Brand should have just cut his losses while he was ahead, but he pressed onward, curious to see Zach’s response. “And the reporter you just hired?”
“On a sailing trip with his boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
“I’m doing fine, thank you.” Zach walked over to the desk and straightened the papers so they were in one nearly neat pile.
“I’m sure you are.” Brand smiled, but he didn’t move.
“I told you, Mister….”
“Josephson. Brand Josephson.” Brand brushed away his disappointment that Zach didn’t remember his name.
“Sounds like a shoe manufacturer,” Zach said under his breath. “I told you, Mr. Josephson, I filled the open position. I realize it’s still showing up online, but—”
“But your admin isn’t around to take down the ad.”
Zach sat heavily in the chair.
“How about coffee?” Brand asked.
“With you?”
“With me.”
“I’m busy.” Zach stared at the ceiling.
“Got it.” Brand wasn’t giving up that easily.
“So why aren’t you leaving?”
Brand shrugged. “Everyone needs coffee.”
Zach let out a long sigh. “Brandon—Brand, I really am bus—”
“Fifteen minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Coffee’s on me.” Brand did his best to pout.
Zach laughed and shook his head. “You don’t do pathetic very well.”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Fine.” Zach got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair.
“Thank you.”
“That isn’t going to change my mind about hiring you, you know.”
“I didn’t expect it would.” Brand grinned.
“What do you know about newspapers?” Zach said as they descended the steps and walked out onto Market Street a few minutes later.
“Not much,” Brand admitted. “I enjoyed the article, though. The one about local hospitals packing it up and leaving.” He’d read it the morning after the award ceremony. It was even better than he’d expected. Sharp. Tightly written. Difficult to put down. Lots of heart.
“Flattery won’t get you a job,” Zach parried.
“Nope,” Brand said. “It probably won’t.” But it might get him a date.
Chapter Three
ZACH GLANCED out the window. He couldn’t decide if it was easy or difficult to focus on Brand. Why the hell was someone so obviously charismatic looking for a job in print media? With his good looks and poise, Brand Josephson was perfect fodder for broadcast TV. But Zach hadn’t been in the business for years. Maybe it was tougher than it had been when he’d gotten his first gig.
“How long’ve you been in town?” Zach asked after the waitress brought them their lattes.
“About a year. You?”
“Four years, give or take.”
Brand raised an eyebrow. “There’s a story behind that answer.”
Why had he set himself up like that? He knew better. “Could be.”
Brand seemed unfazed. “How many people work at the paper? When you’re fully staffed, I mean.”
“Three. Me, my admin, and a reporter.” Reed Barfield, who’d also come to Wilmington via New York City and decided to stay, had signed a contract for the beat reporter gig the week before. “Reporter’s on a sailing trip with his boyfriend, and Shirley’s out a few more weeks with the baby.”
“Sounds rough.”
“I’m handling it.” At least he had been. Now things were starting to pile up, and he’d barely had enough time to finish proofing one of the articles for next week’s edition.
“Sounds like a drag compared to broadcast TV. Why’d you leave?”
“Why does everyone ask the same question?” Zach shrugged. “Just wasn’t my thing.”
“Fair enough.” Brand didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t push the issue.
“How about you? How’d you end up here?” Not that Zach cared, but he was still a reporter. Asking questions came naturally.
“Me?” Brand shrugged. “Work.”
“Things fell apart? Is that why you’re looking now?”
“About that.” For the first time, Brand didn’t look Zach in the eyes. “I’m not exactly in the job market.”
Zach set his drink down so quickly, he nearly spilled it. “What?” How the hell had he misread the situation?
“That work I mentioned?” Brand ran a finger over the rim of his cup.
“Yes?”
“I’m still working there.”
“But you’re looking to leave.” Seemed like a good explanation.
“No. Not really.”
“What the…? You chat me up at the awards ceremony. You come around the paper like some lost puppy dog. And now you tell me you aren’t looking for a job?”
“I never really asked for a job.” Brand was damn cute when he grinned.
Zach scratched the back of his neck. Brand was right. He’d assumed Brand was looking, but Brand never said the words. The blinding smile interfered with Zach’s reporter’s instincts. “You didn’t say you weren’t looking,” he pointed out.
“That’s true.”
“Mind telling me why I’m sitting here with you having coffee, then?”
Brand offered him a tentative smile. “Because I’m good company?”
“How’s that explain anything?” He eyed Brand over his glasses and tapped his forefinger on the tabletop.
“Not very well?” Brand didn’t seem too concerned.
“What kind of work do you do, Brand?” That niggle at the back of Zach’s brain finally propelled him to ask the one question that might clear the entire situation up.
“I….” Brand took a slow breath, then seemed to rally. “I’m a reporter with WCBN.”
Perfect. Zach stood. “Thanks for the coffee.” The last thing he wanted was a wannabee anchor looking for a mentor.
“What?” Brand stood, blocking Zach’s way. “You’re leaving?”
“Brilliant observation. You must be good at your job.”
Brand’s lips parted and he looked… hurt?
Not possible. They always want something.
