Chasing the Wind

by Pamela Binnings Ewen

  Bingham grinned. He felt that connection again with the magic of this city.

  The suites were ready when they checked in at the Roosevelt. As Bingham and Robert followed the white-gloved assistant manager down the hallway to the elevators, the left side of Bingham's brain sorted through the curves and swirls of the elaborate décor: The long, narrow lobby. Vaulted ceilings trimmed with red and green Italian tile work. The enormous glittering chandeliers lined up from one end of the block-long hallway to the other. The gilded chairs and tables grouped outside the fountain court, the Sazerac Bar, and the Blue Room.

  But the right side of Bingham's brain remained focused on the task ahead. So far, so good. Robert would make some calls, assemble the team, set a meeting with the lawyers. Bingham smiled to himself as they crowded into the small elevator with the bellman. With one last glance at the glittering lobby as the doors slid closed, he decided that he'd chosen well.

  Chapter Two

  Amalise looked up and smiled as Rebecca Downer swept into her office. Rebecca came toward her, swooping her thick red hair up from her neck, looping and twisting it and then, with another twist, anchoring it with a pencil. Closing the file she'd been reading, Amalise rose. Rebecca stretched out her arms, grinning, and they met halfway around the desk in a hug.

  "It's been so long. When Jude said you'd be here today, I didn't believe him."

  "Three months."

  "I wish I could have gotten out to Marianus to see you, Amalise. But you know how things are around here." Rebecca held her at arm's length, inspecting her.

  "Sure. I got your flowers and cards. All of them."

  Rebecca slipped her fingers through Amalise's hair, held it out to the side, and let it drop. Then she took one step back, looked her up and down, and shook her head. "We have work to do, friend. You need a good haircut. Looks like you've been lying in bed for three months."

  "Well, I practically have." Amalise lifted a hand and smoothed the short, straight hair, still smiling as she sat back down. Rebecca took the chair just in front of her desk, the only other chair in the room. Associates' offices were small. She saw Rebecca's eyes flick to the picture of Jude beside the telephone.

  Without turning, Amalise said, "I've always liked that picture."

  "Jude cannot take a bad photo."

  Amalise dropped her eyes. She picked up the file she'd been reading and held it up for Rebecca to see. "I just got this from Raymond. A new one: Project Black Diamond. Looks like an interesting deal. Are you on it?" She tilted her head and arched her brows as she spoke. "I hope we're working together again. "

  But a fleeting look of disappointment crossed Rebecca's face as she reached for the file, and Amalise slid it over to her. Rebecca picked it up, glanced at the label, and began flipping through the pages. When she looked up, her expression was inscrutable.

  Amalise sat back, a little unsettled. She flipped a pencil from hand to hand wondering what Rebecca was thinking. "It's Doug Bastion's transaction. First Merchant Bank—"

  "I know." Rebecca closed the folder and handed it back. "The whole firm's talking about this one. It's a financing. A resort hotel, I've heard." She pushed back her chair and rose. "But that's just through the grapevine. Everyone's being very secretive."

  Amalise blinked, looking up. "Then you're not on it?" They'd always worked together on transactions.

  Rebecca hiked one shoulder. "It seems not. Looks like you got the baby."

  Amalise grimaced. One of those tiny plastic baby dolls that bakers insisted on hiding in Mardi Gras King Cakes as a prize had gotten stuck in her throat once. Mama had pulled it out, but she'd had a sore throat for days.

  Amalise shook her head. "I'm disappointed. I was hoping . . ."

  Rebecca folded her arms. "We're not the baby lawyers anymore, Amalise. Our time's more valuable now. Three new associates started in September while you were gone." She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk, lowering her voice. "And one of them's a woman."

  Amalise's eyes widened. "That's great!"

  Rebecca sat back again, raised her hands and yanked the pencil from her hair, letting the curls fall loose around her shoulders. A worm of envy crawled through Amalise at that moment, thinking again of Jude.

