CHAPTER FIVE
CADE
The speaker on my desktop phone chirped. “Mr. Weston?”
“Yes?” I turned away from my computer and toward Lois’s voice. “I’m here.”
“Your guests are in the lobby,” my longtime executive assistant replied. “Shall I send them in?”
“Right away.”
I locked my computer and stood, buttoning my black suit jacket as I gave my desk another glance.
Thankfully, there was nothing there to sweep away before my visitors arrived.
Still, it was worth one last look, even when dealing with people as feckless as the West Palm Beach city commissioners.
You never knew their motivation, and I’d learned long ago to keep secrets.
All five commissioners strode into my office a few seconds later, along with a couple of staffers and legislative assistants who looked so young I might have easily mistaken them for interns.
Lois and I led the group to the long conference table on the far side of my office.
As we took our seats, she offered coffee and pastries from a selection on the sideboard and then exited the room.
“Can’t remember a time when I’ve had the pleasure of meeting with all five of you at once,” I said from my seat at the head of the glass table. I surveyed the array of officials around the room, forcing myself to say their names in my head as I took in each one. “I feel flattered.”
“We’re flattered you took a meeting with us,” replied Commissioner Frances Fisher, and her comment was so sickeningly sweet I could almost see glaze drooling from her mouth.
She was the most prominent of the group, had served almost a decade on the commission, and hailed from a family that made its fortune in the sugar fields on the east side of the county.
Now, she mostly made angel investments in tech startups while massaging a budding political career.
She took a thick folio out of her briefcase and began to pass around some stapled packets of paper.
“These are just a few pages I had my staff draw up this last week so we can all have a quick refresh on our goals for the meeting.”
“Excellent,” I said as the packet reached me. Lois hadn't given me any information on the expectations of this meeting beyond a few vague comments, so seeing the name Palm Beach Promenade embossed on the cover gave me a start. “Wait... this is about the Palm Beach Promenade?”
A smile crossed Frances's thin, wrinkly lips. “Yes.” Frances kept her gaze aimed at me. “If you’ll turn to page—”
“Stop.” I held up my hand, noticing several wide eyes and more than one open mouth from the other commissioners at the table. Why had they lied about their reason for this meeting? How many times had they rehearsed this? How much of this moment was orchestrated?
Probably all of it.
“Let’s get to the real reason you’re here,” I added. “There’s no need for a snow job.”
Frances recoiled a little, and I knew I’d gotten under her skin and regained some of the advantage in the room. This was my office, after all, and they were all here because I’d been willing to take their requested meeting. “We worked hard on putting this proposal together,” she said.
“I’m sure you did.” I moved my stack to the side, behind my coffee mug. “What do you want to do with the Promenade?”
The other commission members looked at each other, then at Frances.
Newt Regis cleared his throat. “Congratulations on how fast construction on the Promenade is moving.”
“Thank you.”
I straightened. Palm Beach Promenade was in the final stages of development and was already slated for a grand opening in six weeks, right in the middle of January.
In fact, I was immensely proud of how well the project was going and how much progress my team had made in the last eighteen months.
The Promenade would bring millions in revenue to the community each month as it brought tourists and travelers to the luxury shopping, waterfront condos, gourmet dining, a recreational marina, and a state-of-the-art fitness center.
The long-forgotten space north of downtown West Palm Beach had never been so good.
“You all aren’t here to get an update on construction,” I said. “You all got that last month.”
A few of the commissioners glanced at each other.
“Just tell me, please.” I arched my eyebrow. “My time is running short.”
The comment was a little rude, but it was also true.
I had a packed schedule that morning, and Lois had barely managed to wedge this meeting between another one with the Chamber of Commerce and a luncheon with some of the Samurai Group investors at the Bath and Tennis Club on the island.
But even if I had an open schedule, that wasn’t really the point.
Hearing what they had to say was.
