Miranda's War (16 page)

“My daughter has the 2, says she loves it. She's one of those people that waits in line every time they release a new product. I guess you don't run with the hip crowd, Tim.”

“Guess that's true, Senator. I can't afford to.”

She laughed and moved on with a quip or a question for almost every volunteer. As she walked to her campaign manager's office, the staff stepped out of their cubicles to talk. She gave everyone her undivided but fleeting attention.

“Did you get Jimmy Talon to fix your roof?” she asked her scheduler.

“He wants $900,” came the response.

“Is this a big job?”

“He thinks it is.”

“Get an estimate from Tony DeNapoli in Westborough. Then she pulled out her smartphone and in seconds rattled off his number.

She sat at her cluttered desk and listened to her voicemail. There was a call from Governor Samuelson. He wanted to talk right away. She had not heard from him since last winter's budget battle when he wanted her vote. She ended up giving it to him for a steep price—widening the access road to Saxonville Beach in Framingham. She returned the call immediately and was put through to an aide who told her the Governor would return the call within the hour. Where could she be reached? When he called back she was in the midst of talking to potential contributors on another line. Nobody was concerned about the primary. They just assumed she would beat the Rokeby kid with his infamous father.

“Good afternoon, Governor, do you need my vote this week?”

“I can't afford it, but consider this, Ann. Stephen Rokeby might be a cloud no bigger than your hand, as the Bible says.”

“Would you mind holding on so I can get my manager in here?”

In came Bill Kaider, a thin twenty-three-year-old with bad skin but a person-by-person knowledge of every precinct captain in the Congressional district. The Democrats had dozens, the Republicans few.

They talked about the zoning bill and how it needed to be managed.

“Governor, am I right that it's not even had a hearing?” she asked.

“That's right, Ann.”

“I've never heard of it. I've got my ear to the ground.”

She looked at Bill, and he shook his head.

“It's a whisper campaign,” the Governor continued. “The bill is just sitting there, and Rokeby's telling them it's about to be passed.”

“And these people believe it?”

“I think so.”

“This is an educated district, Governor. I've represented Sherborn for eight years.”

“How much time have you really spent there recently?”

She looked at Bill and he held up three fingers.

“I've made three appearances in Sherborn.”

“And when was the last one?”

“Oh I don't know exactly, Governor. You know what it's like. I do five towns a day. I've got people in every town. If this is an issue, they're not telling me.”

“Maybe it is, maybe it's not, Ann,” he said. His ultra-educated voice annoyed her. He sounded like a man who'd never walked a precinct. How he had pulled off his bizarre election mystified her.

“I'm on it, Governor. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Get our Sherborn captain on the phone,” she whispered to Bill.

Chapter Thirty

Stephen ran the numbers from his office at Rokeby Capital. He was officially on leave until the campaign was over. But it was after 6:00 and his presence would not be noticed. In his absence, his partner Deborah Rourke was in charge. The information he needed on the firm's volume of purchases of Massachusetts municipal bonds was still where it was when he had left. She was plowing their clients' money into municipal bonds issued by the state and its subdivisions at a slightly increased rate, not enough to be noticed by the untutored eye, which is what he'd recommended before he took his leave. But more important, he went over the list of major bond purchasers published by the state. Knowing all the major players, he could organize a boycott in twenty-four hours and wreak havoc on the state's ability to borrow. He printed the list and left quietly.

Stephen started calling them from his cell phone as he drove home. They were open to a temporary boycott, at least until the November election, even if it angered the governor. He did some reading on the history of boycotts later that night and as Miranda had said, they were tied up with the pride of social groups. Most of the fund managers didn't live in the snob zoning towns, but they were part of the sociology of those who did.

“What do you think?” he asked Alicia, as they sat in bed reading. “Is it extortion?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I'm serious.”

“You're thinking like her now, grandiose schemes.”

“They work. I've made $4 million in the last five years doing things my way.”

“You have a good mind for analyzing P/E ratios. Let's not get carried away.”

“I thought the same way. You win an election by appealing to a district. And then I found out that I don't appeal to the district.”

“Why didn't you know that going in?”

“Because everyone lied to me. They told me I could do it. And I wanted to believe it. You should have told me not to do it.”

“I did.”

“I guess I wasn't listening. I'm sorry.”

He kissed her softly and played with her brown hair.

“Go negative. Do what you have to do.”

“I didn't get in to lose.”

“You thought you could beat Cronin-Reynolds by being fresh. Be fresh with a twist.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Miranda took her seat as the Chairman of the Conservation Commission. Her actual election to the position, unopposed, occurred in a quick special meeting the day after Karl's resignation. When it was done they adjourned with nothing else on the agenda. Her first act that day was to sign the official notice of her election, by a vote of 5-0, and put it in the boxes of each of the Selectmen and the town clerk, then post it on the Commission's page on the town's website, and though it was not required, mail it to Karl.

Tonight, though, was the first real meeting of the Miranda era. She savored a few minutes in the Chairman's seat before anyone else arrived in the room, then tapped out an email to her list just minutes before the meeting began.

“Here I am. I feel like Disraeli did when he became PM. I've made it to the top of the greasy pole. I don't know if they'll like the next chapter. But I must always look upwards, right?”

Then her colleagues filed in and took their seats around her. They did not exude enthusiasm. And when she glanced ahead into the public seating area, she knew why. All the Selectmen were there, scattered around. Did they actually think she wouldn't notice them? Bayard Cahill, silver-haired and always a sharp observer, had a notepad in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Even the town counsel was there in the back row.

“The Commission shall come to order,” she said and realized those were the exact words Karl had used at the beginning of each meeting.

“Item one on the agenda is my proposal to negotiate a purchase and sale agreement with New England Properties for the Pierce Estate.”