  "Her name's Sydney Martin. " Rebecca tipped back her head and shook out her hair. "You'll like her. Let's take her to lunch one day soon."

  "Yes, let's do that."

  But when their eyes met, she saw something in Rebecca's that told her other things had changed while she was gone, too. Friends or not, they'd suddenly become competitors for the best work in the firm. Eventually, perhaps, for a partnership.

  And, it suddenly occurred to her—maybe even for Jude.

  Rebecca smiled, rose, and flicked her hand in the air as she turned toward the door. "This is good for you, this transaction. You'll show everyone you've bounced back, just like we knew you would."

  "Thanks."

  As she reached the door, Rebecca turned. Leaning back into the office with one hand on the door and one foot poised for flight, she looked at Amalise. "That deal's moving fast, though, I'll warn you. They're planning to close Thanksgiving week. Are you up to that? Jude's worried you've come back too soon."

  Amalise straightened, stretched her arms down the arms of the chair and smiled. "Sure I am," she said firmly.

  Rebecca nodded. "Well let me know if you need help. I'm working on a transaction that's stalled right now. Things are slow."

  Amalise smiled and nodded. "I'll call you if an opportunity comes up."

  Rebecca held herself erect as she strode down the hallway from Amalise's office, arms swinging by her side. With a smile for Ashley Elizabeth, Amalise's secretary, she focused on the middle distance, a signal to the world that she was deep in thought and not to be disturbed. She turned the corner at the end of the hallway and, three doors down, entered her own office.

  There, she closed the door softly and leaned back against it, squeezing her eyes shut. She had hoped for the Black Diamond assignment from the moment she'd heard that the firm had been hired to represent the lending group, the syndicate. But Raymond had mentioned earlier, casually, as if it were nothing important, that Amalise had been chosen instead. She didn't really know what she'd thought she might accomplish by voicing her desire to work on the transaction with Amalise, but she just had to work on this deal!

  She opened her eyes and with a shudder, pushed off the door. Frowning, she crossed the room and dropped into her chair. How had it happened that Doug Bastion had picked Amalise right out of her sickbed for this project? This was the plum. The prize. Project Black Diamond was the biggest piece of work the firm had won in a year, a definite showcase piece for a young associate.

  Rebecca dropped her face into her hands. She was the one who'd worked nights, weekends, and holidays all through the hot summer months while Amalise was home recuperating. She hadn't complained when Jude had spent his time off from Pilottown eighty miles away in Marianus. She glanced at the photograph of Jude that she kept on her desk. Yes, she understood, given the circumstances of the accident. And, of course, Amalise was his childhood friend. Amalise had introduced the two of them.

  Still . . .

  Rebecca felt a flush of guilt thinking of her friend this way. She stiffened, chastising herself. But then again, she was the one who'd spent days doing due diligence in that steaming warehouse in Atlanta in the middle of August because Raymond had wanted to go on vacation. And she was the one who sent flowers to Preston's wife when he'd announced last month that twins were on the way.

  And, really, Amalise didn't have Rebecca's presence, her style. She opened the drawer where she kept her purse and pulled out a mirror. Holding it up, she stared at her reflection. She'd seen Doug watching her in the conference room last week. Not that he'd ever acknowledge an attraction. Smiling to hersel
f, she touched each corner of her lips. She pushed back a strand of hair and thought, not for the first time, that her skin looked flawless even under the ubiquitous fluorescent lights.

  With a prick of conscience, she stuck the mirror back in the drawer and slammed it shut. Amalise was still her friend. She pressed the button for her secretary's desk. Perhaps there were messages waiting. Maybe one of them would be from Doug Bastion, asking her to work with the team on Black Diamond. They could be the Silver Girls again. They could work on the project together.

  "No messages," her secretary said.

  The phone on the credenza behind Amalise buzzed as Rebecca disappeared. Amalise swiveled and pressed the red blinking button connecting her phone to Ashley Elizabeth's desk, hoping this was the call she'd been waiting for.

