Gardener: The Roots Of Ancient Evil (11 page)

              Tommy glanced at the list he’d just compiled and tagged with several variables in his spreadsheet. It was a list of all the homeowners in the roughly two-hundred-home tract that Shea was interested in purchasing over the next decade or so. He had their names, estimations of their incomes, how many payments had been late, how many had been within a week early, the equity in their homes, and their job description. His next task would be to hire an outside research agency to look at each of their employers and come up with an economic stability rating from one to ten. This compared with each homeowner’s length of employment would give him an estimate of how likely they would be laid off in the near future.

He still had no idea how he would use this information, or how he would approach these people. The last thing he wanted to do was to obliquely threaten them with impending economic doom in order to force a sale. While that was very effective, he loathed that common sales technique. Look at these numbers, sir, you’re about to get laid off. You’ve never been more than three days early on your mortgage payment. Imagine what will happen when your paychecks stop! Now, let me make you an offer you can’t refuse! Tommy hoped to discern what these people really wanted, and then he would try to figure out a way to help them get it by way of selling their property.

One thing he was worried about was making a few offers at ten or twenty percent above market value. That might create a lot of attention, which might bring in other buyers. This was starting to prove to be a much more delicate project than he’d first imagined. The possibility of getting into a bidding war, especially with overseas investors, was something he hadn’t anticipated. His work phone rang, and he picked it up on the second ring.             

              “Shea Industries,” he answered.

              “Listen to Mr. Professional!” Marco said.

              “You find out anything?” Tommy asked.

              “It turns out the developers made a deal to buy a certain amount of bonds from the city in order to get the green light eight years ago, when the houses were built. They’re due to roll over in two,” Marco explained.

              “What’s the yield now?”

              “Only three percent, but they were about four when they bought them,” Marco responded.

              “So what are you thinking?”

              “Well,” Marco started, “you could buy them directly from the developer, I don’t think they’re going to roll them over, or you could wait until they hit the market, in which case the city might start to sweat a little bit. I figure if you talk to the city manager, tell him your intention of buying the bonds, maybe he’ll let you buy the property so long as you give them a ninety-nine-year lease or something. You did say this guy was thinking long term, right?”

              “Yeah, that is an option, but it would be dependent on the banks too, that are holding the mortgage notes,” Tommy said.

              “That’s another option I haven’t researched yet, but you could buy the notes from the banks. I think Shea could deal with all the licensing issues,” Marco said.

              “Then we’d be in a position to lower their mortgages, by say half, if they sign a ninety-nine-year rental lease on the property, that might be an option,” Tommy said, impressed with Marco’s research.

              “Say, what are you doing later, tonight, I mean?” Marco asked.

              “Why?”

              “I got this thing I want to show you online, but it’s not safe for work. You should Skype me somewhere safe,” Marco explained. Tommy took this to mean he had more information on Shea and Prieto that he wasn’t comfortable sharing over the phone.

              “Got it, buddy. I’ll find a strip club or something to Skype from,” Tommy joked.

              “That’s what I’m talking about!” Marco said, and ended the call.

              Tommy took his time eating. He’d just gotten off the phone with Viviana, and said he’d come by her place later. She sounded really excited about some kind of billion-dollar gene splicer. All Tommy could do was come up with Incredible Hulk and Spiderman jokes, which she seemed to have heard several times already. When he was finished, he pushed his plate aside and turned on his laptop, plugging in his earbuds.

              “So what do you have?” Tommy asked.

              “Well, right off the bat, I think you should quit working for Shea and ask Prieto for a job,” Marco said, laughing. He was already halfway through a beer, which Tommy suspected was his third or fourth.

              “Why do you say that?”

              “Well, Prieto is old-school. His dad owned a tailor shop, built it himself, so he doesn’t come from money. Prieto himself was some kind of financial wizard, and had a magic touch. From what I could tell, he had a way to really read not just the markets, but the political and economic situations. Every major market turn, this guy was ahead of everybody else,” Marco explained, reading from notes he’d taken.

              “So why would a guy like that be interested in Shea?” Tommy asked.

              “No idea, but Shea is a total mystery. In fact, I found out more information about him, or his family, on conspiracy sites than I did on regular business sites.”
              “No shit?”

              “None, sir. Turns out the name Shea is only about a hundred, hundred and fifty years old. It was changed when they moved to the states, but there’s no official record, or no articles I found indicate there’s any official record. Some sources say Schneider, out of Germany, some say Schubert, from Austria, but even those families are supposedly Illuminati or whatever,” Marco said, making a face when he said Illuminati.

              “What do you mean?”

              “Well, something I’ve read on a couple of different sites is that back in the sixteen, seventeen hundreds there were these really powerful banking families, like the Rothschilds?”
              “Yeah,” Tommy said, nodding, wishing that Marco could hand one of his beers through the screen.

              “But they say that those weren’t the real families. They were individuals named Rothschild, and all his kids, who supposedly took over Europe, and the states, but one of those families,”

              “The Schneiders and whoever?”

              “Yeah, those guys were the real brains and the money behind the Rothschilds who were also the alleged brains behind the Rockefellers and even Henry Ford,” Marco said.

              “And these sites are…?” Tommy asked.

              “Like I said, it’s all conspiracy stuff, some of the websites look like they were made by some high-schooler just learning to code, but that’s all I found, nothing really mainstream, except some marketing type stuff, nothing really solid,” Marco said.

