His nostrils flare. “For me, the perception that my stamp of approval is akin to a Midas touch that makes heads of state who used to tip me without looking me in the eye want to rub shoulders with meiswinning. I know who I am. I also know what I look like. I’m not going to let people’s biases and shortsightedness define and limit me. Tell me how you plan to portray me.”
“You’re a modern-day Jay Gatsby but with the confidence of theAsantehenehimself, Mr. Palmer.”
He snorts but nods in approval “I like that. Very iconic imagery that almost everyone will understand. You’ll make it clear that my backstory isn’t fabricated. I know they like to speculate that I started with a leg up in life,” he says with a twinkle in his remarkably clear eyes.
“I will. But only if I can confirm that,” I advise him. “There’s very little public information about you before Jubilee Field was discovered. Is that also deliberate?”
“Yes. Who I was before I was rich is the least interesting part of my life. The man you see before you wasn’t created out of thin air, but that’s what I’ve worked very hard to make people believe. I’ve thrived in anonymity and plan to continue doing so even after you publish your story on me.”
He gives me a warning glance.
I nod. “As you know, for now, this story doesn’t have a home. I will pitch it but the conditions we agreed to will apply when I find a publisher for it. No pictures of you shall appear in any publication. No references to your height. No references to your age, your business dealings, or the composition of your family. This conversation is limited to your acquisition and ownership of the property and its history,” I recite the list of restrictions in the NDA I signed.
“Very good. Kwame was very protective of you in his negotiation with my team over the documents I asked you to sign as a condition of this meeting,” he says with a dry, humorless chuckle.
I flush. “I signed them all the time and didn’t have any issues.”
He shrugs. “I don’t really care how you feel about it as long as you abide by it. If you don’t, I’ll sue you for so much money that your grandchildren will be sending mine checks.” He delivers this threat with such alacrity that the menace in them takes a few seconds to resonate. And somewhere in the back of my head, I wonder if he’d feel that way if those grandchildren were his. I push that thought aside. No need to get ahead of myself.
“You don’t need to worry. I won’t print anything you’re not happy with. Even if it’s not explicitly listed in the NDA,” I add solemnly.
He purses his lips and folds his hands on his lap. “Said every journalist who was given an inch and used it to create a mile of lies. I’ll be convinced when I see the article that goes to print.”
I shift in my seat and have my first niggle of doubt about the wisdom of this. It’s not unheard for people to sit down willingly and then have “source remorse” that derails the whole story.
I don’t want to risk walking away with nothing after spending time here and pitching the story to prospective publications. “Mr. Palmer, if you’re so unhappy about this conversation, why are we having it? You certainly don’t need the publicity.”
“My son asked me to,” he says with a simple smile.
The simplicity of his answer warms me to him. I know he and Kwame have a complicated relationship but it’s clear he loves him.
He’s been my family’s boogeyman for too long and Kwame has told me too much about him for his subtle but potent charm offensive to make me forget that he’s a greedy, self-centered strategist.
“Is that truly the only reason?” I press.
“He hasn’t asked me for anything in twenty years.” He smiles wistfully. “Can you imagine how I feel? Being so rich and the son I did it all for doesn’t want anything to do with it. I’m sure you wouldn’t have turned your nose up at your parents wanting to pay to for college.” He looks at me expectantly and I realize it wasn’t a rhetorical question.
“No, I wouldn’t have. I mean, I didn’t. My parents paid for all of us to complete our bachelor’s. The rest was on us. I write Nelnet a check every month and I would be very happy to be putting that money into my savings.”
“See? Do you know Kwame had student loans until his mother passed away?”
I do know that, but something stops me from telling him so. The way our conversation landed on Kwame makes me distinctly uncomfortable. “I was very sorry to hear about the passing of your wife. Iunderstand that The Palms was her pet project. The only article I could find on her was from right after your purchase. She said it was love at first sight. Was it the same for you?”
He stares at me so intently for a full minute that I’m certain he’s not going to allow me to pivot.
“I don’t believe in things like that. I bought this property because it was the most expensive piece of real estate ever listed in the state of Virginia.”
“Yet the first thing you did was tear it down.”
“As it should have been centuries ago. This land was stolen from the people who first inhabited it. The first European colonists brought disease that wiped out the indigenous people and then used enslaved people to build grand homes with walls painted white to try and hide what they’d been and what they stood for. I tore down those ugly, tainted buildings and built on the only part of the property that hadn’t been inhabited.”
“Was this stretch of Great Falls Road appealing because of its moniker as the Gold Coast?”
He sneers. “No. Can you imagine calling this rocky stretch of wilderness the Gold Coast? Colonizers always have delusions of grandeur.” He smiles more to himself than me. “But it does add a sense of poetic justice that I own the largest house in a state where, if I’d been here at its establishment, I would have been chattel.”
“So was that why you tore down the original residence?”
“I tore it down because I could. My direct ancestors may not have toiled here. But their oppressors came to Ghana, tried to steal our land, and make second class citizens of us.”
