3. Dean The Lost Deal

Dean The Lost Deal

Chapter three

"I've had my eyes on this land for months," I tell my son, Dylan. We're driving down a two-lane road in the middle of Sonoma County, surrounded by gentle slopping hills and green land. It's beautiful and has the kind of views people pay millions of dollars to have as they retire.

As the ‘Son' of Cornel and Son Development Group I'm working on a major project. The countryside north of San Francisco is lush and the perfect place to plant a new condominium. My blood is hot and I'm driving fast just thinking about the deal ahead that I'm just about to close. I'm pretty sure my son Dylan is not so enamored with this foray into Sonoma today.

"Mmm." His head is down, and he's focused on whatever game he's playing. Ever since he's turned fourteen, it's been impossible to get him interested in the outside world.

"Dyl? Come on, bud. How will you ever take over the family business if you don't develop your eye for great opportunities?"

He finally looks up and glances around. "All I see is farmland."

"And what else?"

"Well…there are a few signs for wineries and vineyards up there." Dylan nods his head further up the road.

I take my hand and mess up his hair a little. "My boy! That's it!"

"What do you mean?" he asks, his face a mixture of confusion.

"Who do you think wants to live near exclusive and fancy vineyards?" I ask him.

"Bored winos?" he guesses.

"Exactly! Boy, do you make a father proud." I can't help but ruffle his hair again. Just when I think the next five years will be nothing but brooding silence, Dylan goes and says something amazing.

"So, what's your plan, Dad? Build condos for women with red-wine-stained teeth to live in?"

"Dyl," I chastise him. Just because ‘women with red-wine-stained teeth' aptly describes the clientele perfect for my apartments doesn't mean it's a polite description to say out loud. And, yes, the condos will be for wine aficionados." Dylan snorts at the word. "But also, it's for others who just want to live in a more secluded and peaceful area."

"Huh."

"Wait a second." I hit the brakes as Dylan lurches in his seat and shoots me a poisonous glare. It doesn't have its intended effect. He's been using it on me so often recently that I've become immune.

"What is it, Dad?"

"Who the heck are those people?" I ask.

"Who?" Dylan asks, looking around us.

I point. "Up there, look. That group of people standing on that hill…. the hill that's on the land I'm buying!"

Dylan shrugs his shoulders.

"Well, I'm going to find out." We drive up the long dirt road toward the house.

As we approach, I notice that the people include an old man, a teenage girl with a scowl that could rival Dylan's, and a tall woman in an outfit that looks more suited for a corporate office than the Sonoma countryside.

"Hello?" the woman, who looks to be in her thirties, greets us, as I pull my car into the driveway. Now that I have a better look at her, she's actually very attractive. She's tall and lean with long legs. Just my type.

"Hey, there. I'm Dean Cornel—with Cornel and Son Developmental Group." I get my wallet out and hand her a business card through my rolled-down window.

She takes it and inspects it briefly before saying, "Okay?"

"Well, I've been talking to Ernie Cullens about buying this place for a while now."

"Sorry, pal. I closed on this land yesterday," the old man speaks up. He's old, too old to care for the land himself, but there's a steel to his look. He's definitely not a man to mess with.

"What?" My hands grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. The woman notices, and she crosses her arms. She's probably gearing up for a fight. I force myself to relax inch by inch. "How can that be?"

"Well, you see…we met at the real estate agent's office, I wrote a check out to him, and I was given a deed," the old man says.

Seriously? I think to myself. I've been trying to negotiate this deal for months.

I grit my teeth, force a smile, and say, "Congrats on the property," before driving away.

I can't help but glance back in my rearview mirror after I navigate my truck back down the driveway and drive away.

I see months and months of hard work growing smaller and smaller. And in the middle of it all, there's that woman, arms still crossed, scowl still written across her beautiful face.

When we're down the street a little, and I have better reception, I call Coral, my assistant.

"Good evening, Mr. Cornel," she greets me, bright and cheery. I can tell by the sounds of nature and cars in the background that she isn't in the office. But that's fine. She had asked me if she could take on some extra side work for James Dirk, a colleague of mine, in order to afford a surgery for one of her kids, so she must be out doing that.

"Please transfer me to Ernie Cullens," I say. It comes out a little short, but Coral's worked with me for so long that she's used to my moods.

"You got it," she says.

"Hello?" the elderly gentleman says, picking up the phone after a few rings.

"Mr. Cullens?" I ask.

He coughs as if to clear his throat. "Yes."

"This is Dean Cornel." I wonder if he can hear my badly concealed frustration through the phone.

"Oh…" Apparently, he can. Good.