Tommy thanked him and signed off. It was close to eight, and he wanted to go and see Viviana before heading home. But Marco did have a point. Maybe he was working for the wrong guy. He decided to speak with Prieto again and find out exactly what his interest was before pursuing this any further.

              “Hello, is this Molly?” Max asked politely.

              “Uh-huh,” she answered, clearly nervous.

              “My name is Mr. Keen, I was calling about your response to our Craigslist ad, I just wanted to make sure you understood everything,” Max said, using the next name on his list of previously screened names.

              “You mean the modeling thing?” she asked, excited.

              “Yes, that’s right. Are you somewhere private? So nobody will overhear you?” he asked.

              “Hang on, let me close my door,” she said. He heard her shut her door. “OK,” she said.

              “Well, just to reiterate, my client is looking for young models to appear in European publications. But we will be doing photo shoots in our local facility. The laws are kind of tricky, it’s important you not tell anybody, because there could be a potential for misunderstanding, OK?” he asked.

              “Um, I don’t know, what does that mean?” she asked.

              “Well, the laws in Europe are that anybody who is thirteen or over can pose clothed in a magazine without parental consent,” he said, sure she’d believe the lie.

              “Well, I’m fourteen, so that’s OK, right?” she asked.

              “Yes, technically. But let me explain the problem. If the magazine is published only in Europe, which it is, then being fourteen is OK, even if we are taking the pictures here in the United States, understand?”
              “Uh-huh,” she answered.

              “But some people might think that because we’re taking the actual pictures here, that you need some kind of parental approval. But our attorneys have assured us that is not the case,” he said.

              “So what’s the problem?” she asked.

              “Well, your parents have the right to tell you not to go, if they find out that you are. And you have to obey them, legally, I mean,” Max explained, hoping she’d understand the dilemma.

              “Oh, I get it. So even if it’s legal, my parents might think it’s weird and tell me not to go, and then I can’t go,” she said.

              “Exactly, which means you won’t get to be in a European magazine, and your modeling career might not take off,” Max said.

              “So, what do I have to do?” she asked.

              “Well, assuming you still want to do this, you would have to find a way to get to the airport, where we would pick you up in our jet and take you to the photo shoot location. We’ll have you back in twenty-four hours, so you’d have to think of a reason so your parents won’t worry. But there will be adults there whose only job is to make sure minors are protected,” Max said, carefully spinning the tale. If he could leave it to the girls to come up with a reason for their absence on their own, it would make it much less likely for the police to connect their disappearances with private jets.

              “When do I need to decide, or will you call me?” she asked.             

              “Well, how much time would you need once we decide?” Max asked.

              “I don’t know, like if you called me on Wednesday, I could come on Saturday?” she said, not sure.

              “Well, that’s fine. We’ll call you soon when we’ve made the decision, and we’ll let you know what to bring,” Max said, ending the call. This could prove to be very effective. He could conceivably have ten young girls at any given time ready and willing to meet him at local airports. He decided to call Shea and tell him the good news.

              “Yes, Max, what do you have for me?” Shea asked.

              “Two things, one of them very good, the other one, we’ll see.”

              “Go ahead, I’m listening,” Shea responded.

              “First is that I think I’ve got a process to have at least one recruit a week, as young as fourteen. I don’t foresee any trouble with regards to the authorities,” he explained.

              “That’s excellent, I see you are being very proactive in this,” Shea said, smiling. One per week! That would make his contacts in Europe very happy.

              “That’s what you pay me for, sir,” Max said professionally.

              “What’s the second issue?” Shea asked.

              “Your new employee, Mr. Ricker. Are you aware that he is in a relationship with Ms. Berg?” Max asked.

              “No, I wasn’t aware of that. What’s the extent?” Shea asked, more curious than anything else. He didn’t see how Mr. Ricker, who called himself “Tommy,” could be a threat.

              “Well, he’s stayed over at her house a few times, that’s all I’ve been able to observe given the level of surveillance. Would you like me to increase it?” Max asked.

              “The surveillance?” Shea asked, not having been paying close attention. He was still contemplating the ramifications of one recruit per week.

              “Yes sir,” Max repeated.

              “No, that’s fine. I’ll think of another way to deal with her. Thank you very much for the update, Max, I’m pleased with your work, as always,” Shea said, ending the call. He left his office and slowly walked up the narrow path. This time he didn’t enter the greenhouse, only wanted to glance in from the outside. Curtis nodded at him, and Shea bowed back, genuinely appreciating his work. He’d spent quite a bit of money convincing Curtis to come and build him a world-class garden. Curtis had explained he would need at least one full year to test out various flowers to ensure they would grow properly in this climate. Then he could expand them over the bulk of Shea’s undeveloped real estate.

Shea turned and walked back downstairs to his office, through the entrance that only he knew existed. Well, he and the young ladies that Max was so expertly selecting, but they were always unconscious when they came down here. One per week, Shea thought, as he gazed out over his underground facility. He might have to make some expansions, eventually. Normally he would contact the original contractors who’d built this, but they’d all been killed to ensure that only Shea knew about its location, and its true purpose, which was the heart of his new real estate venture that Mr. Tommy Ricker was unwittingly helping him with. One per week would be splendid. However, Shea knew the virtue of patience. He would wait at least one year before letting Europe know of his new throughput. No reason to get them excited over something that might turn out to be unsustainable.