Chapter 3 - RICHARD HAD BEEN TRYING TO IMPRESS THE WRONG PERSON
The private room at the club contained seven people.
My chief investment officer.
Two attorneys.
A pension-fund representative.
A bank restructuring specialist.
Henry Walsh.
And Richard’s own financial adviser, Paul Devlin.
Paul saw me enter.
Then saw Richard standing behind me.
His face tightened.
“Richard?”
Richard ignored him.
He looked at me.
“You’re Thomas Warren?”
“Usually Tom.”
“You’re Warren Harbor?”
“I’m chairman.”
He stared at the investment folder in my hand.
“And Riverside?”
There it was again.
Riverside.
The reason we were actually at the club that evening.
Riverside Terminal was a seventy-four-acre former industrial property along the Mystic River.
Warehouses.
Old rail access.
Waterfront acreage.
A complicated environmental history.
And extraordinary redevelopment potential.
For nearly three years, Richard’s company, Caldwell Atlantic Development, had been trying to acquire a controlling development interest.
His plan involved offices, residential buildings, retail, public waterfront access, and a new marine-commercial component.
Ambitious.
Potentially excellent.
Also expensive.
Very expensive.
Richard needed three things.
A long-term ground agreement.
Institutional financing.
And an equity partner willing to absorb substantial early-stage risk.
He believed Riverside Terminal Holdings was controlled by a distant institutional consortium.
Technically, it was.
What Richard apparently did not know was that Warren Harbor Group controlled the managing interest in the consortium.
I did not personally approve every investment.
That would have been irresponsible.
We had an investment committee.
Independent underwriting.
Outside counsel.
Environmental review.
But for a project the size of Riverside, nothing moved without my participation.
Richard had spent nine months negotiating with people who worked for people who worked for me.
He never met me because I preferred professional teams to celebrity-chairman theater.
Our first direct meeting had been scheduled for that evening.
In the private room.
After his family dinner.
He had arranged the dinner at the same club without realizing his two worlds were about to collide.
Paul Devlin finally said:
“Richard, we should begin.”
Richard looked at me.
Then toward the dining room where Michael and Jessica remained.
“You knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me sit there—”
“Say what you meant?”
He stopped.
I placed the folder on the conference table.
“I didn’t schedule your speech.”
His face reddened.
“This is a personal misunderstanding.”
“Then keep it personal.”
That surprised him.
I sat.
“Our investment committee is here to discuss Riverside.”
May you like
Richard slowly took the chair opposite me.
For the first time all evening, he looked like the person being evaluated.
