. The contract will stipulate that you won't be paid unless the client signs off on your preliminary design," Bob said.
"I understand, Bob. I wouldn't have it any other way," I said.
Hank answered the door.
"Hi, Debra," Hank said. "Are you here to see Sue?"
"I am, but I'd like a short conversation with you, as well."
"No problem. Let me tell Sue that you're here," he said, and then looked back over his shoulder and added, "She might be asleep."
"If she is, let her sleep, and we'll talk about your little horse ranch."
He offered me something to drink, and I asked for iced tea.
"Can do. I made some sun tea," he said. "Can't make sun tea in Idaho this time of year. Your mother showed me how it's done. I'll check on Sue first. If she's asleep, I'll pour a glass for myself and join you."
I sat in the living room to wait and chuckled. Sun tea and a blazing fire in the fireplace. The dichotomy made an interesting picture. I suddenly realized that I liked living in Sedona. Ely was too damned cold, probably like Pocatello, Idaho. And Phoenix summers can boil your brains. Not to mention the awesome eye candy Sedona offers in every direction.
"Sue and Candy are sound asleep," Hank said when he returned. "I'll get us our drinks."
"May I help?"
"No, sit tight. I'll be right back."
He returned with our drinks in large, frosty glasses, and took a seat on the sofa facing me.
"How is Sue doing?"
"Improving every day. She gets tired easy, though; that's why she's napping now. I'll be forever indebted to you, Debra, for saving her life. Your mother told me you were having a difficult time coming to terms with the fact that you killed that poor excuse for a human being."
I didn't know my mother was aware of my inner battle about taking a human life. Shows how much I know.
"For a while, I forgot that the commandment that says thou shalt not kill really means thou shalt not murder," I said. "I killed him, but I didn't murder him. I did have a debate with myself about whether the final kick that broke his neck was absolutely necessary, but I believe if I had it to do over again, I'd do the same thing. He was injured but still conscious. He still had that knife in his hand, and he was close enough to Sue to raise the knife and plunge it into her body. A split-second, that's all the time it would have taken. I couldn't let that happen. I just wish the kick had broken his jaw, not his neck. For a short time after the incident, the personal trauma of taking a human life made me lose faith, mostly faith in my own humanity, but I pulled myself out of my personally induced pity party and celebrated Sue's recovery—and mine. Hank, I managed to handle the post traumatic stress caused by the event. Sue might not be able to do that. She was injured much more seriously than I, and although I stopped the creep before he could rape her, rape was involved. It might be wise for her to get some professional help to cope with the trauma mentally."
He nodded. "I've been thinking along the same lines myself, but I haven't broached the subject with her."
"What subject?" Sue said. She was standing at the entrance into the living room from the bedroom wing of the house.
"PTSD therapy," Hank said.
"Huh?" she said.
"PTSD stands for post traumatic stress disorder," Hank said.
She sat on the sofa next to her father instead of next to me on the loveseat. I was probably wrong, but I sensed that Sue had retreated from our previous intimate relationship.
"I'll just say it. I do need professional help dealing with the mental trauma of that terrible night," she said. "I've been having nightmares. And I have a question. I'm very angry about what happened to me. I've incurred huge medical expenses. I can't work, and I work on commission, so I've lost income. What do we know about the rapist? I saw him. He was well-dressed. He looked prosperous. If the rapist left any assets behind, I want to be reimbursed for my losses. And if he left a lot of assets behind, I want some of them for my pain and suffering." Sue looked at me. "Does Shelly handle this kind of legal work?"
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