Page 71 of My Book Boyfriend
Chapter twenty-two
Rupert
Finally,theroutinebusinessmatters are finished. Grandpa, Uncle Tom, our chief financial officer, and our general counsel flip to the next page. Agenda Item 4: The Oasis Development, West 84thStreet. We should have code-named it Pandora.
Grandpa steeples his fingers. He never responded to my memo detailing the differences between the Evans and Fell families. But his assistant assured me he definitely read it.
I click on my next slide.
“We plan to build a twenty-story unit with a cantilevered design so we leave two-thirds of the garden untouched.” Right up front. No hiding that we are keeping the garden. “We see the garden as a selling point for residents, especially with all the programs they offer. I’ve run the analysis, and outdoor amenities, like this garden and the green rooftop, will add significant value to the development.” I list the numbers we’ve calculated.
Grandpa frowns.
That smirk on my uncle’s face is also not a good sign. But then his eyes narrow as he looks at his daughter. Is he hoping she hasn’t agreed to this?
My stomach tightens. Because there is a possibility she will support the plan with no garden. And she’ll be the CEO.
I’ve given it all up for a garden. And a woman. A woman who broke up with me.
Repeating my dad’s mistakes by trusting my cousin and thinking I can persuade Grandpa that this is the right approach.
“Are you crazy? You’re giving up all that land?” Grandpa asks. “And residents aren’t going to want to mingle with the public in some ramshackle, rat-infested garden.”
“Have you visited the garden?” I click on the next slides, which show the garden oasis. It really is a marvel—the way they’ve planted trees and bushes that grow in shade. All the nooks for reading. The spots for gathering, especially the picnic table where the senior citizens socialize and play bridge. The teenage hangout gazebo. The family gardens.
I’m still a businessman, and this garden has value.
With or without Lily.
“You’re too soft,” Uncle Tom says. “Just because they’re picketing. I heard you sent down food. What was that?”
“Keeping the garden will cost us very little because of this cantilevered design,” I say. “In fact, we would save some money by asking the nonprofit to help design the rooftop garden and to run similar family gardening programs. Rowena will walk us through the design. It was my idea to keep the garden, and I asked her if she could create a design with that in mind. It shows us as responsive to the community, and frankly, when you see Rowena’s design, I think you’ll be blown away by its brilliance.”
“Do you agree with keeping the garden?” Grandpa asks Rowena.
I hold my breath.
It’s the million-dollar question.
“Yes,” Rowena says.
I release my breath, and she shoots me a dirty look.
“No faith,” she says under her breath.
“To be honest, this was a stimulating challenge—to design a building while keeping most of the garden,” Rowena says. “And the garden really does have a very special feel. I’m proud of my cantilevered design. We could even enter this design in various competitions, giving Strive Developers more international exposure and possibly more cachet when we pitch for projects.”
Rowena takes the remote from me and clicks on the slide showing the architectural plan. “Because the building grows as it ascends, the upper floors have more generous layouts and additional exposures. With the air rights we bought, we cantilevered it over the adjacent supermarket so as not to create too much shadow over the garden. We’re offering fifty-six units. If we took out the garden, we could make a double-story lobby and four one-bedroom apartments, or we could add six more one-bedroom apartments and leave the lobby as it is.”
“Is the Upper West Side really going to support that kind of design?” Grandpa asks. “Won’t they argue it’s too modern and not in keeping with the neighborhood?”
“We’ll use clad limestone to be contextual at the street level,” Rowena says. “We think the design’s accommodation of the garden will lessen any critiques. It’s really the perfect opportunity to build something more modern while benefiting the community.” She stares at her father.
Rowena has her own reasons for supporting this.
“Six apartments at two million each … so that’s a twelve-million difference in profit,” I say. “But if the lawsuit delays our start date—and that’s likely as it takes its time winding through the court system—or if they win the lawsuit, our losses will be even greater.” I run through the numbers we’ve crunched.
Grandpa snorts. “We can’t lose.”
