Siroco Investments! Isn’t that interesting. I flashed on my little adventure last night.
3
“You know this guy?” Ed asked.
I studied the business card Ziv had handed to me. Richard Adams, President and CEO, Siroco Investments International Corporation, a much nicer version of the one I’d gotten from the two slugs last night, embossed, with quality, raised printing. “No, not him. I know the company… a little.” I took a photo of the card with my iPhone.
“You’ve dealt with them?”
“Sort of. It’s a short story. But I have a good feel for how they do business.”
“Can you help us?”
“Yes. And I’ll start this afternoon.” I opened my briefcase and took out a legal pad and a pen. “This is what I need to get started. My retainer is twenty-five thousand dollars, ten in cash and fifteen by check payable to ‘Sisyphus Corporation.’ Non-refundable. When the case is finished, and based on results, your bill will be somewhere between fifty thousand and one hundred thousand. If it’s more, we’ll talk. If you’re unhappy with me, I’ll work it out with you. Of course, that’s never happened. Have the retainer and everything delivered to me at the Biltmore, ASAP. I need root access to your internal server and all networks you link up to. I’ll need your passwords,” I added as I looked at Ziv. “I’ll work through your station, Ziv. That way, no one will be aware of what I’m doing. I’ll need access to all of your personnel records. They’re kept offline, right? Paper files?”
Ziv was staring at Ed, gaze burning into him. I was a stranger, asking for the keys to Ed’s kingdom, total access to his computers and online world… through Ziv’s computer! I’d be spooked too if I were Ziv.
Ed nodded. I handed Ziv my legal pad and pen.
“Write all of your passwords and root codes for me. Give me anything else I need to access everything. And I mean everything. Put down your cell number, Ziv. And keep it on. When I need you, I need to be able to get you.”
Ed nodded again to Ziv, who directed his attention to the pad and wrote. It looked more like Ziv was doing some kind of anger management exercise, twitching and grunting and stabbing the legal pad. I noticed that Ziv had not brought his cell phone into the meeting; it just caught my attention, for some reason.
As Ziv was writing and emoting, my cell phone vibrated. I took it out and saw it was Stephen, the director of the World Yoga Organization Yoga Center. I stood up. “I need to take this, I won’t be long. Excuse me.” I walked to the far end of Ed’s spacious office. “Stephen, what’s up?”
“Derek, the cops are here. Those two guys in the class last night that you put out—they were beaten up. They’re in the hospital. The cops want to know if we know anything.”
“Tell them exactly what happened. We asked them to leave, that’s it. Listen, I’m in a meeting here. I’ll call you back. I’m on my way to another meeting. I’ll call you from the car on the way, in a few minutes, just stand by.” I clicked off, Miami style.
“Everything okay?” Ed asked. He must have seen something on my face, because he had not heard what I’d said.
“Not a problem. It’s all good. And it will be for you too. I’ll have some answers for you tomorrow, two days at the most. Don’t take any more meetings with Mr. Adams, and have your guys be on high alert. Ziv, let me know if anything unusual gets your attention. And don’t feel weird about this, Ziv. It’s a new kind of business, and it needs a new kind of strategy. And the technology changes, like, every day. Once I get my feet planted in your world, I’ll know exactly what’s going on. And I’ll have some answers for you.”
We stood up in unison. Ed was relieved; I could see it on his face. Ziv was unhappy: it was on his face and in his body language, which looked like he was getting a rectal exam.
Ziv handed me my pad with his information. I checked the sheet to see whether it was enough. It was, and it was printed clearly on the paper in spite of Ziv’s anger acting out. Modern IT guys have forgotten how to write on paper, kind of like doctors.
I glanced at my watch: it was noon. Lunch was waiting. Ed shook my hand to seal the deal, while Ziv backed up a couple of steps to fume.
“Ziv… I’ll take the pen.”
He reached in his pocket and handed it to me. A Montblanc!
Ed walked me to the lobby while Ziv bolted for his office like a racehorse on fire. It must be a drastic experience when your boss has to call in an expert to fix a problem that you are responsible for. I was a little sorry for him. I would work with Ziv to make him feel better about me. I needed him to be on board… unless, of course, he was playing for a different team.
Ed and I exited the building through the front doors, both of us checking our physical situation.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this, Ed. I’ve had experience with this sort of thing. Don’t worry.”
“I am worried. I can’t fight someone if I can’t see them, if I can’t find them. Back home, we always knew who the bad guys were. They carried Kalashnikovs and smelled like the zoo. This…”
“I’ve got it. You’ll see.”
We shook hands again. Ed pulled me in to him, bro to bro. He was rigid. People still used Old Spice?
I got in the car, cranked up the engine, and dialed Lauren. “I’m late, sorry.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I’m here.”
“I’m leaving Coral Gables; the meeting ran a little long. I should be there in ten. Please wait.”
“Time is important, babe. I’m here.”
“Thanks, on my way.” She clicked off, Miami style. “Goodbye” seemed to be a protocol they did not practice here in Miami.
Then I dialed Stephen.
“Derek,” he answered.
“Hi. What’s the status?”
