OCTOBER 30, 2023 – Sometimes when you run out of options you have to fall back on true-and-tried ancient methods, such as crossing your fingers. That’s what I did when Cliff called to report back what he’d learned about “water vs. foam” on the night of the Great Fire. The answer was . . . water.
“There is a God,” I told Cliff.
“Or at least there’s [the fire marshal] who knows the right answer.”
I couldn’t wait to call the environmental engineer with this intel directly from the hose’s nozzle. The engineer would have to verify it, of course, but at least I had the answer from the ultimate source. After all, the marshal had been on the scene on the night of the Great Fire and could speak from personal knowledge.
Still smoldering, however, was the three-page list of infractions that needed to be addressed before we’d be entitled to a conditional certificate of occupancy. Until we had that in hand, we couldn’t close on our sale to Steve.
The problem posed by the list wasn’t only its length. It was its ambiguities. In the case of the buildings from 151 through 161 Park Avenue, for example, we were left to wonder what was meant by such directives as, “Provide a technical report detailing the existing condition and how the building will be made compliant with the requirement of NAC 5:70-4 of the above violations #1, #2, #3, and #4.The report shall be developed and bear the seal of a NJ Licensed Design Professional.”
For the better part of two months we played a Kafkaesque ping-pong match whereby Cliff would ask for clarification; wait several days for a response that contained further ambiguities for which he’d fire off a request for additional clarification; follow-up a few days later; receive a reply to the effect that after a conference in Miami, a vacation down on the New Jersey Shore, or resolution of some prior commitment, we could expect further communication.
Once satisfactory clarification about one thing or another was finally obtained, however, a similar ping-pong match would ensue over re-inspection after an item had been fixed, replaced, or upgraded. Cliff and I were like hamsters in a cage. All we could do was make the wheel go round.
Compounding matters were compliance deadlines set by the marshal—and out of nowhere, fines for prior violations for which neither Cliff nor I could remember ever having received any notice. When I suggested that we request proof of service of the previous citations, our lawyer wisely counseled against it. “I don’t think you want to poke the dragon any more than you have to,” he said. I knew Charles was right, but it felt good to bring up the idea.
Round and round we and the lawyers went—inside the hamster cage.
Rarely in my legal career had I encountered such a due diligence merry-go-round. Spinning wheels in Rutherford felt like being the lead runner in the mile event at a track meet where the finish tape advanced in synch with my pace.
Meanwhile, the date of my scheduled stem cell transplant was fast approaching. From what I’d read about the procedure, it could be a challenge; at best likely to knock me out of commission for weeks. I feared I was running out of time.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
