Buying Time - Excerpt

Excerpt - Chapter 1

Buying Time
(the sequel to Trading Paper)

By Cali Canberra

Nick Cordonelli’s fist clenched the phone. A blinding narrow beam of sunlight pierced through the leaded glass window overlooking one of the Kentucky bluegrass pastures.

Greg Bordeaux, the self appointed emperor of the Arabian horse industry and a principal in Vintage Inc., had hired Nick Cordonelli, a land developer by profession, to develop L’Equest - his exclusive Kentucky equestrian project.

“The front page?” Nick moaned as his knuckles turned white. His grip on the phone tightened with every word he digested.

“Yes, above the fold. And whoever wrote this must have an insider feeding them information. They know far too much to be speculating,” Ron McGill said, calling from Scottsdale, Arizona. As the business manager for Vintage Incorporated, he reported to Nick regularly.

“What else does it say?” Nick demanded as he unrolled the revised blueprints for L’Equest.

Picturing the veins popping out from Nick’s temples, Ron skimmed the story, reading notable lines such as: ‘In this decade of the 1980’s, nothing succeeds like excess. The prices wealthy equine enthusiasts pay for Arabian horses soar every February as a result of savvy marketing, free-flowing alcohol, and headline entertainers like Sammy Davis, Jr.’

“What’s the headline?”

“I told you – it says: ‘Trading Paper: The Legitimacy of the Arabian Horse Industry in Question’.”

Nick bit his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks for letting me know,” Nick said, realizing he had some tough decisions to make. When it came to horses, his common sense and business acumen flew out the window.

In hindsight, Nick should have trusted his wife’s instincts. On more than one occasion his wife, Louisa, strongly voiced her opinion about Greg Bordeaux and the Scottsdale operation - she thought her husband should be keeping closer tabs on everything there. Nick, already spread thin, didn’t feel it was necessary because Ron kept him informed. Most months he traveled back and forth between the Ocala, Florida race-training farm, the California breeding operation and the Kentucky development. Greg insisted that he could handle everything in Scottsdale. Apparently not.

~ ~ ~

It was only ten in the morning and Dolan Holloway already felt as if he had spent a full day in trial on the losing side of an important case. Jittery from too much coffee, he couldn't’t sit behind his desk waiting for the confrontation. He paced in front of his receptionist’s desk complaining about the hot weather as she tried to avoid responding to his mood by sorting through files.

Jessica Sellica walked through the door of the law firm’s office.

“What in the world were you thinking?” Dolan blurted out.

She didn’t respond.

“What on earth did you do?” he sneered as he pounded a fist on the reception desk. The pens and pencils rattled and the tape dispenser near the edge of the desk fell to the floor.

The receptionist rapidly abandoned her swivel chair and went to the copy machine. The clerical staff grew curious. The office suddenly fell silent - the tapping of the typewriter keys ceased - the piped music was abruptly turned off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And lower your voice,” Jessica said, having no idea why he was fuming. All she knew was that her law partner, Dolan Holloway, suddenly appeared a foot taller and twenty pounds heavier in his rage.

“Get into my office,” he groaned in a low voice as he hovered over her five-foot-five frame. Then, “You can all go about your own business,” he barked at the inquisitive employees.

Jessica didn’t cower to him, but she hurried into his office to avoid creating a scene. He followed closely, slamming the heavy maple door.

Jessica had never known him to have a temper. Composed, she lowered herself into the tufted leather chair, smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and calmly looked him in the eye.

“Do not speak to me that way again. I can assure you that I don’t know what on earth you’re referring to. If you can control yourself, please feel free to explain what this is all about,” she said, playing the roll of the tough legal adversary she was in court.

“Explain myself? You’re the one that has the explaining to do.”

“Dolan, how many times do I have to repeat myself? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The newspaper article. I know you loathe Marcie and Greg, but how dare you leak confidential information to the press.”

“I didn’t leak any information. What article?”

“You haven’t read the morning paper?”

“No. I haven’t. I went for a run early this morning then worked out at the gym.”

He threw The Phoenix Sun onto his desk in front of her.

She was shocked by the headline: “Trading Paper: The Legitimacy of the Arabian Horse Industry in Question.”