  "Doug Bastion wants to see you in his office right away."

  "Thanks." Amalise grinned. She gathered up the file and a clean yellow legal pad to write on. Someone rapped on the door double time.

  Raymond was standing in the hallway, arms braced between the door frames. "Hey. Welcome back. Doug wants us in his office tout suite. Preston's on his way."

  "Okay, okay." Amalise shoved back her chair and stood. Smoothing her jacket and skirt, she raked her fingers through her hair, and grabbed the file, the legal pad, and two sharpened pencils. "I haven't had time to read anything. What's this one about?" she asked, hurrying to keep up with Raymond's long stride.

  "Don't know the details yet. Something about a hotel or a resort." Rounding the corner, they passed the long row of secretaries' desks just outside the lawyers' offices.

  The elevator took them two floors up to eighteen, where the senior partners had offices and the conference rooms were located. As they entered Doug's office, he rose and came around from behind the antique desk, holding his arms wide. "Amalise! Good to have you back." He took her hands in his and studied her face, assessing his investment. "You're all right, then."

  She nodded, with an enthusiastic smile. "Ready to get to work."

  Releasing her, Doug rubbed his hands together and motioned toward a large round table in a corner near the wall of windows. "Wonderful! Fine, that's fine. We'll sit over here."

  Amalise took a seat while gazing out at the vista she loved, the power view. As in the main conference room, Doug's office looked over the business district, Canal Street, the French Quarter, and to the far right, a portion of the river. From here she could see where the Mississippi began to curve around the Quarter near the old Jax Brewery. She smiled to herself, remembering the small apartment she'd lived in during law school, only a few blocks from there, off Jackson Square.

  Preston strolled into the room, tapped Amalise on the shoulder, and said, "Welcome back," as he pulled out a chair and sat.

  When they were all settled, Doug took a chair with the sun to his back, crossed his arms, stretched his legs out before him, and looked around. "Ever heard of Bingham Murdoch?" No one had. "You'll meet him soon." A mysterious smile crossed his face. "He's a character. A player. Got big plans for this city, and we're going to make them happen. We represent the bank lenders, a syndicate led by First Merchant Bank. The borrower is a Delaware corporation, Lone Ranger, Incorporated, wholly owned at the present time by Bingham Murdoch." He looked at Preston. "Morgan Klemp brought the deal to First Merchant through Tom Hannigan. Murdoch is Tom's contact. You know Tom, Preston."

  Preston nodded. "I've worked with him before."

  Doug flipped the gold Cross pen he held and caught it in the palm of his hand. "Initially, we're financing a construction project—a resort hotel, thirty-three stories. And later on," he shrugged, "when the time's right, maybe more. Our clients, the senior lenders, are committing four million under a one-year bridge loan and three million revolving-credit working capital for three years." He looked around. No one spoke, and he went on.

  "Actual purchase of the properties and construction will be financed by twenty million in fifteen-year convertible notes. The borrower is Lone Ranger. The notes are subordinated to the syndicate's senior debt, of course, but will be guaranteed by Lone Ranger's Cayman Island subsidiary."

  He gave Preston a look. "Murdoch's in charge of the companies until the closing. At the closing, he resigns and Robert Black from Morgan Klemp takes over. Murdoch earns a good-sized placement fee, I presume. Tom Hannigan and Robert Black have put together a group of investors for the subordinated notes, and they're putting in their own money too."

  Preston scribbled something on his notepad.

  "Tom Hannigan's team will handle the investors' documents, although we'll assure they're consistent with our bank syndicate agreements. Raymond," he pointed his pen at Raymond, "stay on top of their placement memorandum when they draft it."

  Raymond nodded.

  Amalise listened, elated. Representing the financing of a major new hotel in the city right now was job security for an associate. With the economy waffling and investors walking a tightrope after the summer slowdown, the firm would go all out for this one. Oil prices were still jacked up, and unemployment hovered around seven percent, so this was a coup for Mangen & Morris.

