CHAPTER THREE
NASH
Three days after our office opening, I was back to the grind—which meant sitting in our conference room at eight a.m., nursing a cold brew and trying to make sense of the stack of documents our research team had compiled overnight.
"This is bad," Archer said, sliding another folder across the table to me. "Really fucking bad."
I opened the folder to find bankruptcy filings, financial statements, and aerial photos of a massive industrial complex in Queens; Meridian Manufacturing had employed over six hundred people in the area and had been the economic backbone of its neighborhood for forty years.
"When did they file?" I asked, scanning the documents.
"Yesterday. But it won't be public knowledge for another few days." Archer pointed to a circled date on one of the forms. "They're planning to close operations by the end of the month and put the entire property up for sale, though most of their manufacturing has already wound down."
I whistled low. The factory complex was enormous—easily spanning three city blocks. This change wouldn’t just eliminate jobs and restructure the neighborhood. It would create a massive opportunity for developers to swoop in and transform the entire area…for better or for worse.
It was the kind of transformation that could see revitalization or price out every working-class family within a mile radius.
"What’s the estimated economic impact?" I asked.
"In the immediate area? It’s not looking great.
This is the type of place that both your mom and your grandma worked at.
" Archer's expression was grim. "Nash, when this gets out, every vulture developer in the city is going to descend on this place like locusts. It’s massive and has a pristine view of the Manhattan skyline. They’ll only see the dollar signs. "
I studied the aerial photos, my mind already working through the possibilities.
Meridian Manufacturing's closure would be devastating for the community, which was why we wanted control of it. We could lessen the damage. Make sure it didn’t turn into luxury condos nobody could afford, or push out all the working class families that had been in the area for generations.
"What's our timeline?" I asked.
"The bankruptcy filing becomes public record in five days. Once that happens, the feeding frenzy begins."
Five days to secure funding and start making offers. It was tight, but doable.
"And you’re thinking…what? Hold and see?
" It was our term for when we acquired properties with the sole intent of gatekeeping who moved in next.
We owned thousands of properties like this—being landlords, essentially, so that we could screen and control.
If we could acquire this property, we could make sure it brought in new industry or was renovated to allow various new factories or businesses to emerge, instead of the looming threat of the entire place being turned into a playground for the one percent.
“Pretty much. The company was vital to the neighborhood, and there’ve been tons of opinion pieces about why this factory in particular is going down.
There’s going to be a glut of unemployed or underemployed residents in the area.
Not good. We need to get something similar back into that space.
Or convert it into smaller parcels for new businesses. ”
“I agree. Did we get a cost estimate?”
“I’m working on it.” Archer frowned at his laptop, typing in a couple things, before shaking his head. “I’m gonna call Julia.”
I leaned back in my chair to mull over the information while Archer put the call with Julia on speakerphone. She was our broker, the direct connection to some of our biggest purchases.
“Hey, Julia. It’s Archer. Nash and I are looking over the property I emailed you about this morning and I want to know if you’ve dialed in on a price.”
“Oooh, the manufacturing site, right?” Papers rustled in the background of the call. “There’s not been a price released yet, which is odd. But for the square footage, the neighborhood, and the infrastructure, I’d estimate seven fifty.”
Of course she meant 750 million. Almost a billion dollars.
“You’re thinking it’ll be a cash deal, too?” Archer asked, already grimacing. I rubbed at my forehead, awaiting the inevitable bad news.
“That’s one of the few details listed, yes.” She sighed. “Not ideal, but what do you think? Can you make it work?”
“That’s what we’re figuring out right now.” Archer’s defeated gaze slid my way. “We want this one though. Bad. We’ll call later, Julia.”
The line went dead and we stared at each other across the table.
I already knew the answer in my gut, and I didn’t like it.
Nightly Developments was successful, but we weren't 750-million-in-cash-right-now successful. We could finance part of it, leverage our existing properties, maybe bring in some investors. But all that required time, which we didn’t have.
"It's not impossible," I said slowly. "But it would require some serious financial gymnastics."