As an attorney she had plenty of practice at hiding her emotions and speaking off the cuff. She stood up acting completely dismissive.

“Why are you questioning me about this?”

“Why do you think?”

“I have absolutely no idea. I have to say, Dolan, I’m insulted you would even suggest that I would leak information about any case, let alone one involving your niece and her husband. You should know better.”

Dolan questioned his judgment. He softened as he spoke again. Nothing would easily diffuse the situation.

“I trust you, but…”

“You say ‘but’?”

“But where would a reporter get the information – let alone the headline ‘Trading Paper’? That’s exactly what you keep scribbling on your note pad.”

“I won’t dignify what you are accusing me of with an answer. I’m going to my office to review a file for a hearing this afternoon. I suggest you rethink your position on this and offer me an apology soon, or you can expect my resignation by the end of the day,” she told him as if she were speaking to a defense attorney who was proposing a ridiculously low settlement offer.

Jessica grabbed the front page section of the newspaper from his desk then departed in a huff, leaving the door open behind her. In the privacy of her own office she read the newspaper article. One familiar passage in particular startled her: ‘Vintage Arabians creates their own laws - laws that are followed by friendly competitors nationwide. Greg Bordeaux, the principal of Vintage Arabians, has single-handedly convinced some of the wealthiest people in the country that buying horses for record-breaking prices through Vintage’s Scottsdale auctions is a status symbol.’

Jessica couldn’t imagine where a reporter could get detailedinformation about the inside operations of the Arabian horse industry. Suddenly a flashback jolted her. About a week before, she noticed her husband closing her briefcase. When she asked him what he had been doing, he said he borrowed a pen and was returning it. At the time, although it struck her as odd since there were plenty of pens in the kitchen drawer, she didn’t really think much of it.

By the time she finished the article, she fumed at what her husband had done. Should she phone him now or confront him in person? Confront him in person. She had to see the expression on his face when she called him on his crime – a crime against the trust in their marriage.

Not wanting to hear more about his regrets of having bought her an expensive horse, Jessica hadn’t told him much of what she learned about how Greg and Marcie Bordeaux operated their business, and by extension, how the wheels were kept greased in the elite segment of the horse industry. As it turned out, her husband secretly read the files and notes she brought home and discovered the unscrupulous business practices in the horse business. He was well aware that the information in her possession was cloaked with attorney/client privilege and confidentiality.

She dialed the phone. He picked up on the first ring.

“Good morning, Turner Lloyd speaking.”

“It’s me. Do you have time to meet for breakfast? I had a great workout. I’m starved,” she said, not letting on what she suspected. Surprise would be the only weapon she would have against him.

“If we don’t drag it out all morning. How about Café Casino?” Turner suggested.

He wondered if she had seen the article yet. He knew her well enough to be prepared to defend himself at breakfast. There would be a storm but hopefully it would subside with his smooth explanation - and when he showed her the tickets for Jamaica.

“Sounds good. I can be there in ten minutes. Can you?”

“I’ll be there.”

~ ~ ~

A few minutes after Greg and Marcie read the devastating headline in the newspaper, there was pounding on their front door. Pale faced, Greg greeted his parents. Thomas rushed in ahead of Fiona, his pulse racing.

“Dad. I - “

Thomas cut him off. “You’re not going to believe what happened. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“I read it. Let me explain,” Greg said.

Too caught up in his own panic, Thomas didn’t hear Greg’s response. He continued. “Pedro and Manuel accidentally hauled the wrong colts to the reservation. He took Lodzetta’s and Lodzrava’s colts instead of Lodzteza’s and Lodzalot’s.”

“No way,” Greg grimaced.

“Yes. They did. Jose said your phone line was busy so he called us. Your mother and I went to the barn to see if he were mistaken. Jose was right. They took the wrong colts.”

“Shit. What are we going to do?” Greg said, ready to collapse on the spot. This was all they needed. Could things get any worse?

For years, the Bordeauxs and other big breeders in Arizona hauled some of their personally owned weanlings to the Indian reservation on Pima Road. The young horses that they hadn’t even bothered to name were set free to grow up as wild horses. It wasn’t cruel - the weanlings hadn’t been spoiled by domestication; they would quickly learn to survive by integrating into the herd that already roamed the reservation. This seemed to be the only humane way to dispose of horses not meeting the caliber they wanted their clients or their competition to know about. Certainly they would never destroy an otherwise healthy horse or send one to slaughter as people in other breeds were rumored to have done with their cast-offs.

