Alumni Association

by Michael Rudolph

  “Pam and I chatted all the way here.”

  “We were neighbors as kids. I even remember babysitting her one summer.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “I met her again during a business trip to Tel Aviv a few years ago. Her mother reintroduced us, and we’ve been together ever since.”

  “Pam told us,” said Max. “You’re a lucky man.”

  “Sure am, Mr. Swahn. How’d you do during Antigua Sailing Week last year?” asked Gartenberg.

  “Finished third in our class. Why? Were you there?”

  “No, Pam and I were too busy, but we’re entered this year.”

  “I didn’t know you sailed.”

  “Ever since Judge Masters taught me at BMI.”

  “Have your own boat?” Max asked.

  “We have a fully restored Hinckley,” he bragged. “She’s a fifty-two-foot Sou’wester.”

  “Very nice.”

  “Cost over a million to restore. Over a quarter mill just for electronics. Some difference from the seventeen-foot day sailers we used in BMI sailing classes.”

  “Everyone learns to sail that way.”

  “Mr. Swahn, I was so sorry to hear about Clifford’s death.”

  “Thanks, Herbert. Where’s Al LaVerne?”

  “In Bordentown with the land surveyors, but he sends his condolences also.”

  “Sorry he couldn’t make it.”

  “Don’t worry. I have full authority to make decisions,” Gartenberg declared.

  “I just wanted to say hello to him,” Max replied.

  “We’ll start in a second,” Gartenberg said. “Zeke is just finishing up on an offer we’re making to buy an office building in Mexico City.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I want to see if we can satisfy the subdivision objections raised by the Alumni Association.”

  “Always willing to talk,” responded Beth.

  “Let me tell you right up front that we have more flexibility about keeping the Old Main’s façade than we do about filling in the tunnels,” said Gartenberg.

  “Appreciate the straight talk, Herb.”

  “Okay, so let’s have some breakfast before we start.” Gartenberg gestured toward a large array of food spread on a table as Shadenheim came over.

  “Sounds good to me,” said Max.

  “Thanks,” said Beth. “I’ll just have coffee.”

  By noon, it was clear that Gartenberg would not agree to the conservation easement that Beth wanted to protect the Old Main and the tunnels from destruction. He also rejected any of the other compromises that she proposed. In the end, they agreed to give it some further undefined thought and talk again at some later date to be determined. Beth and Max were driven back to the city and were in their office shortly after 1:00 P.M.

  * * *

  —

  Beth sat down at her desk and saw the in-basket on her credenza was piled high again with new contracts and correspondence that required her signature as managing partner. It seemed that no matter how often she emptied the basket, it somehow remained full.

  She took the first document off the pile and began to review what turned out to be an annual contract for paper supplies. It had already been approved by their office manager, who had flagged the several spots that required Beth’s signature.

  Halfway through the contract, her phone rang. She welcomed the interruption and quickly answered.

  “Beth, this is Luis Benetez calling from Caracas, Venezuela. I’m an attorney.”

  “Yes, Mr. Benetez. How can I help you?”

  “My father, Nikko, graduated from BMI a few years before your stepfather.”

  “I know your name, Mr. Benetez. You also graduated from BMI, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, class of 1984.”

  “How can I help you?” (Antenna up. Senses on high alert.)

  “For starters, please, call me Luis.”

  “Certainly, Luis.”

  “Beth, we’d like to retain the services of your esteemed firm on a matter of personal interest to us.”

  “We’re always interested in new clients and new business. What’s it about?”

  “It has to do with the subdivision application that Herb Gartenberg and Al LaVerne filed with the Bordentown Planning and Zoning Commission. We’d like your firm to represent us in support of that application.”

  “May I ask what your family’s interest is in the application?”

  “Paulo Pendayan is Gartenberg’s investor and my uncle. He doesn’t live in the past like the other members of the Alumni Association.”

  “Where does he live then?”

  “He lives in the present and has no time to worship brick-and-mortar relics like they do.”

  “Well, Luis, I’m sure you already know that we’ve been retained by the Alumni Association to oppose Gartenberg’s application. And you must have seen the resolution the alumni voted on last month.”

  “But I know your firm hasn’t filed any papers yet on their behalf, so you can return any retainer they paid you. I can assure you that our retainer will far exceed theirs.”

  “I’m glad you thought of us, Luis, but it’s just not going to happen. We can’t switch sides like that.”

  “Sorry to have bothered you then.”

  “Not a bother. Perhaps another time and another matter.”

  “Of course. And please give my regards to your stepfather and your mother. We wish them the best of health.”

  “And the same to your father and to the Pendayans.” Beth could obfuscate with the best of them.

  Chapter 11

  Clifford Giles had been the consummate old-school attorney during his entire professional career, distinguished and always immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit. He was never particularly fond of Elias Strauss but deferred to Max in hiring him.

