Read Online The Gold Coast by Nelson DeMille - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nelson DeMille
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such thing. Unfortunately, it’s expensive to tear down and much too expensive for twenty new households to maintain it.”
“It certainly is a white elephant,’’ Lester informed me. “But you
are
trying to preserve the land if not the house.”
“Of course. But it’s not my land. I’m in the same situation as you are, Lester, living in splendid isolation on a few acres of a dead estate. I’m master of only about five percent of what I survey.”
Lester thought about that a moment, then said, “Well, maybe a white knight will come along to save the white elephant.”
“Maybe.’’ A white knight in this context is a nonprofit group such as a private school, religious institution, or sometimes a health care facility. Estate houses and their grounds seem to lend themselves to this sort of use, and most of the neighbors can live with this arrangement because it keeps the land open and the population density low. I wouldn’t mind a few nuns strolling around Stanhope’s acres, or even a few nervous-breakdown cases, or, least desirable, private-school students.
Lester asked, “Did you ever contact that real estate firm in Glen Cove that puts corporations together with estate owners?”
“Yes, but there seems to be a glut of estates and a dearth of corporations that need them.’’ I should point out that corporations have bought entire estates for their own use. The old Astor estate in Sands Point, for instance, is now an IBM country club, and one of the many Pratt estates in Glen Cove is a conference center. Also, one of the Vanderbilt estates, an Elizabethan manor house with a hundred acres in Old Brookville, is now the corporate headquarters to Banfi Vintners, who have restored the sixty-room house and grounds to its former glory. Any of these uses would be preferable to . . . well, to twenty tractor sheds inhabited by stockbrokers and their broods.
William Stanhope, incidentally, is far enough removed from here not to fully appreciate the fact that my environmental activities and his instructions to me are very nearly mutually exclusive. This is called a conflict of interest and is both unethical and illegal. But I really don’t care. He’s getting what he’s paying for.
My father-in-law, you understand, can, if pushed, come up with the four hundred thousand dollars in back taxes but chooses not to, not until he’s got a buyer or until the day before a tax seizure takes place. He fully intends to protect his huge asset unless and until he determines it is a liability and cannot be sold in his lifetime.
If you’re wondering what this white elephant is worth to William Stanhope and his heirs and successors, here are the figures: two hundred acres, if they could be rezoned into ten-acre plots, would fetch over a million dollars a plot on the fabled Gold Coast, which amounts to a total of over twenty million dollars before taxes.
Susan, I assume, will eventually inherit enough money to get herself a full-time stable mucker and someone to help me and old George with the gardening.
If you’re wondering what else is in it for me, you should know that these sorts of people rarely let money get out of the immediate family. In fact, I entered into a prenuptial agreement long before the middle class even knew such a thing existed. William Stanhope and his paid attorney drew up the “marriage contract,’’ as it was then called, and I acted as my own attorney, proving the adage that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. Anyway, William has been getting free legal advice from the fool ever since.
On the brighter side, Edward and Carolyn have a trust fund into which Stanhope monies are deposited. And in fairness to Susan, the “marriage contract’’ was not her idea. I don’t want the Stanhope money anyway, but neither do I want the Stanhope problems. I said to Lester, “Neither Susan nor I am in favor of suburban sprawl, nor, specifically, the development of Stanhope Hall for
“It certainly is a white elephant,’’ Lester informed me. “But you
are
trying to preserve the land if not the house.”
“Of course. But it’s not my land. I’m in the same situation as you are, Lester, living in splendid isolation on a few acres of a dead estate. I’m master of only about five percent of what I survey.”
Lester thought about that a moment, then said, “Well, maybe a white knight will come along to save the white elephant.”
“Maybe.’’ A white knight in this context is a nonprofit group such as a private school, religious institution, or sometimes a health care facility. Estate houses and their grounds seem to lend themselves to this sort of use, and most of the neighbors can live with this arrangement because it keeps the land open and the population density low. I wouldn’t mind a few nuns strolling around Stanhope’s acres, or even a few nervous-breakdown cases, or, least desirable, private-school students.
Lester asked, “Did you ever contact that real estate firm in Glen Cove that puts corporations together with estate owners?”
“Yes, but there seems to be a glut of estates and a dearth of corporations that need them.’’ I should point out that corporations have bought entire estates for their own use. The old Astor estate in Sands Point, for instance, is now an IBM country club, and one of the many Pratt estates in Glen Cove is a conference center. Also, one of the Vanderbilt estates, an Elizabethan manor house with a hundred acres in Old Brookville, is now the corporate headquarters to Banfi Vintners, who have restored the sixty-room house and grounds to its former glory. Any of these uses would be preferable to . . . well, to twenty tractor sheds inhabited by stockbrokers and their broods.
William Stanhope, incidentally, is far enough removed from here not to fully appreciate the fact that my environmental activities and his instructions to me are very nearly mutually exclusive. This is called a conflict of interest and is both unethical and illegal. But I really don’t care. He’s getting what he’s paying for.
My father-in-law, you understand, can, if pushed, come up with the four hundred thousand dollars in back taxes but chooses not to, not until he’s got a buyer or until the day before a tax seizure takes place. He fully intends to protect his huge asset unless and until he determines it is a liability and cannot be sold in his lifetime.
If you’re wondering what this white elephant is worth to William Stanhope and his heirs and successors, here are the figures: two hundred acres, if they could be rezoned into ten-acre plots, would fetch over a million dollars a plot on the fabled Gold Coast, which amounts to a total of over twenty million dollars before taxes.
Susan, I assume, will eventually inherit enough money to get herself a full-time stable mucker and someone to help me and old George with the gardening.
If you’re wondering what else is in it for me, you should know that these sorts of people rarely let money get out of the immediate family. In fact, I entered into a prenuptial agreement long before the middle class even knew such a thing existed. William Stanhope and his paid attorney drew up the “marriage contract,’’ as it was then called, and I acted as my own attorney, proving the adage that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. Anyway, William has been getting free legal advice from the fool ever since.
On the brighter side, Edward and Carolyn have a trust fund into which Stanhope monies are deposited. And in fairness to Susan, the “marriage contract’’ was not her idea. I don’t want the Stanhope money anyway, but neither do I want the Stanhope problems. I said to Lester, “Neither Susan nor I am in favor of suburban sprawl, nor, specifically, the development of Stanhope Hall for
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