“The Beers are going to have our heads,” Thomas said, a bead of sweat forming around his hairline. “And I won’t blame them.”

Ned and Brenda Beers, loyal clients from New York, spent their way onto the Vintage ‘A List’ by acquiring elite horses for top dollar. The couple sought their relief from the competitive business world by collecting fine Arabians and taking an active role in their ownership.

“We’ll need to come up with a plausible story to account for the missing colts,” Greg said. His parents apparently hadn’t read their newspaper yet. He’d be breaking the shocking news.

“We have to tell them the truth and offer them fair compensation,” Thomas said earnestly, troubled by Greg’s reaction.

“No way.”

“Son, we have to tell them. When you give misleading information you’ve lost your integrity. We’re a family with integrity.”

Shit. Wait ‘til he reads the article. “I’ll come up with something believable,” Greg said, dropping into the kitchen chair.

“We’ll tell the truth and pay the consequences. Making money is important, but you can’t keep trying to fix problems without owning up to them. You’ll get caught in your own shadow.”

Greg stared up at his parents who remained standing. “What do you propose?”

Thomas’s eyes wandered to the kitchen table. The front page of the newspaper glared at him - a photograph of their farm entrance and a promotional picture from one of the with the headline: “Trading Paper: The Legitimacy of the Arabian Horse Industry in Question.”

Thomas instantly forgot what he was talking about. He picked up the paper and began reading aloud: ‘Greg Bordeaux is obsessed with flaunting his lifestyle. In fact, he lures wealthy equine enthusiasts into his world of the glamorous horse business by encouraging people to follow their hearts by purchasing living works of art capable of reproducing themselves.’

As her husband read the article aloud, Fiona almost passed out.

Among other serious allegations, the newspaper article claimed that the public image of the horse industry was contrived. Thomas read: ‘The manipulations were brilliant. Vintage Arabians creates the illusion that the horses are priceless superstars. Like Versace and Gucci, the Bordeauxs grew to believe the illusions they created - buyers followed along, hook, line and sinker. The Bordeauxs and their clients had to believe the myth in order for them to dole out hundreds of thousands of dollars for horses that were purchased for a fraction of the price not that many years ago. Vintage Arabians’ clients validate themselves in the reflected glory of what the Bordeauxs accomplished.’

Thomas sat down with the paper and continued reading aloud at his wife’s insistence. Fiona worried about how many of the shocking allegations about their business practices were true. In a single morning, the desert calm was shattered. Her faith in what they had been building disappeared faster than a cool summer breeze in Scottsdale.

Thomas allowed the severity of the moment to filter in. This news would rock the genteel world of the horse industry. Vintage Arabians was a magnet to the rich and famous who wanted to escape their ordinary world. Their clients had an ethical tolerance level that Thomas hoped hadn’t been crossed.

Greg grimaced as he waited for an eruption. His mother was often emotional. Thomas was normally calm and rational but this wasn’t a normal day. Just as Thomas dropped the paper to the table and began to ask Greg to step outside with him, Patrick barged through the kitchen door having come directly from the training barn.

Waving his own copy of the paper he yelled, “What the f___ is this?” at Greg.

Here was the eruption. Leave it to his hotheaded brother, who was on an ego trip from being a big time trainer, to make a bad scene worse.

Thomas threw his hands in the air dramatically. “Calm down. We just read it ourselves,” Thomas said, his stomach still sinking.

Patrick couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Everyone knows you’re not the moral backbone of the horse business, but now they know exactly why,” he told Greg.

“Shut up. I’ve got enough problems without your big mouth,” Greg almost shouted.

On cue, Marcie and Fiona left the men alone to digress to their childhood antics and to work out the dynamics. The rivalry between the brothers had always fueled Greg’s ambition while it stifled Patrick’s.

“Call Dolan right now,” Greg said briskly to Marcie.

“Okay.”

“Let me know when he’s on the line. I want to give him a piece of my mind,” Greg said.

“Maybe I should talk to him instead,” Thomas suggested.