  "Preston, get someone on the environmental work right away," Doug continued. "I understand Murdoch's contractor is handling permits, so coordinate with him as well." He looked around. "And whatever plans any of you have for the next six weeks, including Thanksgiving, cancel them." Doug gave Amalise a quick glance. She nodded, setting aside thoughts of Mama's certain reaction back home in Marianus.

  Doug leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. "All right, now. Bingham Murdoch is somewhat of a mystery. Like I said, he's Tom's friend, Morgan Klemp's contact. Low key, shuns publicity. Tom says he's a silent investor behind some major developments in the Florida Keys, California, and Atlanta." He paused for an instant and leaned back. "There's some talk casino gambling's on the way down here. This hotel would be the perfect fit."

  Raymond rolled his eyes. "Legalized gambling won't be permitted in Louisiana."

  Preston hunched forward. "Look around you, Raymond. Been out to the track lately? You can hardly find a seat in the stands. And the state needs the revenues. It's inevitable."

  "We're getting ahead of ourselves." Doug gave Raymond and Preston a look. "What happens with the hotel in the future isn't our concern. Not yet. So keep the speculation to yourselves. Frank Earl Blanton at First Merchant got the pitch exclusively, and he's impressed with Morgan Klemp's presentation as it stands. He doesn't want to bring up the subject of a casino just yet." His eyes swept the table. "This project is highly confidential. Soon as we close, Lone Ranger will begin purchasing business and residential property in the target area under agents' names. If word gets out, it could inflate prices, slow down negotiations."

  He looked about and everyone nodded.

  "So." Doug straightened in the chair and shot his sleeves. "We have to be circumspect, move fast. Make this happen."

  Preston clasped his hands on the table and studied them. "What's our target date for closing?"

  Doug's brows flattened. "Murdoch insists on the last business day before Thanksgiving. He's got something else going after that, Tom says." He flipped open a leather calendar and studied it. Stabbed his finger on a date, thought about it a minute, then looked up. "That's six weeks away. November twenty-third." His voice hardened as he pushed the calendar aside. "The firm has given assurances that we can meet that schedule." Leaning back, he spread his arms over the back of his chair and looked around. "Any questions?"

  "What's the location?"

  There was a split-second hesitation before Doug answered. His tone held a touch of defiance. "It's a portion of the Marigny District, between Esplanade, Royal, and Elysian Fields."

  Amalise stopped writing and looked up. She couldn't have heard right.

  The room had fallen silent. The Faubourg Marigny was a pie
ce of history, the first area settled in New Orleans back in the early 1800s. Almost an extension of the French Quarter, the area was colorful, eclectic, though run down in parts, one had to admit. The portion of the district that Doug described was a triangle of small businesses and wooden cottages, old architecture, the kind of neighborhood beloved by the city. Besides homes, there were funky shops, blues bars, sidewalk cafes, a park, and several good restaurants in that corner of the Marigny.

  Amalise tried to hide her distress. She couldn't imagine the place being demolished to build a gaudy hotel that would loom over the French Quarter.

  "You'll recall, of course, that this is confidential information." Doug's voice was firm.

  Raymond pushed out his bottom lip. He tapped a pencil on his notepad. "Ah, isn't the Marigny designated historical in the National Register?

  It should be, Amalise thought.

  "No. And the project permits are set. That's under control. It's not a concern at this point."

  Raymond looked down and began writing, and Amalise took a deep breath.

  Doug stood, adjusting his tie. "Let me remind you all. There's a lot riding on this for the firm. And for us." He leaned over and braced himself, hands flat on the conference table. "Any more questions?" The question was a dare.

  No one spoke.

  "Good then. That's all." Doug straightened, shot his cuffs, and strode across the room toward his desk. "Preston." He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and waved it in the direction of the table. "Here are the parameters of the financing, the deal points. We'll meet with Frank Earl Blanton from First Merchant Bank at one, and after that, I'll need you to draft a term sheet."