"I'm calling because I just paid a little visit to the land that I thought you'd agreed to sell to me—"

"Yes," Ernie says, interrupting me. "I meant to give you a call about that. I'm sorry our deal fell through. But Bob Dale's an old military friend of mine. Plus, he offered way above what I was asking."

"So did I." I had offered him the kind of money that changes people's lives.

"His was higher. Plus, you have to admit that you were kind of dragging your feet. And I told you from the start that I was eager to sell. Marge and I have already moved down to Florida, and we needed the money to pay off our condominium."

I wasn't ‘dragging my feet' as he accused me of doing. I was waiting on land documents before I could make an offer.

"But the plot next door's also for sale," Ernie adds. "Or at least it's about to be put up on the market."

I can feel my anger melting away from me the farther we get from the farm. Deals fall through. It sucks, but it's all part of the job. If I didn't know how to bounce back from a setback well, I wouldn't be the successful businessman I am today. Still, Ernie's words release the last of the tension from my shoulders. How can I not be happy for him and his wife, as they are financially free from their farm and able to fully enjoy their move to Florida.

"Really? How do you know that, Ernie?" I ask.

"Because Rich Dunning has been our neighbor since we bought the land, and we've grown close to him and his wife. I guess he was inspired by Marge and me, trading the grueling work on the farm for relaxing by the ocean every day." I have to admit Ernie's retirement even sounds appealing to me, I think.

"Would you mind giving me Rich's contact information?" I ask, my heart still pounding from the loss of my original deal.

"Not at all." He gives me the number, and after a bit of prodding and a stern look, my son takes it down on his phone.

"Thanks very much, Ernie." Things are looking up again. I almost can't believe it, but my gut tells me this new deal might be even better than the last.

"No problem. Sorry again."

"Hey, it's just business, right?" I joke, but I do sense my teeth on their way to a clench. "Okay. Have a good night, sir."

After my initial reaction, I have to believe that Ernie and Marge are good people, and that the decision wasn't malicious. They're just trying to enjoy their retirement. I can't blame them for that. I can only hope that I might be as happy when I'm their age, with grown kids and a strong marriage.

I thought that's what my ex-wife Anna and I would have. But she destroyed all hope of that when she abandoned our family and ran away to L.A. with the pool boy. Talk about cliché! Dylan was eight and was totally devastated. He tells me that he is "okay" now, but that's a huge blow to a child that can never really go away. I do everything I can think of to help him. Counseling helped both of us at the time, and I keep my eyes and ears open to any need like that now. With my current futile dating record, I might never achieve that kind of relationship again, so I work to keep our current situation a positive and loving one.

Wow, where did that all come from? Snapping my mind back to the present, I ask Dylan, "What is that number again?"

He sighs and grabs my phone, typing in the number so I can keep my eyes on the road.

"Hello. Mr. Richard Dunning?" I ask, when he picks up.

"That depends," the man says. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm a friend of Ernie Cullens. I was talking with him about buying his farm—"

"He already sold it," Mr. Dunning interrupts.

I take a sharp breath in and out. "Yes, I know. That's why I'm calling. I hear you may be looking to put your property up for sale."

"Well, yeah. The misses and I were inspired by Ernie and his old lady. It isn't easy for us old geezers to run a farm, you know?"

"Well, would you be interested in setting up a meeting with me to discuss my interest in your property? I could be available as early as tomorrow."

"Oh, really?" he asks, surprised. "We haven't even put a sign up or anything."

"That's okay. I think you'll be happy to hear my offer."

"Well, I guess," Richard says. "Tomorrow will work."

"Would you like to meet at my office? Or would you be more comfortable meeting at your house?" I ask. Either would be fine with me, but if I can get him to come to our office, I know I can get him to make the deal.

"Where is your office?" Richard asks.

"Right in Petaluma," I say. "Our office is in the Sequoia Business Center. We're Cornel and Son Developmental Group." Our offices are on the top floor of a ten-story building. From my window, I can look out on all of Petaluma, at the land and opportunities the area has to offer.

After exchanging directions and contact information he confirms that ten the next morning works.

Dylan starts tapping his foot against the car door, and I can tell he's getting fed up with my business calls. This afternoon was set aside for some father and son time. I planned to take him to the farm and toss the ball around. As a busy single father, I haven't been there as much as I've wanted to lately.

"Great. I'll see you then," I say. "Oh, and please also bring your lovely wife along if she's free." Time to wrap up this call.

Richard scoffs. "Listen, Sonny. I don't want to get your hopes up. I love Betsy with all of my heart, and she's still as beautiful as the day I married her, but to call her ‘lovely' is a bit of a stretch."

