“I hope it’s only temporary,” Grace said. “The OWHA is her life. It would be a shame if it were lost to her. And after all your hard work, Meg.”
“Well, I had help finding other sources of money to replace Meadows’s cash. And now with what Neal’s uncovered . . .”
“What’s that?” Grace asked.
Megan explained. “And so we’re going to confront Meadows at the next meeting and see where that gets us. Hopefully it will convince the holdouts that he’s downright bad for Oliver’s Well.”
“I have to admit that PJ and I are only vaguely aware of what’s been going on. We’ve been so self-focused. . . .”
“I haven’t been advertising my efforts,” Megan told her daughter-in-law. “And your priority should be your marriage.”
“Wait,” Grace said. “Do you actually have to prove wrongdoing to vote Meadows off the board?”
“No,” Megan said. “It’s not a court of law. But concrete proof might help convince the holdouts.”
“Maybe he’ll be so angry that someone finally had the nerve to confront him that he’ll leave the board without your needing to put it to a vote.”
“I doubt it, Alexis. He’s perverse enough to stick around and torture us, at least until he can make off with the Branley Estate.”
If only there was something else I might do to help our case, Megan thought now. And then, like the proverbial lightbulb suddenly turning on in her mind, it came to her. There was one more thing she might do! Why hadn’t it occurred to her before?
“I’ve been praying for your success,” Grace said now. “Your cause is righteous.”
Alexis frowned. “I thought you weren’t supposed to pray for something specific to happen, like one person to win and the other person to lose. I don’t mean to criticize,” she added hurriedly. “I’m just trying to figure it all out.”
“You pray for God’s will to be done,” Grace explained. “You pray for the courage to accept whatever form that will takes. And sometimes you give the man upstairs a little nudge. But in this case, I’m pretty sure God knows that Wynston Meadows and his money are not what’s best for Oliver’s Well.”
“But Wynston Meadows might still get his way,” Alexis argued. “Unfair things happen all the time. Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. So does that mean that God ignored your prayer?”
“No,” Grace said. “It means that He sees the bigger picture, what we can’t see. He’s got a reason for all that happens. A reason beyond all human understanding.”
Alexis shook her head. “It’s all so complicated.”
“That’s where faith comes in,” Megan said. “No matter what religion you belong to. Without faith, life is hardly bearable.”
“I think this discussion has gone on long enough,” Grace announced. “How about I make a run to Cookies ’n Crumpets? I’ve found that a good cookie can solve even the most convoluted theological debate.”
Alexis sighed. “Yes, please! And could you get me a corn muffin, too?”
“Count me out,” Megan said. “I’ve got some pressing business to attend to.” Like emptying out my bank account.
CHAPTER 134
This is it, Megan thought as she took her seat at the table in the former dining room of the Wilson House. God, if you care a whit about the OWHA, now’s the time to prove it.
When everyone was gathered, Neal called the meeting to order. Leonard, as CEO, gave his report and then Neal read the minutes of the previous meeting—at which Wynston Meadows had been absent. “We did delay getting started,” he said now, “but as we had no word from you and couldn’t be sure you would join us. . . .”
Wynston Meadows said nothing, but showed his teeth.
After dealing with the old business, Neal turned the meeting back over to Leonard.
“We have no new business to discuss?” Meadows asked, raising an eyebrow. “As far as I’m concerned there’s a great deal that needs attention.”
“Yes,” Leonard said, in his most commanding voice. “There certainly is a great deal that needs attention, most urgently the question of your continued tenure on the board of the OWHA.”
Meadows laughed. “Excuse me?”
Leonard went on. “To begin with, the board of the OWHA has always chosen to conduct our business in a democratic, even a friendly, fashion. You seem to favor an autocratic approach, which quite frankly doesn’t sit well with the majority of the board’s current members.”
“Not me!” Wallace protested. “I mean, I have no problem with your—with your style, Mr. Meadows.”
“Nor do I,” Joyce intoned.
Norma looked toward the windows. Meadows showed his teeth again.
“More to the point,” Leonard went on, “you have made it abundantly clear that you do not share many of the board’s priorities. I cite your arguments against the continuation of the educational program as only one instance of this conflict.”
“Because the program loses money,” Norma said. “Doesn’t it?”
Leonard shook his head. “It does not lose money, Norma. You can look at the books for proof if you’d like.”
“But Mr. Meadows said—”
Leonard looked to Meadows as if to allow him a reply, but he merely glared. Leonard now cleared his throat. Here we go, Megan thought. The final stretch.
“In short, Mr. Meadows, we have found another source of funding to help see us into the future.”
“What?” Joyce cried.
“This is preposterous!” Wallace crowed. “Why are we only hearing about this now?”
Leonard nodded at Megan. “I think the younger Mrs. Fitzgibbon should explain.”