“Yeah. Gymnastics is putting it lightly.” My brother’s gaze drifted to the table, and then he hefted with a laugh. "You know what would help with that acquisition?" He had a strange note in his voice. "Some sort of wild inheritance that could completely pay for it in one fell swoop."
The words sounded like a joke but they didn’t land like one.
Even if only one of us got the inheritance, it would be enough to fund this entire operation without breaking a sweat. But we’d already decided that was out of the question.
"Are you seriously suggesting that one or both of us get married for cash?" I asked.
"I'm just saying the math works out pretty conveniently."
“You know what doesn’t work out conveniently? Having wives we love.”
Archer snorted. “They could be procured.”
“You don’t procure a loving wife. This isn’t an arranged marriage. I can’t just call up some dealer and ask for a woman who’s wildly in love with me,” I spat.
“To be fair, though? You could,” Archer said. “There’s a market for everything, Nashy-Nash.”
I stood up, heading to the windows that overlooked the city. "We decided to walk away from that money, Archie."
"That was before we knew about this." He gestured to the spread of documents on the table.
“This is exactly the kind of project we started this company to address.
We can't save every neighborhood in the city, but fuck, we can save a lot of them with money like that.
Maybe this one will slip between our fingers, but another one will show up.
And another. And another. We can be better prepared for the next time. "
He was right. This was our mission—protecting communities from predatory development. But it would mean reconsidering the inheritance. It would mean finding wives.
And for me? It would mean lying about love.
"If we want the money, the marriage requirement is non-negotiable," I reminded him.
"So we find wives." Archer shrugged. "We're successful, attractive, wealthy men. How hard could it be?"
I snorted. "Archer, we need to convince some committee, of sorts, that we've fallen madly in love. With women who agree to marry us for what are essentially business reasons. Your math is not mathing. I know it sounds easy-peasy right now, but think about what that entails."
"Details."
Before I could respond, his phone rang. Archer’s brows shot up as he read the phone screen.
“It’s Julia.” He swiped the phone on, putting it back on speaker. “Hey there. News already?”
“Unfortunately yes. I just got word from one of my contacts at the planning department. There's been some unusual activity regarding the manufacturing site."
Archer’s gaze slid toward me. "What kind of activity?"
"Someone who’s not the previous owner filed preliminary paperwork for a major development project. The kind of paperwork you file when you’re buying the property."
"That's impossible.” Archer rifled through a few papers on the table. “The bankruptcy filing just went through yesterday."
"Then someone moved faster than you did,” Julia said. “I’m looking into it now, to see if it’s truly off the market or if this is just a weird mistake. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Archer ended the call and we stared at each other again, letting twin telepathy do the heavy lifting.
“So I guess we’re out of time already,” I muttered, looking at my watch. “A half hour later.”
Archer tapped his fingers against the tabletop, squinting into the distance. “Let’s go check things out ourselves. If someone’s filing development paperwork already, they’re moving too fast for a normal timeline. We might be able to see what’s up for ourselves.”
“I’m down for a visit to Queens. I’ll call Trojan.
” I pulled out my phone to summon our bodyguard.
The man was over six feet of pure muscle, had a beard like a lumberjack right now, and could take a dude out with one karate chop to the throat.
Not only was he a lethal protector, he was also a big-hearted family man, having fallen in love with a woman from Kentucky and her cute little button-nosed three-year-old.
They all lived in New York now, and I felt like I hadn’t just hired an excellent bodyguard, I’d also extended my own family.
“Hey Nash.” Trojan’s smooth voice filled the conference room from my speakerphone. “What’s up?”
“We need you for a trip to Queens. Gotta check out a big manufacturing property we’re thinking of buying.”
Trojan didn’t even hesitate, which was why we loved him. “I’ll be outside in ten.”
The drive to Queens was tense, like an overfilled balloon, tight with speculation about what we'd find at the factory. Trojan drove, Archer in the passenger seat, all of us lost in our own thoughts.