amounts to a whale of a lot of board footage per annum. People don't realize how many trees just fall over in a year. Not to mention the ones the feds and the guys from Olympia allow themselves to whack for some very flimsy reasons. Multiply that by the 55 years on that lease and…"
"Lotta cash," Art nodded. "So…I'm not up to speed on all of this, Tru. Jack, what are they clearing for the development?"
"For that matter," I broke in, "what the hell is the development?"
"Art!" Jack sputtered, "For God's sake! You didn't tell him?"
"Don’t know how much you or, more to the point, your partners wanted me to say," Art shrugged.
Jack looked at me and rolled his eyes.
"Lawyers," he smiled. "Can't shoot 'em. Okay, what we're looking at here is a small—relatively small, anyway—but very spendy resort aimed at the growing numbers of wealthy, younger people who don't go in for the wretched excess of places like Vegas, Tahoe, Reno, or Atlantic City. It's a getaway weekend place or extended-stay spot with a small casino—run and owned by the Colville tribe adjacent to the site. There's a hotel, amazing spa with massages, hot springs, mud baths, saunas, gyms, aerobics, nautilus, free-weights, the works. A five-star restaurant and five café/bistro operations, pools, Jacuzzis, tennis, racquetball, game rooms, theatres, a night club. You name it."
"Sounds good," I nodded.
"Gets better," Jack smiled. "The real attraction is a string of 22 lodges out in the forest areas, accessible only by ATVs, each one a minimum of 3,000 square feet, each with hot tub, flat screen TV, DSL hookups, workout room, Jacuzzi in the master bath, minimum of three bedrooms, on-site domestic help, including a chef, available in 15 of them, and all built without cutting a single tree. The hotel, all the cabins, the spa, all equipped with every filtration system and environmental safeguard we could find. We're even building a totally organic truck farm on site—run by the Colvilles, again—to grow herbs and exotic vegetables or fruits for the restaurants. There's even a small shopping center on-site, with some pretty heavy weight retail names attached. Not your Cartiers or Bloomingdale's but more Northwest kinds of stuff."
"It's an expensive project but I think the time is now and I think I can pay it off in about 10 years—if I can talk about it."
"And therein lies the fish odor we were discussing," Art said to me.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Now, I'm really confused. A development that cuts no trees, actually embraces environmentalist concerns, is aimed smack onto the crowd that normally fights these things to death. Here, the only beef they'd have, from the sound of it, is the exhaust from the ATVs."
"Which are all electric," Jack smiled.
"No beef," I shrugged. "So…what's the mystery?"
"My point exactly," Jack sighed.
We kicked the thing around for two hours, everyone but the law clerks offering theories, and came out of it with little more than a few semi-plausible notions.
We broke at 10:30 and Art took us back to his office, where we went through the contracts in fine detail.
The way it was written up, the partnership granted P.P.V., as major shareholder, rights to set schedules, assemble and hire contractors, and final veto power on costs, with the responsibility to negotiate and secure all permits, leases, licenses, and deeds.
Jack had final authority on design, layout, construction schedules, and marketing. The design, layout, and construction schedules were behind him. That left Jack with sales and marketing, which he was clearly itching to do.
"It's not like the complete loss of 100 mil would break me," Jack mused. "But it's 100 million dollars. I'm not so flippin' rich that I feel like being cavalier about that. I've gotten stinkin' by avoiding dumb investments and I'm not ready to be forced into stupidity now."
"Plus, y'know,
"Lotta cash," Art nodded. "So…I'm not up to speed on all of this, Tru. Jack, what are they clearing for the development?"
"For that matter," I broke in, "what the hell is the development?"
"Art!" Jack sputtered, "For God's sake! You didn't tell him?"
"Don’t know how much you or, more to the point, your partners wanted me to say," Art shrugged.
Jack looked at me and rolled his eyes.
"Lawyers," he smiled. "Can't shoot 'em. Okay, what we're looking at here is a small—relatively small, anyway—but very spendy resort aimed at the growing numbers of wealthy, younger people who don't go in for the wretched excess of places like Vegas, Tahoe, Reno, or Atlantic City. It's a getaway weekend place or extended-stay spot with a small casino—run and owned by the Colville tribe adjacent to the site. There's a hotel, amazing spa with massages, hot springs, mud baths, saunas, gyms, aerobics, nautilus, free-weights, the works. A five-star restaurant and five café/bistro operations, pools, Jacuzzis, tennis, racquetball, game rooms, theatres, a night club. You name it."
"Sounds good," I nodded.
"Gets better," Jack smiled. "The real attraction is a string of 22 lodges out in the forest areas, accessible only by ATVs, each one a minimum of 3,000 square feet, each with hot tub, flat screen TV, DSL hookups, workout room, Jacuzzi in the master bath, minimum of three bedrooms, on-site domestic help, including a chef, available in 15 of them, and all built without cutting a single tree. The hotel, all the cabins, the spa, all equipped with every filtration system and environmental safeguard we could find. We're even building a totally organic truck farm on site—run by the Colvilles, again—to grow herbs and exotic vegetables or fruits for the restaurants. There's even a small shopping center on-site, with some pretty heavy weight retail names attached. Not your Cartiers or Bloomingdale's but more Northwest kinds of stuff."
"It's an expensive project but I think the time is now and I think I can pay it off in about 10 years—if I can talk about it."
"And therein lies the fish odor we were discussing," Art said to me.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Now, I'm really confused. A development that cuts no trees, actually embraces environmentalist concerns, is aimed smack onto the crowd that normally fights these things to death. Here, the only beef they'd have, from the sound of it, is the exhaust from the ATVs."
"Which are all electric," Jack smiled.
"No beef," I shrugged. "So…what's the mystery?"
"My point exactly," Jack sighed.
We kicked the thing around for two hours, everyone but the law clerks offering theories, and came out of it with little more than a few semi-plausible notions.
We broke at 10:30 and Art took us back to his office, where we went through the contracts in fine detail.
The way it was written up, the partnership granted P.P.V., as major shareholder, rights to set schedules, assemble and hire contractors, and final veto power on costs, with the responsibility to negotiate and secure all permits, leases, licenses, and deeds.
Jack had final authority on design, layout, construction schedules, and marketing. The design, layout, and construction schedules were behind him. That left Jack with sales and marketing, which he was clearly itching to do.
"It's not like the complete loss of 100 mil would break me," Jack mused. "But it's 100 million dollars. I'm not so flippin' rich that I feel like being cavalier about that. I've gotten stinkin' by avoiding dumb investments and I'm not ready to be forced into stupidity now."
"Plus, y'know,
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