Newt nodded. “We want you to include Isabella Moretti in the opening ceremony next month.”
There it was.
I swallowed. “Isabella Moretti?”
“Gino Moretti’s daughter,” Frances supplied.
I shot my gaze at her. “I know who she is.”
Frances gripped the edge of the glass table, but her expression was unreadable. “Good. Then our request probably shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.”
“The Promenade isn’t Gino’s project.”
Newt shrugged. “It was his land.”
“Which he failed to develop,” I replied.
They all knew this. Once, Gino Moretti was one of the most formidable and successful commercial real estate developers in the state.
It didn’t matter what came at him, he always managed to find a way to make money.
A recession? No problem. Hurricanes? Nothing to worry about.
Unfriendly leadership at the state house? Handled.
Then, his wife died of lymphoma, and he started drinking too much.
At first, we watched from afar. Dad had always been Gino’s rival, but that didn’t mean he wanted him destroyed. Vanquishing someone in business was about making money and only money.
But soon, Gino started slipping. Contracts weren’t paid, investors were left jilted, and city leadership asked questions.
We had no choice.
“The Promenade is more than Gino Moretti had ever envisioned,” I said to the commissioners. “And when it opens, that part of West Palm Beach is finally going to get the respect it deserves.”
Frances and Newt exchanged another look before Frances said, “A lot of people still respect the Morettis. The family did a lot to help build Palm Beach County during the fifties and sixties, and Gino capitalized on that. I don’t think we’d have as much luxury real estate in this part of the state if it wasn’t for him. ”
She was right. The family still had a good name despite whatever Gino had done to destroy it.
What would he think of his daughter and her FanZone account?
“We think it’s a great idea to have Isabella take part in the opening ceremony.” Newt’s rimless glasses slipped down his bulbous nose, and he shoved them upward. “Perhaps you’d even be kind enough to have her make some of the final decisions about decor or... or landscaping.”
I scoffed. “This is all... quite unusual.”
“We know,” Frances said. “But you know how controversial the last few years have been. So many... out-of-towners moving here. The community has really changed—”
“And voters made it clear they want to see more local influence in the projects springing up all over the county,” I supplied, able to regurgitate what had become a big part of the conventional political wisdom in Palm Beach County.
We want this to stay our community; the new people don’t know the history. .. “Isn’t my name enough?”
Frances cocked her head. She didn’t have to say anything; her raised eyebrows and tight lips said it all.
“The more the merrier, huh?” I muttered.
“That’s right,” Frances said. She glanced at the others.
“What if I say no?” I asked. “It’s my project, after all, and it’s on private land.”
“That’s true,” Newt said. “But you’ve currently got a bid in to help us build the new jail, and there are several other competitors.” He paused, then shifted in his chair. “Doing something like this would certainly make your application stronger.”
I narrowed my eyes toward him, unable to hide my disgust. A bribe? Is that what this was? Maybe I should move my headquarters to Miami...
“It’s a good public-relations move,” Frances added. “A lot of people will think it’s compassionate of you to do this in Gino Moretti’s memory.”
I considered this a beat. Yes, she had a point. Few people knew the full extent of his problems, and most people had accepted the story on the news—that Gino was driving one night, took the sharp turn on Sloane’s Curve too fast, and slammed into a brick wall. They didn’t know what I did.
And I wasn’t ready to tell them.
“Fine,” I said, ready to end this meeting and get rid of these insufferable people. “I’ll allow her to be part of the announcement. But that’s it. Nothing more than that.”
“You don’t sound too thrilled,” Frances replied.
“Yes,” Newt added. “You sound annoyed.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m annoyed,” I lied. “Just busy. Too busy for this.” I stood and buttoned my blazer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have back-to-back meetings today, and I want to stay on schedule.”
The group followed my lead, a few making comments about how glad they were I was willing to do this and how excited they were that the development was in the final stages of completion. I made the usual small talk, and when I was alone again, I relished the silence.