  When Clifford made Elias chairman of the firm’s corporate department, it was a reluctant appointment necessitated in part by Max’s retirement. However, Clifford refused to give Elias an office commensurate with the title, so he remained in the middle of the same long hallway where the firm’s junior partners and senior associates were located.

  Elias was at his desk reviewing a contract when his phone rang. He stared at the name on the caller ID until it stopped ringing. He ignored it again when it rang a second time, but when it happened a third time, he finally decided to pick it up. “Amigo! Cómo está?” he greeted Luis Benetez in his limited Spanish.

  “I’m fine, Elias. How are you?”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Same old, same old. Got any new pictures to send me?”

  “What pictures?”

  “Come on, Elias, you know.”

  “We don’t discuss that over a phone.”

  “I have a new ‘teacher’ who wants to join your nursery school website.”

  “I just told you. Not over the phone.”

  “Understood. Listen, Elias, we need your help.”

  “If it’s about that BMI case, Luis, I can’t get involved.”

  “Yes, you can. Send me your personal bank account info and I’ll wire a retainer to you for starters. When the retainer hits, call me and we’ll discuss what needs to be done.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “You can and you will. And don’t forget to send me some new pics, and make them juicy.”

  Click.

  Chapter 12

  Beth had never seen or experienced it before, but when the cursor on her screen started dancing around with a life and purpose of its own, she knew exactly what was happening. “I’ve been hacked!” she exclaimed over the intercom to the firm’s resident techie, and then she saved the BMI document she had been working on, closed it, and shut down her computer. She immediatel
y called P.P. Private Investigations and told Reggie what had happened. He instructed her to turn her computer back on so he could take control remotely, and then proceeded to eliminate the virus. Before he returned control to her, she asked him if it was possible to identify the source of the virus, and he said he would try.

  Chapter 13

  On May 5 at 7:30 P.M., Beth, together with Christine Osgood, the local counsel she had retained, appeared before the Bordentown Planning and Zoning Commission on behalf of the BMI Alumni Association to argue against the campus subdivision. As they waited for the hearing to start, Christine introduced Beth to the president of the Bordentown Historical Society, Joshua Priestly, BMI class of 1961, and his wife, Evangeline, past president.

  The hearing room was packed. Max sat with Tripp in the standing-room-only audience to support Beth. Chord recused himself as chairman and left the room, while his client, F. X. Smythe, remained.

  The vice chairman took over as acting chairman and read the official notice of the subdivision application into the record and summarized the seven zoning regulations standing between the application and its approval. During the hearing, each one would have to be considered and either amended or not, and if not, the commission would have to consider whether to grant a variance. The commission had discretion as long as their decision was not arbitrary or capricious, and did not violate a zoning regulation.

  Herb Gartenberg and Al LaVerne, together with Zeke Shadenheim and a small army of engineering experts, began to present their subdivision application to the hearing room full of local residents, most of whom were quite vocal in their opposition to the entire subdivision concept. Boos, hisses, and skepticism were heard in response to all of their experts.

  The commissioners played to their constituency. When Chord recused himself, the vice chairman asked many questions related to the effect the subdivision would have on overloading roads, schools, police, and fire departments. After Beth presented the Alumni Association’s historic district argument opposing the subdivision plan, the audience responded with cheers until the vice chairman called them to order. This was followed by more opposition emotionally presented by Joshua Priestly. He insisted that any approval of the application had to be conditioned upon preservation of Old Main and the brick and mortar tunnels underneath it. Gartenberg replied that this would totally prevent development of the Old Main parcel and seriously endanger the entire deal.

  After almost four hours of testimony, the commission adjourned with plans to continue the hearing at its next scheduled session. All indications, however, were that Beth’s conservation requests would be incorporated into their final decision, a victory for her.

  As the elated audience filed out of the building and onto the street, someone or something caused Joshua Priestly to trip and fall, badly injuring his right ankle. While waiting for the EMTs to arrive, Evangeline began experiencing heart palpitations, doubling up on the need for the EMTs, and so both of them were evacuated by ambulances and hospitalized. Joshua was still in the emergency room when he received an anonymous phone call threatening him and his wife with worse if the Bordentown Historical Society didn’t drop its opposition to the subdivision project.

  * * *

  —

  On May 14, Ocean Spray Cranberries, Inc., suddenly announced that after seventy-five years as Bordentown’s biggest employer, it was going to close its 500,000-square-foot plant at the end of the year and move to Upper Macungie Township, Pennsylvania. In addition to 250 workers becoming unemployed, the ninety-acre factory complex next to the BMI campus on Park Street came on the market.

  Faced with economic disaster, the town instantly became much more concerned about jobs and development than historic preservation.

  Social media opposition to the BMI subdivision plan quickly disappeared. At the follow-up hearing, only Beth appeared on behalf of the Alumni Association to make a final plea about the historical importance of the Old Main parcel, but her plea fell on deaf ears. After a perfunctory recap by Zeke Shadenheim in support of the application, the panicky commissioners unanimously voted to approve the subdivision plan without requiring preservation of the Old Main or the tunnels. They could be destroyed or not. It was entirely up to Gartenberg.