“They just left. Two detectives. I have their cards. One of those guys from last night is in a coma. Do you know anything about this?”
“Not on the phone. We can talk after class. Incidentally, how many registered for tonight?”
“Forty-one. I think you’re a hit.”
“Good. Okay, thanks. I’ll be there early. See you then. Wait… Stephen… nothing to anybody about last night.”
“Okay, see you.”
I clicked off, Miami style.
* * *
I parked in front of the Capital Grille and grabbed my briefcase. A valet opened my door, another young kid, with long blond hair and wearing a company shirt with the restaurant logo on the shirt pocket. I gave him a twenty.
I checked my watch as I took the car receipt. It was twelve-fifteen. That was my personal time limit on waiting for people, fifteen minutes, then I was out of wherever I was waiting. Late was not a good way to start something.
There was a maître d’ station just across from the doors. Fortunately, there was no line of hungry people waiting to be seated. I gave my name to the woman standing there and told her I was late and that my guest was waiting. She was what you’d expect at a nice restaurant, professionally dressed, with a disposition like a school teacher with some small amount of charm thrown in.
“Follow me, please.”
The restaurant was about half full. Mostly guys in suits and ties. Some tourists in flower shirts—the Miami cruise port was just down the street. I could see the tagline in the brochure: Have a delicious lunch at an upscale restaurant in the exotic South Beach area of Miami.
She led me to the back. I saw Lauren sitting in a window booth. She looked good! She watched me approach with a controlled smile.
“Sorry. I hate lateness. Forgive me?”
“You’ll pay for this.”
“Okay,” I accepted.
“Not sure how yet; let me think on that.” She laughed at her own humor.
Her eye contact was spectacular. She had blue eyes and blonde hair framing her face, unlike her ponytail last night, and some damn nice gold ea
rring loops. She exuded a sophistication that was deadly effective.
“You know this is a major faux pas.“ She paused a few beats for dramatic effect, which worked. I wasn’t sure what to say; I just stood there for a moment. Then she broke the effect, “But I’m glad you called me. Let’s eat; I’m starved.” She scooted further into the booth so I could get all the way in, with my briefcase close to me.
“Me too,” I responded when I was safely in place. “I’m hungry too.”
Her perfume was Chanel. I recognized it but was not sure which one. She was a powerful package. Something was definitely stirring.
“That Scorpion you demonstrated… I’d like to do that. Such a dynamic pose,” she said after we had ordered. She’d chosen the chicken cordon bleu with seasonal vegetables sauté; I went for the same. We’d have house salads to start. Iced tea for both. I was pleased she hadn’t ordered a cocktail.
“You can do that,” I encouraged, referring to Vrishchikasana, one of the most gymnastic poses in a yoga class, which consisted of standing straight up on your elbows and forearms. “You have good energy, balance, strength; it’s just a question of practice and intention.” I didn’t mention that she also had a world-class body to go with those other attributes. “How long have you been doing yoga?”
“Three years,” she said, looking down at the table. “When my marriage was failing, I needed something to help me get through. Cathy took me to the yoga center. That first night, I loved it.”
“Cathy?”
“One of my friends from last night. With the red hair. We’ve been friends forever.”
“Right. Will you be there tonight?”
“No, sorry, we have an office meeting tonight. Once a month. They generally go for two hours, sometimes more. Some weird stuff has happened lately. I’m sure we’ll be there for a while.”
“What kind of weird stuff?”
“Well, one thing, Cathy had a really weird meeting. She works with me on business development. She went out to see some developer of a big planned unit development out near Miami Lakes. Three hundred houses, million-dollar-plus houses on acre lots. Kind of a big deal. The guy she met with threatened her. Told her we needed to agree to the construction loan plus built-in financing for the buyers for the units. We don’t ever do that—it’s one or the other, too much exposure with both ends. And he wanted prime plus one. We never do that! Like some kind of gangster.” She paused to attack her salad. She took big bites in a hearty-woman kind of way. I liked that, the heartiness of it; she ate with gusto.
“What kind of threat?”
“Well, first he said ‘You better figure out a way to do it.’ How lame is that?”
“Depends on the nature of the threat.”
“Cathy’s not meek; she’s a strong woman. She said, ‘Or else what?’ The guy got up in her face and said she would not be safe, that it’s a dangerous city. Sounds like something out of a 1950s movie. Not normal. We can’t let this happen to our people. She told me when she got back to the office, and I reported it to our manager. That will be one of the main items tonight.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“I don’t remember his name. Some new company; nobody knows them.”
I wanted to hear more, but just then, the main course arrived, two waiters holding our plates with fluffy towels because the plates were hot. Our meals looked and smelled delicious. We both attacked. She ate European style again, keeping a utensil in each hand, while I cut, then put down the knife, then switched the fork to the right hand, then ate a bite, then… Whew! But I was interested in this problem she was having.
“What’s the name of the development, the one this guy wants financing for?”
“Glade Preserves. They still have to get it permitted… Way too early for a loan commitment.”