I hear a woman's voice in the background shout, "Richard! You mean old coot!" He had whispered the last part, but that didn't stop her from hearing.

"Okay, it sounds like you might have a situation on your hands over there. See you tomorrow."

The call drops abruptly, and I chuckle to myself that Mrs. Dunning is giving her husband a telling-off.

It's funny. But hearing their playful marital scuffle makes me a little sad. Usually, when that happens, all I can think about is my ex, Anna, and how unconcerned she looked the last time I saw her. And I will never forget the look on Dylan's face when he realized she wasn't coming back. But this time, the person I'm thinking about is that woman at the farm, arms crossed and glowering at me, ready for a fight. I'm not sure exactly what is keeping her in my thoughts, but I do know there is something about her that intrigues me.

***

"Thanks so much for making it down here," I say the next morning, shaking Richard and Betsy's hands. "I hope it wasn't too hard to find us."

"Not too bad," Richard says. He looks like a farmer with his bronze skin and dirty overalls.

"Before we start, I found something on the internet that I found a little troubling…" Betsy begins.

Ugh. If I were given a nickel for every business conversation that started that way, I'd be even richer than I already am. I honestly hoped they were too old to even have a computer.

"Let me guess, is it about my brother?" I already know where their question is headed.

"Yes. I read an article about how he almost bankrupted this company," Betsy continues. She looks far more put together than her husband in a bright floral dress.

"The keyword there is ‘almost.' It's also important to note that the company name has since been changed from ‘Cornel and Sons' to ‘Cornel and Son.'"

"So, you're the son?" Richard asks.

"Correct. Our father cut my brother out after the scandal broke."

"So, what happened exactly?"

I understand why they're so curious, and I know I need to explain if they're going to trust me to buy their land, but I'm tired of rehashing this story every time I want to make a deal with a new client. Next time I see my brother, I'm going to throttle him.

"Frankly, Ryan made some really stupid business deals. He bought a large plot of land with the vision of developing a massive casino."

"And why didn't that work out?" Richard asks. He's frowning, and I notice the sour expression on Betsy's face when I say the word ‘casino.'

"Because he went about everything backward," I continue. "He was too fast to pull the trigger and didn't consider things like zoning and permits."

"Oh."

"Yes. But don't worry. I'm very dedicated to preserving the good name that our father spent his whole life building. And if anything, I want to make it even more respected." This brings a smile to Richard and Betsy's faces. The knowledge that, even though we're a large business, we still care about family. And it's not a lie. In fact, it's one of the reasons I've stuck with the company for so long.

"I see. Okay, well, I just needed to get that out of the way," Richard says.

"I understand. As you might imagine, I don't like repeating the story, but I do understand."

"Anyway, I'd appreciate it if none of those details leaves the room?" I ask.

They both nod. "Of course."

He describes the land and buildings, then adds that none of their kids showed any interest in continuing the business. "We were forced to close down when both of our bodies just couldn't do the intensive labor of collecting, counting, cleaning, and carting the eggs, which were our main source of income."

"Got it." The same thing would have happened to my father's business after he died, if it wasn't for me. Which is one of the reasons I can never leave.

"As far as the house goes, it hasn't changed much since we built it fifty years ago."

"That's fine. A little vintage charm goes a long way," I say, although none of that matters when all I plan to do is bulldoze it anyway.

My comment makes Betsy smile. "I poured a lot of love into that house."

"What are you thinking about in terms of asking price?"

"We've only met with one realtor, and she recommended around three million, given the acreage, condition of the house, and the large barn."

It's good that they did the work to find out the place's true value. I always try to balance getting a good deal with paying people a fair price. Not every property developer shares my feelings.

"That's around what I was thinking."

"Would you mind if I brought my son over to check everything out? He's fourteen, he's really interested in what farm life might be like." This is a complete fabrication, of course. The idea of living outside of the city just about makes him hyperventilate. Only the promise of a new video game got him to come with me last time.

"Of course."

"Wonderful. We'll come around later tonight."

"Sounds great. You can join us for dinner." Betsy smiles as she says it, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Oh, no—we can't impose."

"You're not! I'm making pineapple casserole and will have plenty to go around."

She turns her back to put her light jacket back on.

"Pineapple casserole?" I mouth to Rich.

"It's actually really good," he whispers back, while rubbing his stomach.

I'm still skeptical, but I give him a thumbs up.

After they leave my office, I search the dish online and see that it's pretty much exactly what I pictured—lots of pineapples and lots of cheese. The combination doesn't sound very appetizing, but I'll try anything if it gets me a signed contract.

I'll throw some Pepto Bismol in the car for the ride home, just in case.