“You can come to his office with me. I’ll talk to him on the phone,” Greg said.

Marcie signaled Greg to pick up the kitchen extension while she remained on the line. As she did so, her own parents pulled their car into the drive and hastily carried their folded newspaper into the house, entering without knocking.

Dolan received the call he dreaded. He was surprised it had taken this long. He inhaled deeply, hoping they had gotten the fury out of their systems.

“Stop. I can’t understand you when you’re both talking at once. I’ll come to your house.”

“Fine. And bring that bitch with you,” Greg said.

“Don’t call her that. I don’t think Jessica’s here right now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Uncle Dolan, why did you do this to us?” Marcie asked before he hung up.

He could hear her crying. “I didn’t, Marcie. I promise. It wasn’t me, sweetie.”

“It was that bitch Jessica. We ought to sue her! I knew we shouldn’t have let her get involved in our case – not once we found out that cheap bastard Turner is her husband,” Greg vented.

“Calm down. I know this is upsetting but we need to think clearly and do damage control as soon as possible,” Dolan said.

“Damage control - that’s what we need,” Greg said not knowing what they could do about the bad publicity that was sure to follow.

“Greg, I understand why you’re so upset, but it’s critical we formulate a plan to combat the article. You need to be able to refute the claims and sway another reporter onto your side. We need to make it look as if the first reporter printed information lacking any factual evidence. That she didn’t do her homework. That she relied on bad information. Let me hang up and come over.”

“Okay, Uncle Dolan,” Marcie told him.

Greg and Marcie went upstairs to change into presentable clothes and brush their teeth. Twenty minutes later, Dolan steered his Mercedes into the main entrance of the farm. He shook his head at the flamboyance of the property, thinking that the sophisticated farm flaunted their success. On the surface, the wealth they created for themselves and others in the Arabian horse industry seemed admirable, but being privy to the details of how they achieved the success, he questioned the value of what they had accomplished.

Dolan entered the house without ringing the doorbell. He assumed everyone would be engrossed in heated conversation. To the contrary, when he arrived, the room was filled with people who didn’t know what to say to each other. Silence prevailed. Thomas stood fuming with his arms crossed, biting his tongue. Greg had just finished privately admitting to him the extent of the legal problems that led to someone obtaining the information in the article.

Someone had to break the silence. Dolan cleared his throat. Seven heads turned in his direction.

“What’s the proper greeting at a time like this?” he said as an icebreaker.

“I don’t know,” Drake replied dryly. He didn’t know what to think of the web that his daughter Marcie had gotten lured into.

“Everyone’s acting like I murdered someone,” Greg mumbled to no one in particular.

Marcie snuggled up to his side and slid her arm through his as if this proved that at least the marriage was doing just fine despite any bad press.

Drake turned to Dolan. “They didn’t want to discuss this with us until you arrived. We want to know what’s happening here. Is the article true?”

Dolan looked at Thomas, Greg and Marcie. “Perhaps we should have a few minutes alone,” he said, gesturing toward the den.

“Good idea,” Thomas murmured almost inaudibly.

Marcie nodded in agreement.

Patrick spoke up. “You don’t think they made all this money without manipulating people, do you?”

No one responded.

“Why do you think I didn’t want any part of the business?” he continued.

Still no response.

“Didn’t you wonder why I only wanted to be a trainer here and to just show the horses?”

Silence.

“What? Everyone thinks I’m too stupid to know how to be on the business end of things?”

Fiona finally spoke up. “Patrick, no one thinks you’re stupid. We love you, dear.”

He acted as if his mother hadn’t spoken. “I could see the handwriting on the wall the first time Greg sold a horse in front of me – when Dad wasn’t around, that is. He’s just a…”

Thomas interrupted just before closing the den door. “That’s enough Patrick. Just stop right now. We’ll talk about this later.“

“Yes, son, in the privacy of our own home. Marcie’s parents don’t need to hear any of this. We’ve all got a lot on our minds right now,” Fiona said.

“Your mother is right. The important thing now is for us to understand what is happening. We’ll all remain calm,” Drake said wearily.

As if there were a choice.