Megan looked around the table at each member of the board in turn. “Let me begin,” she said, “by stressing the fact that the OWHA is in a healthy financial position. It has been for some time now. We do not need Mr. Meadows’s money for survival. We need only additional sums for new projects. The notion of a $25 million gift excited us, understandably. But it excited us too greatly. At the same time we grasped at the money, we abandoned reason and good sense. We almost abandoned the true purpose of this association. All too aware of this, I recently took it upon myself to bring in someone with professional expertise to do a feasibility study of a purchase and restoration of the Branley Estate and then to point me in the direction of potential interested donors. As a result, I’ve discovered a new path ahead for the OWHA, one that doesn’t involve our selling ourselves to one person.”
“This is preposterous!” Wallace cried. “Who gave you the authority to spend the OWHA’s money?”
“No one,” Megan replied. “With my own money I hired a fund-raising consultant with whom I’ve worked over the years in the interests of the Cerebral Palsy Education Effort. She and her staff have defined our real financial needs as follows. To purchase the Branley Estate in the immediate future, we need one million dollars in hand, with a stream of ten million over the next three years. I have copies here of the study in all its detail.”
From the tote by her side, Megan took a stack of folders and handed them to Richard, seated on her right. “If you’ll each take one and pass the rest on . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Norma said.
“I do.” Joyce leaned forward in her seat and pointed a boney finger at Megan. “It’s just like Mr. Meadows has been saying. Another Fitzgibbon trying to take control of everything! Manipulators!”
“Joyce.” Leonard’s tone was warning enough to quiet the woman.
“Of course,” Megan went on, “to most of us here at this table, one million dollars seems like an enormous amount of money—albeit not as enormous as five million. But it is a viable financial needs goal. And so I approached the private donors suggested by Ms. Simons and have secured this initial amount with one proviso—that Mr. Meadows have no attachment to the OWHA.”
“Who are these private donors?” Wallace demanded.
“I’m afraid that I’m not at libe
rty to divulge their names until the OWHA has cut all ties to Mr. Meadows.”
Meadows grinned and shook his head. But he said nothing.
“You could be making this up!” Joyce cried. “Maybe the donors don’t even exist!”
“Now, why would she do that?” Anne snapped. “She used her own money to hire that firm, she did all the legwork.”
Joyce spluttered but had no answering argument.
“Understandably,” Megan went on, “this is a lot to take in, so let me help set your minds at ease. Securing the start-up money is always the most difficult part of the fund-raising process. But I’ve done that now. Once the design and construction begins, once the project is seen to be a reality, the money invariably flows more readily. I’ve never seen it happen otherwise.”
“I’ve read about Sarah Simon,” Neal said. “Her credentials are outstanding. I remember a few years back she was responsible for identifying funding for the new children’s oncology wing at State University Hospital.”
“There’s a full bio of her firm in your folders,” Megan pointed out. “It should reassure you all.”
Still, Wynston Meadows remained silent.
“But why are these so-called donors interested in us?” Wallace asked. “Who are we to them? At least Mr. Meadows has a personal interest in—” Wallace reddened.
“In what?” Leonard said. “I very much doubt our newest board member spent his childhood poring over history books and artifacts as he claimed to.”
Wynston Meadows said nothing. His silence, Megan thought, was becoming deafening.
“Wallace’s question is a good one, though,” she said. “You might have heard the term venture philanthropists. These are people who have a tremendous amount of money and an interest in funding relatively small but worthy ventures or organizations that haven’t had the time to prove themselves. Sarah Simons selected a group of such people she knew to be interested in organizations like the OWHA and, well, I approached them with our hopes for the Branley Estate.”
“And they said yes. They really said they would help us?”
“Yes, Norma. This particular group of people did.”
There was a long moment of silence as Joyce, Wallace, and Norma absorbed this unexpected turn of events. And as Wynston Meadows . . . as he what? Megan shot a glance in his direction. He was staring at the wall over Richard’s head. His expression was almost detached, unconcerned. God, Megan wondered. Had he even been listening to me?
Leonard cleared his throat. “Given the fact that we have an alternative source of funding in place,” he said, “and given a circumstance that has recently come to our attention, the board of the OWHA would prefer not to accept your money and the ties that come with it.”
This caused Meadows to finally break his silence. “What circumstance?” he asked, his tone icy.
Megan glanced quickly at Neal. He nodded ever so slightly.
“It has come to our attention,” Leonard went on, “from a very reliable source that you have been in secret negotiations to purchase the Branley Estate for your own purposes. In short, it has come to our attention that you propose to tear down the surviving buildings and put up a housing development.”
Wynston Meadows grinned. “You people really do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”
Joyce giggled.
“Frankly,” Leonard continued, undeterred, “even the whiff of a scandal on the part of a board member could cause lasting damage to the reputation of the OWHA. And we can’t have that, now, can we?”
Megan watched as Meadows’s expression hardened. What’s he up to, she wondered.
“Are you going to let me explain my actions, Mr. DeWitt, or are you going to continue blustering?”
Leonard inclined his head.