“We haven't had an appraisal,” said Nate. “How do we know it's only worth 14.5?”

He glanced at Bayard.

“It's a good point, Commissioner,” Miranda said, knowing the market value was no more than $13 million from her obsessive perusal of sales records. They all knew $14.5 million was a superb offer that would not be matched. The town meeting had just endorsed the transaction. This was petty obstructionism and formalism.

“I agree. We should have it appraised,” she said without hesitation, hoping it would cease.

“That means you can't do any more negotiating with Mr. Zenni until we get it.”

They all agreed.

“With all due respect, Madam Chairman, I think I speak for the Commission in saying you shouldn't have met with Mr. Zenni without the Board's approval,” he added in a snippy tone. “That came through loud and clear at town meeting. The people want us to work cooperatively.”

“Here, here,” Bayard interjected from the audience, and all of her colleagues indicated their agreement.

Nate than moved to have the town counsel prepare a term sheet that would bind her in negotiations when they had the appraisal. She wanted to resist, to make it clear she had just won the overwhelming vote of the town to go forward. But these were perfectly reasonable, though annoying, measures. Everyone was now watching everything she did. She was Chairman in name only. They had sapped all the adventure out of this enterprise. They moved on to the next agenda items, trivial by comparison, and adjourned forty-five minutes later having accomplished nothing significant.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next morning she called Anthony Zenni and told him what had happened.

“When will you have the appraisal?”

“A week or so. You know more about that process than I do. But then I'll be back knocking on your door.”

“Why don't you come for lunch tomorrow? I've got some questions about how this project might play out. And I don't mean the price. There are a lot of other details.”

“I know that. Our lawyer is putting together a term sheet. And if I know him, it will be lengthy. Lawyers are all afraid of brevity.”

He insisted they have lunch, and she agreed knowing she was not supposed to see him. She could not resist the urge to beat them at their own game of supervision. This time she parked at a garage two blocks from his building and wore a headscarf on her way in. There was another session of small talk in his magnificent office. When lunchtime drew near he suggested they go to a little French restaurant a few blocks away.

“I said I wanted to avoid being noticed. There are some Lincoln people working around here. And my husband's lawyer is in this building.”

“Which firm?”

“Adams & Threlkeld.”

“I know several partners there. What's his name?”

“I'd rather not say.”

She didn't trust him.

“I know you love French food and wine.”

“I do.”

“This place is off the beaten path, over on Charles Street, and it's not very popular. I found it one night just taking a walk around Beacon Hill.”

“Do they deliver?”

“You of all people should realize French food can't be consumed out of Styrofoam containers. I might as well send a kid down to Starbucks to buy us wraps.”

“Alright, but we go in separate cabs. Give me the address. I'll meet you there.”

They met at Le Floufe, a cute little bistro next to a shoe-repair a mile from his office. He'd been there twice, both times with his teenage daughter who had returned from a semester in Paris. It was a most un-Boston restaurant and notches below the sort of place he would take a client to.

Miranda looked around the nondescript establishment and, seeing nothing of note, checked the wine list. There were two names she respected from the Loire Valley. It was overall above average.

“Why here?” she asked.

“I want to share a chocolate soufflé with you.”

They sat at an intimate table with fresh flowers and he ordered their dessert. He'd discreetly scanned the small dining room for familiar faces. There were none.

“Now, if I ply you with some fine wine, will you loosen up on section 3(a)?” he asked.

She laughed.

“Which one did you have in mind?”

He pulled out his black half glasses and read the list very carefully.

“Oh come on, don't study it. Where's your sense of adventure?”

“OK, how about a Bordeaux 2009?” he said awkwardly, revealing a superficial knowledge of French wines.

“Why don't you let me order the wine? And when you open that corporate office at the Pierce Estate in Lincoln, you're going to need a sommelier—at least if you want to host the caliber of executives I expect.”

The waiter came, took their orders and she asked if they could order wine by the glass.

“No bottle?” he asked.

“No, not today.”

She ordered a glass of the priciest French wine on the list.

They lifted their wineglasses and made a toast to “Lincoln's town meeting.”

“How do you find the wine?” he asked after she'd had a few seconds to judge it.

“Grotesquely over-acidic but one does what one must do.”

He was, once again, charmed, as if she were his arbiter of taste, a position she was accustomed to having with unsophisticated rich men like Archer.

“I want to tell you I was at the town meeting,” he said.

“I didn't see you.”

“As a non-resident, I thought it best to hide out in one of the spillover rooms.”

“You could have watched online.”

“I wanted to see it, to see how the town reacted to you.”

“And did you like what you saw?”

“You wowed them, though I thought you were toast after Karl Anderson's opening. The movie turned it all around. Fantastic propaganda.”

“I knew all along the town was ready to move on.”

“You know the people at a gut level and Karl admitted it. I've actually been through my share of municipal zoning fights, and I've never seen anything like that. I'd like to have you on my side.”

He leaned across the table toward her and she felt his hand on her thigh. She pulled away.

“You can't do that.”

“Why not? It's genuine. And it's not about the deal.”

“I almost wish I could let it happen. You would …”

She wanted to tell him he was her romantic type but of course, that wasn't what he was after. It was all about the property. He was after concessions of some kind. The conversation moved awkwardly on to mutual acquaintances at Longwood, at Marblehead, from the Social Register. He dropped names like she dropped emails.

He mentioned Elise Kenrick, who had been instrumental in the investigation of the missing diamond earrings at Longwood. Elise had told the House Committee that Jane Pierson had been on the Wang Center Board with Miranda and was part of the faction that ousted her after she tried to fire the CEO. That established a motive for the theft of Jane's $80,000 diamond earrings. And once the motive was established, Miranda had a lot of explaining to do.