Dolan, Thomas, Greg and Marcie reappeared looking solemn. Thomas sat next to Fiona. Marcie sat next to her parents, facing Dolan and Greg. That way she wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on their faces. Patrick leaned against the bookcase, his arms crossed and lips pursed like he had just eaten a lemon.

Greg started. “First off, don’t pass judgment and don’t jump to conclusions – just take time to understand the motives.” He cleared his throat. “Understand - we’ve always had good intentions.”

Everyone stared straight ahead as if watching a live play.

Dolan took center stage. “Let me say that I’m proud of being part of this close-knit family. It’s important that we remain bonded at a time like this. Supportive and understanding are the two words that come to mind. We all care about the well-being of Marcie and Greg as individuals and as family members. And, of course, we’re concerned about the stability of the business. If we weren’t united before, we certainly must become united now.”

Fiona could not remain silent. “What can we do?”

Dolan continued. “Thomas. Patrick. I’m enlisting you to develop and pursue a public relations campaign. Everyone needs to know that all of the actions of the farm have been completely honorable and without intent to harm anyone. Fiona, you can help, too. The public sees the farm as a family business. You must all prove to the country - if not the world - that Vintage Arabians will not relinquish its role as the leader in the horse industry. We must stand strong and become stronger. Persevere.”

Greg interjected. “We’ll spin their story 180 degrees. The reporters need to understand that we turned the hobby of owning quality horses into an investment – a profitable investment – and an activity that can be enjoyed by people of all economic levels.”

“As long as you have a lot of money,” Patrick said, not caring that it would aggravate his brother and his parents.

Everyone ignored him. They all agreed.

Greg changed the subject, hoping to lighten the moment. “Dolan, you sound like you’re making a campaign speech. You ought to be in politics.”

Everyone chuckled. No one appeared sincere.

Drake couldn’t wait any longer. “You still haven’t told us if the allegations in the article are true.”

“Dad, believe me. They took everything out of context,” Marcie said.

“Was it out of context when the article says that the thieves of Scottsdale all wanted to share the wealth? You know they were talking about the two of you and people like Robard,” Drake said, referring to another large breeder in Scottsdale.

“None of us are thieves,” Greg said defensively.

“Are the allegations about how you do business correct or not?”

Greg paled slightly. “Well, most of what they said was true in a certain way but…”

“If something is true it can’t be taken out of context. Truth is truth,” Drake said stoically as he stood up and planted himself beside the sofa.

Greg frowned. “You don’t understand. The article only told part of the story. They didn’t say a word about the reasons behind what we did. They didn’t say a thing about how no one cares how we conduct business because our clients love the horses and they certainly enjoy making a profit from the horses. There are unspoken practices in this industry – people know – they just go along because it’s profitable for everyone. No one gets hurt.”

Dolan couldn’t help thinking. The entire industry that turned a blind eye to Vintage’s business practices is what helped create their successful enterprise. Now, the same actions would probably be what would destroy them.

“Yes. That’s exactly right,” Marcie added as if she were actually credible.

Thomas looked to the floor, uncomfortable defending their intimate business.

May I ask something?” Drake said.

"Sure, Dad,” answered Marcie.

“Is it true you had shills in the audience at those fancy auctions you put on?”

Dolan spoke up. “Drake, there were not - ”

Drake cut in. “This isn’t a legal proceeding, Dolan. There is no need for you to control Greg’s answers. I want Greg, man-to-man, to answer me truthfully. I’m asking him a question straight out. I want a straight answer.”

Greg forced himself to look his father-in-law in the eye. “There were not hired shills in the common sense of the word. All I did was encourage clients to bid up horses - I gave them incentives. And a few other farm owners and I agreed to bid high prices on each other’s horses during the auctions we each put on. And a few trainers that wanted to get in good with me agreed to bid high prices. It’s no big deal. We did it to get other people to follow along. However, if any of those people had been the highest bidder, they would have paid for the horses, themselves.”

“Like who? Robard? Peacock? Cannon?” Drake asked.

“Yes. And a few of their relatives,” Greg answered as he looked to the floor.

“So, did you actually buy the horses from each other or was it all a set-up?” Deirdre asked.

“We tried to make it happen that a ‘real’ buyer ended up with the horse someone else was bidding up. But it didn’t always happen that way. Quite a few times, especially in the first several auctions, we ended up being the final bidders.”