“You people,” Meadows began, “have no experience of how things happen at this level of business. Yes, you’ve purchased properties before, but never on this scale. I’ve been working behind the scenes to gather information about the Branley Estate. I’ve been working to understand the financial motives behind the Baker family’s need to sell. I’ve been working to accurately assess the real value of the property. This, at times, has involved what you people in your innocence might call subterfuge. Let me explain, as I see from several faces around the table, that my meaning escapes you. In the past weeks I’ve conducted several casual discussions with a developer to more fully understand the value and the challenges of such a property. This is in no way proof that I’ve been trying to make a back-door deal. But I suppose an unsophisticated observer might construe my actions as against the interests of the OWHA. But I assure you, that perception only goes to prove the naïveté of said observer.”
Meadows, with a self-satisfied smile on his face, waited for a reaction to his words. Megan was almost tempted to applaud his performance. She had never heard a speech so filled with presumption and condescension. He truly believes we’re a bunch of idiots, she thought. And maybe, to some extent, we have been.
“A fine bit of self-justification,” Neal said. “And I’m not buying any of it.”
“You spoke to a developer?” Wallace said. His face was ashen. “There would be no need for us to consult a developer.”
“Not unless we planned to tear down the estate,” Norma said, her eyes wide. “And we would never . . .”
“Research,” Meadows snapped. “All to gather information.”
“Information that has nothing to do with the matter at hand,” Leonard thundered. “Do you think we’re complete idiots, man?”
Meadows shrugged.
“And the educational program.” Wallace, emboldened, looked at Meadows. “I had been planning an entirely new set of workshops for the summer camp. But they wouldn’t have happened, would they, not if you had your way.”
“Still a schoolmarm at heart, Wallace?”
Megan thought that Wallace looked sick.
“And let’s not forget Mr. Meadows wants to cancel the Independence Day parade,” Richard pointed out.
“What does it matter?” Joyce spat. “He’s still the one with the money. And it’s a lot more than what Megan Fitzgibbon managed to scrape up!”
“Loyal little Joyce!” Meadows chuckled. “I know your type well, my dear. I’ve seen you making eyes at me.”
Joyce gasped.
Cruel man, Megan thought. She didn’t like Joyce Miller very much, but the woman didn’t deserve to be publicly mocked.
Leonard frowned. “I think we’ve heard enough to put this matter to a vote. Neal, would you distribute the ballots?”
Always expect the unexpected, Megan thought now, picking up her pen. It was something Mary Bernadette often said. At the last minute the vote could go either way.
A moment later, Neal collected the ballots and counted them into one pile. He looked to Leonard and nodded, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. Megan felt lightheaded with relief.
Leonard straightened his shoulders. “The board of the Oliver’s Well Historical Society unanimously votes to dismiss you, Wynston Meadows, effective immediately.”
Wynston Meadows laughed incredulously. “Do you people have any idea what you’re doing? If I’m not on the board you don’t get my money, end of story. You’re throwing away an enormous sum you badly need just because some part-time lawyer has convinced you that she knows more about business than one of the richest, most successful men in the country.”
One more moment, Megan told herself. Let him taunt us for just a bit longer....
“We know exactly what we’re doing, Mr. Meadows,” Neal said, his expression grim. “There is no more to be said.”
“Yes, there is. You’ve screwed yourselves completely. I still have more money than you’ll ever have, and I’ll still get the Branley Estate—and I’ll tear it to the ground. Meadows High-Rise Housing Complex. It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”
And there it is.
“You wouldn’t!” Norma cried.
Joyce put he
r hand over her mouth. Richard began to sputter.
Megan rose from the table. “If I may?” she said. “I don’t think that you will get the Branley Estate, Mr. Meadows. You see, only yesterday I took an option on the property.” And it was the best ten thousand dollars I ever spent, she thought, fighting back a grin.
“What are you saying?” he demanded.
“Is this true, Megan?” Leonard asked. The others looked too shocked to speak.
“Quite true. The option,” Megan went on, “allows me to hold the estate for four months, during which time a sale to the OWHA will be completed, thanks to our financial angels. The owners were more than happy to work with me, especially once they’d heard the, the rumor of Mr. Meadows’s intended use of the land. The Baker family might need the money, but their dedication to the history of Oliver’s Well is staunch. So you see, Mr. Meadows, even if we hadn’t been able to vote you off the board, the property would still be safely in the hands of the OWHA, during which time I guarantee you I would have been able to find another group of donors to help us complete the purchase.” At least, Megan added silently, I hope I would have.
“Hear, hear!” Neal cried.
“You’re worse than the old one!” Meadows spat.
Richard made to stand, but Megan shook her head to stop him. She opened the leather portfolio on the table before her. “I would now like to present a document that assigns rights under the option to the Oliver’s Well Historical Association. Neal, I believe you are a notary?”
Neal grinned. “And I happen to have my seal with me.” A moment later, the transfer was made official. Richard began to clap, and the others joined in. All, of course, but Wynston Meadows, who got to his feet, roughly pushing his chair away from him.
“You provincial idiots can go to Hell.”
“There are ladies present, Mr. Meadows,” Leonard said in his voice of peacekeeping authority. “I suggest you watch your language.”
Without another word—really, Megan thought, what could he say now?—Wynston Meadows stalked from the room. A moment later the front door of the Wilson House slammed shut.
“What bad manners that man has,” Jeannette said with a laugh.
One Year Page 38