“Fine. I’m ready. Hit me with the spiel.”
“Spiel?” Brand frowned. “I’m not—”
“You know, the one where I tell you how I made it in TV? Or maybe you want me to put you in touch with someone higher up at BeaconCorp. Which is it? Both?” Zach braced himself. He’d been through this before. It didn’t matter if Brand seemed like a decent enough guy—he obviously wanted something.
Brand paled. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Suit yourself.” Zach forced a smile and made his way around Brand. “Thanks again for the coffee.”
Brand maneuvered his way between Zach and the door. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so bad at this.”
Zach eyed Brand over his glasses and waited.
Brand glanced briefly at the floor. “Have dinner with me?”
For a moment Zach just stared at Brand. How the hell had he not seen that one coming? He shifted on his feet and realized the question had not only taken him by surprise, it made him supremely uncomfortable. “Look,” he said in an attempt not to sound like a complete asshole, “you’re obviously a decent guy. Attractive too.”
“I hear a but coming.” Brand’s expression was unreadable, as if he’d been anticipating the brush-off.
“But I’m not in the market.” Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Four
BRAND YAWNED and rubbed his eyes before replaying his phone messages—twice—to be sure he’d written the numbers down correctly. So much for hoping a good sweat would help him focus on something other than Zach turning him down, or the possibility that Zach might reconsider.
He tapped his pen on the table and sipped his second cup of coffee. Most of the messages were from coworkers, including his director reminding him of a morning meeting. The last was from
a woman named Tessa Gordon who wanted the station to look into the collapse of her Wrightsville Beach home during Hurricane Florence.
“Oh, hello. My name is Tessa Gordon. I don’t know if this is the right number to leave a message about a story… I mean a possible story… I don’t know what you’d call it, but it’s about my house. My husband and I have—had—a place in the Summer Shoals neighborhood near Wrightsville Beach. We’re retired, and we went to my daughter Caroline’s house during the storm. When we got back—” She sobbed openly now. “—it was gone. All of it. And it wasn’t even a year old. It’s not right. I know the storm was terrible, but—”
The recording cut off, but she called back. “This is Tessa Gordon again. I’m sorry I went on so long. Please tell me you’ll look into what happened.” She left a callback number.
He’d gotten at least a dozen calls like this asking him to look into why it was taking so long to get power restored, how cell phone service was still spotty in some areas, and how the debris piles around town were starting to smell. With a storm like Florence, houses crumbled, trees toppled, and utilities took forever to repair the damage, even with state and local officials putting in overtime. Still, the story might make a good addition to his hurricane follow-up series.
He jotted Tessa Gordon’s name and number in his notebook, refilled his coffee, then pulled up a map of Wrightsville Beach and located Summer Shoals. Close to the ocean, the development featured a mix of midrange and upper-range housing starting at $600,000. Typical raised construction to allow for flooding. Lots of bells and whistles, including hurricane upgrades. From what Brand could tell, the development was fully built.
He’d give her a call once he finished a few more things, then head out to Wrightsville.
“What’s up with you?” Brand’s director, Kendra, peered into his office ten minutes later.
“Nothing.” He scrolled through the copy for the story about reuniting lost pets with their owners he was supposed to be working on.
She shook her head and tapped her watch. “We were supposed to meet twenty minutes ago. My office?”
“Shit. I forgot.” Ever since Zach turned him down for dinner, he’d been spinning his wheels.
“No kidding.” She smiled. “Hot new story?”
“Could be.” And then there was Zach. But he wasn’t going to tell her about him. Not yet, at least. “Home in Wrightsville demolished in the storm.”
“That’s news?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The hurricanes did a lot of damage, but we haven’t gotten a lot of reports of homes totally destroyed.” It might be a dud, but the story would give him something to keep his mind off Zach. “I’ll check it out this afternoon.”
“I’ll reschedule our weekly.” She tilted her head to one side and squinted at him. “You seem a little off. Need to talk?”
She knew him too well. “Maybe another time. Thanks.” Maybe he’d tell her over drinks at Craven’s Pub later in the week.
“Sure thing.” She smiled and added, “Let me know what you turn up on the home thing.”
“Will do.”
He turned back to his computer screen and reread the pet story a few more times before picking up the phone and dialing Tessa Gordon’s number. She answered right away.
“Ms. Gordon? This is Brand Josephson from WCBN. I’m returning your call.”
“Oh. Oh, Mr. Josephson, thank you so much,” she answered, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t sure… I mean, I didn’t know if…. Well, you’ve called me back. Thank you.”
He smiled. Even if there was probably nothing he could do to help, he understood how upset she must be. “It’s fine. Really. Happy to do it.”
“Are you going to investigate?”
“How about you tell me a little more about the situation. What makes you think there’s something more to what happened to your home?” he asked.
“John—that’s my husband—he says I’m crazy,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I mean, it was a terrible storm, and there were a lot of houses damaged. And insurance will cover most of the cost to rebuild, but— Oh, I’m going on again, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay. Let’s start from the beginning. You said the house was pretty new?”
