A Fortune to Die For (White Oak - Mafia Series Book 1)

by O'Connor, Liza

  Meg silently tagged “and pretentious” to his claim. “Is this place yours?”

  “No, it’s presently used by my brother-in-law.”

  Good. She’d didn’t want to be billed for staying in this place. It would cost a fortune.

  “When and where is our meeting?”

  “Whenever the governor arrives. He thinks about six.”

  “He’s coming here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more respectful for us to go to him?”

  “He prefers to come to us.”

  Alarms went off in her head. “Why?” she challenged.

  Joe chuckled. “Because he prefers the home section of the mansion to the conference rooms. This is the governor’s mansion. All he has to do is walk up a flight of steps.”

  She stared at him, watching for fluttering eyes or moistening of the lips, all signs of lying. When she saw none, she realized what he was saying. “Your brother-in-law is the governor.”

  “Yes. I’m surprised Jonas didn’t tell you.”

  “No. He just said you had more experience and better connections than him when it came to land donations.”

  Joe chuckled and waved the servant forward. “Just in case he comes home early, perhaps you should fix your hair now.”

  The woman handed her the brush and stepped back. Since Meg had no mirror, she left it up to Joe to tell her if she was fit to be seen. “Does it look okay now?”

  “Remarkable. Now get some food in you while I set up the library for your presentation.”

  “Good, I liked that room,” she said and headed toward the door she suspected held the kitchen.

  “Meg. Just tell the servant what you want, and she’ll bring it.”

  Never had she felt more like a hayseed in a jewelry shop. “What do you have?” she asked the woman patiently waiting for her order.

  “What do you want?” the servant asked in return.

  She thought of her meal at Helen’s. “Fresh grilled salmon on a bed of brown rice with broccoli and squash.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Green tea…with lemon grass if you have it.”

  The woman smiled and left the room. As had Joe. He’d evidently left while she’d been ordering lunch. Hopefully, to set up for their meeting. A moment later, the servant returned with iced green tea with lemongrass.

  Having no wish to sit at a table built for fifty people by herself, she carried her ice tea about as she studied the some-fine and some-not-so-fine paintings of former governors. At least, she assumed that’s who they were. They certainly didn’t look related to each other, but they sure looked bossy.

  Except for two. Samuel Kirkwood looked a bit like a goofy postman and George Wilson looked like a promising comedian with an exaggerated, upturned, tight-lipped smile. Maybe George had given the artist instructions to make him likable to his constituents, and this was the odd result.

  “You must be Meg Williams,” a booming voice declared.

  A well-dressed, finely coifed man in his forties entered the room, hand extended. Given the black-suited secret service men who now stood by the door, she replied, “Governor, thank you for your hospitality.”

  “I’m ravished. Would you mind keeping me company while I eat?” he asked as he cupped her elbow and led her to the giant table.

  “I’d be honored. In fact, I only put in my order for food minutes ago.”

  “Excellent. What are you having?”

  When she told him, he smiled and looked at the servant who had returned. “I’ll have the same.”

  He held out a chair at the corner of the table for her. Once she sat, he took his seat at the head. Leaning back, he studied her. “I understand your desire to save a few trees has put your life in danger.”

  “It’s not just a few trees. I believe it’s the largest forest of white oaks remaining in this state.”

  “It is. I had it verified. But my question is why do you, a native of New Jersey, care about our trees?”

  His question worried her. He shouldn’t have known she was from New Jersey. “Have you had someone investigate me?”

  His brow furrowed. “Do you only intend to tell me what I already know?”

  The fact he knew she was from New Jersey had to mean he knew her former identity since Meg Williams was from Pennsylvania. Without question, she needed to come clean about who she was.

  “There are three types of wealthy people—those who earn it, those who inherit it, and those who acquire it by some odd roll of the dice.”

  He smiled. “There are other ways as well, but their omission only makes me think the better of you.”

  “I was modestly the first type until I had the misfortune to give into a friend’s insistence and buy a lottery ticket.” She shook her head, still baffled as to why she’d done it. “I’d never played before and certainly not since. One ticket changed my life, and mostly for the worse. I first intended to find charities to give the money to, but I’m a financial analyst, and when I investigated these charities, I was appalled at how little of the money actually went to solve the problem they focused upon, and how even those efforts often made the problem worse.”

  He sighed and nodded.

  “I received in the mail a package with gorgeous pictures of woods, hills, and wetlands I’d ever seen. The writer, Helen Campbell, explained she owned two hundred thousand acres, and she would sell them to me at a below market price if I promised to keep them in their current form and, before my death, to sell them to someone else who would do the same.”

  Now for the hard part of the story.

  “A great deal of people feel those who win a lottery haven’t earned their money and thus don’t deserve to keep it. So they write asking for money to cover their problems. When I ignore their demands, the letters get hateful, and eventually the death threats show up.” She met the governor’s steady gaze, betraying none of his emotions. “A policeman, who turned out to be an undercover FBI agent, was very concerned about some of the letters. So the FBI helped me get a new identity, and I came to Iowa to save those beautiful trees.”