  * * *

  —

  For the few BMI alumni with real skin in the game, the victory was a crucial element to the success of their plans. Since Gartenberg was keeping the Old Main parcel for himself, permission to destroy the Old Main and the tunnels was essential. He couldn’t sell it to a builder or develop it himself unless the Bonaparte mansion could be razed and the tunnels replaced with basements and foundations. For F. X. Smythe and Chord Masters, the victory was vital because without it, Gartenberg could back out of the sale of both parcels. Chord would lose a lifesaving fee and the Smythe estate would be tied up in litigation for years.

  As far as the Pendayans were concerned, they did not have any interest in the Old Main parcel either way, so their interest in the zoning application was minor. If the deal blew, they’d get their money back from Gartenberg, end of story.

  The alumnus with the most at stake was Nikko Benetez. Benetez had been conducting his drug operations in the tunnels for years, and if he couldn’t maintain exclusive access, he had to destroy them. There was no middle ground. He had some property in the tunnels that could be removed—but also tons of toxic chemicals and some long-buried competitors that could never be removed. It was the latter that most concerned him. There was no room for compromise.

  The BMI Alumni Association, however, remained focused on its goal. Within thirty days, Beth filed an appeal with the New Jersey Superior Court, attacking the commission’s approval as arbitrary and capricious.

  At the same time, however, the Bordentown Historical Society suddenly and unexpectedly withdrew its opposition to Gartenberg’s application and announced they would not join in the appeal.

  * * *

  —

  Before the ink was metaphorically dry on Beth’s notice of appeal, she received another phone call from Luis Benetez offering to contribute land for a much-needed hospital to the town of Bordentown if the BMI Alumni Association would agree to withdraw its appeal from the Gartenberg and LaVerne subdivision decision. Beth passed the offer on to Tripp Masters, who circulated it to the members of the Alumni Association. They refused to budge. The Old Main and the tunnels were a part of their history and had to be preserved.

  Chapter 14

  Accompanied by the scream of sirens and the flashing lights of fire engines, the Old Main burned into history within hours after Beth hung up on Benetez. Flaming oak beams boomed like cannons as they fell, and sparks soared skyward into the chilly autumn night. The acrid smell of black smoke pouring from the vacant mansion overwhelmed the traditional aroma of boiling cranberries from the Ocean Spray factory a few hundred yards down the road. It was the third fire in the structure since the closing of the seminary in 2010, and this time it would be terminal.

  Judge Tripp Masters got both the first and second alarms on his cellphone while driving home from court in his bright red Ford Expedition with the gold departmental emblems on both doors and the chief’s shield on the rear bumper. It was a familiar sight in the judges’ parking lot in front of the Burlington County Courthouse in Mount Holly where he presided over the felony part.

  Tripp arrived to find the Old Main a blazing spectacle. He had graduated from BMI in 1971, and now its landmark was fast becoming a pile of ashes. He took out his cellphone, hit his nephew’s number, and shouted “Chord” over the siren of the last fire truck to arrive.

  “I know, I know. F.X. called me already” came his nephew’s disinterested reply.

  “She’s really gone this time. It’s a miserable sight to watch.” His nephew would neither understand nor share the sentiment, because he’d never liked BMI. Chord was always jealous of the wealthy South American boarding students and was
bullied by the older postgraduate students attending BMI on athletic scholarships.

  “It’s going to complicate the deal,” Chord said. “Any idea what caused it this time?”

  “Who knows? Probably squatters again. Make sure F.X. reports it to their insurance company first thing tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “And be careful when you speak to him. I had lunch with him at Kiwanis last week, and he did nothing but complain that the trustees are getting screwed by Gartenberg.”

  “They’re not getting screwed!” Chord was instantly defensive. “They’re lucky I was able to make the deal in the first place. Gartenberg’s a dirtbag and so’s his lawyer.”

  “Gartenberg will want to take over the insurance claim for the Old Main.”

  “Look, I handled him at BMI, and I’ll handle him now. Go supervise your volunteer firemen.”

  “One more thing…”

  “I have to go.”

  “Damn it, Chord, don’t hang up.” Tripp felt his anger rising in reaction to his nephew’s dismissive attitude.

  “What is it?”

  “Can’t you just stay focused on this deal until it closes?”

  There was only defensive silence at the other end, then a click.

  Tripp turned back to the Old Main, watching flames spread into the former classrooms and administration offices in the north wing. Smoke followed by fire appeared in windows of the junior school dormitory in the south wing. In less than an hour, all that remained was the charred hulk of the smoking structure being hosed down to prevent any resurgence.

  Before leaving the scene, Tripp called Max and told him about the fire. After Max brought him up to date on the other occurrences involving the BMI subdivision plans, Tripp got off the phone, took a final walk around the Old Main, and then drove over to Chord’s house to discuss the whole matter.