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“The contracts for the new building are available for your review. The property owners increased their demands and want thirty percent down payment for the sale.”
“Twenty percent is standard.”
“In residential purchases. Commercial is fifteen to thirty-five of the fair market value. Twenty was a courtesy. Thirty is a compromise.”
“If I have to produce thirty percent, that ten percent will come out of the donation to the actual building.”
“You didn’t earmark it as a donation, Mr. Shapiro. This isn’t a donation to serve as a tax write off. Only one million eighty thousand dollars can be written off for a property put in service for that tax year. If you try to stretch this over two, you won’t be able to claim it that way either. It’s not considered in service while under construction. I’m not a tax attorney, so I can’t give you specific advice beyond that.”
“Then maybe you’re wrong.”
“I am not.”
My tone is decisive, but it’s bordering on defiant. I need to rein in my temper. Arrogant son of a bitch piece of shit.
“Michelle, the ten percent still has to come out of something. I suppose it’ll have to come out of my cash donations.”
That’s going to rip a massive hole in the organization’s budget. He can afford it without batting an eyelash. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s punishing me.
“Then you will lose your position as the chief benefactor. You will not be in the ribbon cutting, and your name won’t be on the plaque in the entrance.”
That’s why he’s really donating. He wants the publicity, and he wants to be immortalized on some brass rectangle no one’s going to bother reading. He doesn’t give a shit about the charity. When I continue, I know I’m pissing him off even more.
“If you are no longer the chief benefactor, my client will name the building after the person who is.”
“Who?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that at this time. That is a separate contract negotiation.”
“This is my project.”
“And it will remain that way as long as you continue to contribute the most. I clearly outlined the limitations of your influence and control in the contract you signed. You had your lawyer review it, even redline it. Once I adjusted it to accommodatesomeof his requests, you signed.”
He’s fuming. He keeps glancing at Kelsey and Murphy, who alternate between watching him and taking notes. If they weren’t there, he’d be spewing vile shit at me. He’d probably throttle me.
“Michelle, would you really derail this project because I rejected you?”
“You have a poor memory, Mr. Shapiro. I believe my boyfriend, Mr. Mancinelli, had to intervene. I guarantee his memory is far better than yours. Now let’s review this construction contract, knowing you will pay the thirty percent down payment. If you’re going to refuse, we’re done for today. I’ll be calling another investor to take your place.”
“Give it to me.”
I feel like holding it back and saying “please,” like you would with a child who’s forgotten their manners. I slide it across the table to him. I could lean forward and hand it to him, but I’m not giving an inch to meet him. I watch him skim it before he slides it back to me.
“No.”
“Such a pity. Have a good day, Mr. Shapiro. I have someone else to speak to now. I won’t slow the project, so I will move on to the other investor.”
I have no fucking other investor. My firm’s fucking senior managing partner refused to consider it. She said it would be an insult to Simon and a show of bad faith. She fucked us and our client.
I stand and step around my chair as I gather the papers. I turn away from him and return to my desk. I hear him stand, muttering something I can’t understand.
“Leave. I’d like to speak to Michelle alone.”
“Mr. Shapiro, my paralegals work for me. You do not command them. They remain since we have more work to do. Good day.”
“Michelle, you’re being—”
My cell phone buzzes on my desk, and thank heaven for small mercies. I answer it.