  “I imagine you’re rethinking matters now.”

  “No, I’m not. Helen and her great-granddaughter took me on a day hike through some of the forest and wetlands. The health of the trees is incredible, the trails are well laid, well marked, and superbly maintained by Tess, the granddaughter who is majoring in Forest Management to gain the credentials for what she already knows how to do.” She leaned forward. “These woods are remarkable, and I’ll gladly risk my life to protect them.”

  His brow furrowed. “I believe you. However, I have to think of my state first and foremost. If the land were developed, it would generate a lot of jobs.”

  “Are you sure? I wouldn’t think they could hire many more construction workers before they run out of trucks, plows, and other machinery needed to assist the laborers.”

  “Then they buy more.”

  Meg cringed at his cavalier response. The governor of a state should know better. “Forgive me for pushing back, but I made the capital investment calls for a Fortune 500 Company for many years. You don’t over invest in equipment for short-term needs.”

  His right thumb rapped on the edge of the table. “I’ve been told it would create a thousand jobs for ten years.”

  “In total, or each year?”

  His furrowed brow deepened. “I took it as each year.”

  “Give me an hour on my computer, and I can prove that’s a gross exaggeration.”

  “Let’s say it was in total.”

  “Okay, I still think it’s highly exaggerated, but let’s say it’s true. Do you have a thousand skilled woodsman unemployed in Iowa? If not, they’ll have to bring them in from somewhere else, because no sane person would allow an amateur to cut down a hundred and fifty-foot tall, five or six-foot diameter tree with a market value of six thousand dollars or more. If the cutter is not an expert, he’ll send the tree crashing into another tree just
as valuable twenty feet away. To bring down large trees without destroying their value, you have to have experienced and highly skilled lumberjacks who can drop them with precision.”

  He rubbed his chin. “I hadn’t considered the need for highly skilled lumberjacks, but I see your point. Where’d you get the value per tree?”

  “I based it on the current price of a hundred feet of white oak less a thousand dollars. I dropped a thousand from the current price because, if the forest were cut down, it would flood the market and cause all lumber prices to drop. This could be disastrous for any lumber yards holding large quantities of wood in inventory. Some could very well go out of business. Others might have to lay people off to recover.”

  His poker face didn’t reveal any concern, so she pushed harder. “I don’t need to explain to you how volatile commodity prices damage small businesses. You must see it all the time here with corn, soybean, and wheat prices.”

  “What about the houses built on the land? We’ve plenty of people who can build homes,” he challenged.

  “Possibly, but with the housing market in its current state, I expect they’ll do very little building and a great deal of tree harvesting for the first three years. And when people do start buying houses, then the builders will hire only the minimal needed to complete the jobs they have solid contracts for. So in all likelihood, I don’t see any new jobs for Iowans in the first years, few afterward, certainly nothing close to a thousand.”

  Wishing to end talk of cutting trees, she added, “Give me a day. I’ll do an analysis of the major building companies hiring practices over the last three years.”

  “Why not the small ones?”

  “The big guys have to file 10Ks, which are audited, so the data is more reliable than calling small house builders and asking about their practices. And any developer who is serious about building houses will behave like or engage one of the major companies. The profit margins on building houses are too small to overstaff right now.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to see such an analysis.”

  A small army of servants entered, setting the table and delivering to each of them a salad. Meg watched the Governor scarf down the cheese in his salad and push the plate away.

  Meg chuckled. “Trade you. I can’t eat cheese.”

  He stared at her as if her admission made no sense.

  “I’m lactose intolerant.”

  Now understanding, he swapped out the plates and devoured her cheese.

  She took her time with hers, enjoying the spinach, walnuts, and tomatoes covered with balsamic vinegar.

  He watched her like a hawk as she ate. “You said you were a financial analyst, but your profile listed several titles, all far more impressive.”

  She smiled. “The more skilled I became, the better they paid me and fancier my title grew, but if you cut to the core, every job I had was built around my ability to analyze and translate all actions into financial results. This meant I had to accurately predict what will happen when a plan is put in place.”

  “Such as the drop in white oak prices.”

  She nodded. “And the need for skilled woodsmen, who wouldn’t live in a land with barely a tree left…outside of this forest.”

  The salads were removed and the main course served. It was fabulous…almost as good as the lunch Helen had made.

  He continued to watch her as he ravaged his salmon. “Have you decided what you want to do for employment in this fair state?” Before she could reply, he held up his hand. “I know you don’t have to work, but a person doesn’t get to the skill level you have without having a passion for your job. Can you tell me why you quit?”

  “I thrive on working with a team of experts, translating their knowledge into hard numbers. After I won the lottery, my co-workers resented me so much they would feed me incorrect information. No longer able to perform to my standards, I quit. And I’ll be honest, my boss didn’t try to convince me to stay.”

  “For someone who seemed to only want to tell me what I already knew, you’ve been very forthright.”