“That’s right. They finished construction around Christmas last year. My husband and I retired from our jobs in Charlotte and moved to Carolina Beach. This was our dream home.”
Brand scribbled a few notes. “Who was the builder? Is it part of a bigger development?”
“Euclid Builders,” she replied. “They do larger developments, but this was on a plot of land we’d bought a few years back. I don’t know if they built any of the other homes at Summer Shoals.”
“Thanks. That’s helpful.” But not much go on either. “So tell me what happened during the storm—Hurricane Florence? Or was it Michael?”
“Florence.” She sniffled. “Excuse me. It’s just so hard to talk about it….”
“It’s okay. Take your time.”
“John and I went to my daughter’s during the storm. She lives in Greenville, so we figured that was safer.”
“Sure.” More than half the county had left in the face of Hurricane Florence.
“When we finally made it back, we expected there’d be some damage.” Her voice broke as she continued. “But… oh, I can still see it now… there was… nothing. Absolutely nothing except a pile of wood and siding and…. It was horrible.”
Now that surprised him. He figured she might have exaggerated in the message, since very few homes sustained that kind of catastrophic damage in Hurricane Florence. “Was there flooding in the area?”
“Flooding? No. It’s a few rows back from the beach.”
“What about other houses in the area?” he asked.
“The other houses were fine… at least mostly. A few lost shingles, and there were some where the siding blew off. Some water damage where windows leaked. That sort of thing.”
That bit of information was also unusual. Other houses in the same neighborhood took only a little bit of damage, and her house was completely destroyed? “And you said your builder—Euclid, was it?—didn’t build any of the other homes in the development?”
“That’s right. Best I know, we’re the only one they built.”
Probably a coincidence. He scribbled a note to remind himself to double-check about the builder. Most developments in the area were single-builder projects.
“I know the storm was terrible,” she said when he didn’t immediately respond. “But we paid extra to have the house built to withstand hurricanes.”
“You did?”
“Yes. The man who spoke to us from the builder—Van was his name, I think—he told us that it would be worth the extra money to upgrade the construction. He guaranteed us it would still be standing, even if most of the homes in our area were damaged or worse. We… we believed… we thought… it’s probably stupid, but we thought the extra money would keep the house safe.”
A reputable builder wouldn’t guarantee a reinforced home would make it through a hurricane. No one could be absolutely sure. Brand had looked into it himself when he’d first moved to North Carolina.
“How much extra did you pay for this upgrade?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe an extra fifty thousand dollars or so? I could look through the paperwork, if you’d like.”
“No problem. Can you email me copies of the paperwork you have from the builder? Contracts, any communications, letters, that sort of thing?” Brand asked.
“Yes, of course. Does that mean you’ll take the case—I mean look into it?”
“Ms. Gordon,” he said gently, “I’m not a detective. Even if I look into this for you, it won’t necessarily help you the way you might want it to.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “But it’s not right. It shouldn’t have happened. They promised me….” She blew her nose, and Brand pulled the receiver away from his ear.
“Have you called the builder about
the guarantee?” he asked.
“We tried, but the number’s been disconnected. The website’s still up, but I don’t think it’s been updated in a least a few months. We even sent them a letter, but it came back in the mail.”
Scammers didn’t tend to stick around. “I’d like to see the house,” he said. “When you have time, of course.”
“Any time. We’re staying at a hotel not too far from the house. I didn’t want to impose on my daughter.” She sniffled again.
“Can you meet me there this afternoon?”
“I… I have someone else who’s supposed to stop by this afternoon.” She hesitated. “But I’m sure that’s fine.”
“I can come tomorrow if it’s better for you.” Brand tapped his pen on the pad and waited.
“I…. No. It’ll be fine today. I don’t want to put this off any more.”
“Two sound good?” he asked.
“That would be wonderful. I can’t thank you enough.” She sighed. “I’ll get those papers to you as soon as I can.”
“Great. See you then.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” Brand hung up and glanced over his notes.
He typed Euclid Builders into the browser and scanned the search results, then clicked on the link that looked like the company’s webpage.
Euclid Builders. We’d like to welcome you home.
“Lovely.” Brand clicked on the Contact Us link and sent a quick email asking for more information. A minute later a bounce-back popped up. He’d expected it. He picked up the phone and called the number on the screen, but got a message that the number had been disconnected.
“Okay. Let’s see if we can figure out who you are.” He navigated to the North Carolina Secretary of State’s corporations search page and typed Euclid into the box. The company name popped up, as expected. Just because they were no longer operating didn’t mean there wasn’t a record.
The corporation had not only been dissolved, they were also suspended for failing to pay their taxes. The few documents available on the website didn’t reveal much. Euclid Builders had been incorporated two years before by an F. Donald Vezey. Brand googled Vezey and found a record for a Frank Donald Vezey that turned up an obituary three years before Vezey had supposedly filed the paperwork. One other name popped up in Euclid’s online file: Bradley Haynes of the Haynes Law Firm. Haynes appeared to be alive and well, but Brand doubted he’d be any more talkative than the dead guy.
Chasing the Story Page 2