“What my wife wants to know is if money ever actually changes hands?”

“Nowadays money does change hands, but I have to admit that initially, for the first few auctions with the sales between our small group, money usually didn’t change hands.”

“So, you were deceiving the public, ‘Trading Paper’ just like the article says?” Drake confirmed.

“Sir, you have to understand. We weren’t trying to hurt anyone. We did it to get people to follow along. When enough people are willing to pay a certain price range other people are willing to pay the same or more. We created an industry out of a hobby - an investment out of a hobby. There was never an intent to take advantage of anyone. There was never an intent to have others lose money.”

Thomas jumped in. “And no one has lost any money. The horses have been profitable for everyone.”

“Especially you!” Patrick interjected, directing his comment to Greg.

“Why are you even here as part of this business discussion? You always wanted to stick with training – go train,” Greg answered curtly, dismissing Patrick with a wave of his hand.

“That’s because I saw how you operated before any of this was big-time. I could see the handwriting on the wall,” Patrick spouted as he leaped toward Greg with a fisted hand.

“Calm down, boys!” Fiona demanded.

“Yeah Mom. You better stop me before I beat the hell out of Greg. You think that’s the only thing I can do better than him. You think all I can do is fight.”

“Stop it, Patrick. You have got to get control of your temper,” Thomas said.

“Or what?”

“I don’t know, son. Just get control of your temper. We have more important things to be concerned about right now.”

Drake changed the subject and addressed his daughter. “Marcie, you weren’t part of any of this deceitfulness, were you?”

“Daddy, it isn’t deceitfulness. It’s just how business gets done.”

“Were you part of this or not, young lady?”

“Daddy, I don’t really deal with selling to the clients or the other farm owners, but what Greg does isn’t wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This article sure makes you two look like common criminals,” Deirdre said.

Greg was on the defensive. “They didn’t explain why we did what we did. And they certainly left out the part where everyone is happy – in fact, thrilled, with their horses and the money they make - and the parties, and the ego of having the caliber of horses the farm sells and breeds for them. The article didn’t point out any of that!”

“I have another question for you Greg,” Drake said. “Is it true that you created these stallion syndications just to make an enormous profit? The article says that you buy a stallion for relatively little money, then you syndicate it and make millions at the taxpayers’ expense.”

Thomas defended their position. “I take exception to that. We are not greedy. Everyone’s been profiting. Not just us. We buy incredibly high quality stallions with exceptional pedigrees. We know how to package and market – is that a crime? I ask you – is that a God damn crime?”

Drake wondered exactly how involved Thomas was in the business since Greg was generally the one in the limelight. The article never mentioned Thomas in particular.

“Dad, calm down,” Patrick said. Then he turned to Greg and snapped, “Look what you’re doing to this family.”

“I’m not doing anything to anyone,” Greg said. He stormed out of the house without another word.

“I’ve got to go with him,” Marcie said apologetically.

“Listen,” Dolan suggested to Drake. “Why don’t I answer the rest of your questions and give the two of them time to adjust to this?”

“That’s fine. I just want to know what Greg’s really done and what in the article was not true,” Drake said.

After an hour of Dolan answering their questions, he finally said, “Let’s wrap it up for now. I need to spend the rest of the day coming up with a plan to defuse this. Digest what you now know for a couple of days, then feel free to call me with anything else you want to ask or discuss. I know they’re your kids, but please, leave Marcie and Greg alone about this. They have a lot of work ahead of them to clear this up.”

“I’m sure it was hard for them to face us. It’s always harder to face those that you love when you’ve done something wrong,” Deirdre said.

Fiona snapped back at her. “They didn’t do anything that harmed anyone. You heard them.”

Thomas intervened before the women could say anything they may later regret. “Fiona,” he said in a muffled voice, “let’s go home. They don’t understand our business.”

Drake overheard Thomas and said, “We may not have understood your business before, but we’re certainly enlightened now. I never would have given our daughter and Greg horses and money to expand the business if I knew what Greg was going to do.”

Thomas held back his gut instinct to defend his son. “We’re leaving,” he told Fiona.

“Drake and Deirdre can apologize when they’re ready.”

“That’ll be the day when hell freezes over,” Drake sneered.