  “Telling people of my past and specifically the lottery win pretty well defeats the reason I changed my identity. However, I realized when you properly identified my home state that you had obtained a profile of my former self from either the FBI or the one Helen Campbell had.”

  He smiled. “I asked, but the FBI refused to provide me a profile unless I could give a reasonable need for it. Evidently, you wishing to give the state two-hundred acres of the last forest we’ll ever have wasn’t sufficient. So I got it through other channels.”

  “I hope you mean Helen’s. Otherwise, the FBI should probably be told who else had me investigated and matched me to my new identity because it could very well be the person who wants me dead.”

  His right eyebrow rose at her comment. “I suspect this was Helen Campbell’s, but I will confirm the matter, and if it turns out to be anyone else, I will notify the FBI agent investigating the attempts on your life.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Joe was right about you. When he heard Jeffrey Campbell had a two-hour slot on my schedule today, he insisted I not make any promises I might regret.”

  She stopped mid-cut on her fish and looked at him. “Was his meeting by chance before ours?”

  The Governor chuckled. “Yes, it was. And since he wrote a rambling email requesting the meeting, I suspected I already had his side of the story and decided to drop in and catch your side instead.

  “Well, I haven’t told you my proposal yet. I’ve just been shooting down the alternative. I think you’ll be very pleased with my plan. But I will provide no more details since Joe is setting up the library for what I hope will be the best plan and presentation you’ve ever received.”

  “Big words stated with confidence. I like that.”

  “Thorton, you weren’t supposed to be here until six,” Joe scolded as he entered the dining room.

  “I canceled my four to six.”

  “Thank God. The last thing you need is to be meeting with attempted murderers,” Joe said as he sat down on the governor’s other side.

  “Have you confirmed the allegation?” the governor asked.

  Joe shrugged. “The FBI isn’t talking, but we need to be wary.”

  The governor rapped his knife on his plate several times. “If you hear anything, let me know. I’ll still have to do some damage control. Jeffrey and Benito were both major contributors to my last campaign.”

  Joe rolled his neck. “If I were you, I’d get your people on it now.”

  The governor focused on Meg. “Any chance I can convince you to abandon your salmon and work on those numbers you promised me?”

  Meg sighed. “Can I take this delicious plate to my room and finish it while I work?”

  He motioned to a servant, and she swooped in like an eagle and snatched the plate.

  “If you hurry, you can get to your room before your salmon arrives.”

  Meg rewarded him with a smile, nodded at Joe, and hurried off. As she was leaving, she heard the governor say, “Most impressive.”

  She hoped he was talking about her analytical skills and not the speed in which she could chase after food.

  True to his word, her dinner, hiding beneath a silver lid, arrived moments after she did. When the server removed the cover, she discovered they had brought her a brand new plate of fish, which suited her fine since she was still starving.

  Fifteen minutes to six, she wrapped up her report on the probable job outcome for developing the property versus making it the showcase state park of Iowa.

  She included the linked assumptions on the front worksheet, so if his people wished to make a change to the assumptions, the entire package would reflect the new numbers. She emailed it to Joe and asked him to print off three copies.

  By the time she arrived at the library, the pages were printed and placed about the small conference table. She gathered and stacked all three beneath her
case. Hopefully, her presentation would make the analysis irrelevant.

  Exactly at six, the governor arrived and sat in a leather high back behind the desk, while Joe sat on the couch and Meg stood before the giant LCD screen above his fake fireplace.

  The governor was flipping through his bound copy of her plan until she spoke. He then set it down and gave her his full attention.

  She first gave a brief overview of the land’s potential to be the finest state park in Iowa and a tourist draw from across the country, peppering financials throughout the discussion, assuring him before the presentation was over he’d understand all the assumptions behind them.

  By the end of the overview, he was smiling like a kid in a candy store.

  As she worked through the details, he frequently threw in an “excellent” as she raised and then solved a potential problem.

  When she came to the unusual guarantee of a job for Tess Campbell, he opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him. “I realize this looks like we’re throwing a bone to the prior owner. But in fact, we are locking in the best-qualified person for the job. Under Helen’s tutelage, Tess has been managing this property for the last five years. And they are the best trails I have ever hiked, and I’ve hiked over a thousand parks.”

  The governor smiled. “No doubt why Helen sought you out.”

  She nodded and continued, “I so strongly believe Tess Campbell is the right person to continue management of these lands, I’ve written it in as a condition of the land donation. Once Tess obtains the proper credentials, the job is hers. And until then, she will be retained as an Assistant Forest Manager, which does not require a degree, only the experience and skills commiserate with the job.”

  “Have you spoken with the head of Parks Commission yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  He looked to Joe. “Who’s the head of Parks Commission now?”

  “Barkman, I think,” Joe replied.

  “Well, get him out to those woods and have Tess take him about. You can tell him about the proposed land donation, but don’t tell him the girl is being crammed down his throat. Then get his opinion of her, and if it’s positive, float the idea to him.”

  “Got it,” Joe said.