We chatted and ate nonstop, with not one second of dead time. She was interested in yoga. She had a good job, which she enjoyed, and made good money. She had married her college lover, a pitcher on the Gators baseball team, but it had ended after five years. He’d never developed himself, she lamented, but she sure had. When he got drunk one night and hit her, she left the next day. That was three years ago. She was not seeing anybody currently… How I get so lucky sometimes, I have no idea.
“You want to have a drink later?” She looked me right in the eyes with a piercing inner strength which made me want to get under the table. We were sipping coffee and enjoying perfect crèmes brûlées.
“Don’t you have a meeting tonight?” I managed to say.
“It won’t last all night. After class, Skippy… This is Miami, the city that never sleeps. Ya know?”
“Hm… ah… I have some work I need to do tonight. Can I take a rain check, like for tomorrow?”
What I really wanted to do was take her back to my hotel right then. But it was discipline that kept me successful. Time to show some. The Sabra matter required attention—tonight.
“Yeah, sure, maybe tomorrow… if your work doesn’t get in the way! Whew! What kind of work? I thought you were a yoga teacher.”
“Well, yoga is my main thing. But I also do computer security stuff. I like that too.” I opened my briefcase and got out my business card. “That’s my cell number. I’m at the Biltmore this week. Tomorrow sounds good.”
“Okay… multi-talented Derek!” She laughed. She was having fun, while I was left stirring. Down, boy!
She glanced at her watch. It was one-thirty. “I need to get back to the office. Call me when you’re free, multi-talented Derek!”
“Can I give you a ride back to your office?”
“No thanks, my car is here.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “Call me; don’t be bashful.”
I was impressed by the forwardness. She was something special. There was an electricity between us.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get free.” It was lame compared to her confident eloquence.
“If that’s a promise, you’d better keep it.”
“I will. I’m going to stay here for a few minutes, make some calls.”
“In that case, you can handle the check.”
She got out of the booth on the opposite side and patted me on the head, puppy-dog style, as she walked by. It was cute. I watched her walk away toward the door—her body moved effortlessly, gracefully reflecting the nurturing she gave it through yoga and whatever else she did to maintain perfect health… Body, mind and spirit in what looked to be a perfect package.
I thought, What is wrong with me?
* * *
I called Marty for my apartment property meeting.
“Hey, Marty, you free?”
“Sure. At the building?”
“Yeah. I can be there in fifteen. That work for you?”
“I’m there now.” That he was already at the building just confirmed that I had chosen the highest-level agent in Florida.
“Okay, on my way,” I said and clicked off.
I checked in with Stephen at the yoga center. Nothing new since we’d spoken earlier.
I checked in with my assistant back in Palo Alto, Linda Vargas. I told her I needed her to start a deep dive on Siroco Investments International Corporation and Richard Adams, the president. I told her to start immediately and give me something to work on this evening. “Go big, and go as deep as possible,” I emphasized. I also gave her the information that Ziv had given me on the Sabra internal system, and the cell phone numbers of Ziv and Ed, and told her to do the usual on those too. She was a standout on the technology side, and she was the backbone of my business. I appreciated her with a salary of two hundred and fifty thousand a year, and some bonus perks when she did really well. I also had a few associates around the country I called in on an as-needed basis, people with unique skills.
I placed two Benjamins with the check and left. My car was waiting at the door,
its delivery having been nicely coordinated from within. I gave the young dude another twenty, got in the Porsche, and readjusted everything. You know, German engineering that never sleeps.
* * *
The apartment building I owned was a few miles away, located on one of the most verdant streets in Coral Gables. It was all big residential homes on that street except for my building. It was one of the first real estate properties I ever purchased. I bought it in 2009, just after the corrupt bankers had sucked all the cash out of the economy, and when so many owners were hemorrhaging. I bought it out of bankruptcy for two million, put three million into refurbishing—and it was worth fifteen million the day it opened for business, based on its rental income and net cash flow. Forty units, all two- and three-bedrooms. Never one day of vacancy.
I found Marty Collier around the same time I acquired the property. He might be the finest property manager in all of Florida. He had a Coldwell Banker franchise with I-don’t-know-how-many agents, between one hundred to two hundred depending on the season. He’s my guy. When he quits or retires or whatever, I will convert the building to condos and make a small fortune. It’s prime Florida real estate.
Marty was waiting for me in the manager’s office when I arrived. Marty was wiry and had quick eyes, and was high energy, which had served him well—and me too. He had all the accounts ready for me in a neat package.
I asked him to summarize the situation, which he did: “There are no problems. Everything is good. Your ROI is twenty-seven percent this year.” That was good enough for me.
He showed me one of the units, where the old tenant had died and which was being refurbished for the new tenant. There was a waiting list for the building—new tenants were never a problem. We went back to the manager’s office. The on-site manager was out doing something, so I did not get to meet him. If Marty had hired him, that was good enough for me.
I wanted to tap Marty for some local information. “What do you know about Glade Preserves?”
He went up into his mind for a moment. “I heard about it—something, not much. Somewhere up in the northeast, near the swamps—excuse me, that would be exotic Everglades to the suckers. It’s inland. It’s vacant land nobody wants and has no allure. Some new company is behind it. Why do you ask?”
Downward Dog in Miami Page 3