AUGUST 19, 2023 – The following morning, I got off to a late start and reached “Holman Corner” considerably later than I had planned. UB, of course, had long been on hand. Barely had I arrived, when our friend Frank descended upon us—our sleazy, slimy friend, Frank—this time, with another guy in tow, but not “his man” Duane. I wondered why Frank was back at the scene.
“I wanted to make sure you were getting a fair shake,” he explained himself. “I told you yesterday I had my doubts about Duane, so I got another builder to have a look. Meet Hutch.” The man standing next to Frank was a short, tough looking man in his late forties, with tight, wiry hair, a compact mustache and glasses with a small chain around his neck to hold them on. If he was in fact a builder, I was certain that he himself no longer swung a hammer. He was all too well attired for that. And yes, he boasted a gold necklace around his neck—a chain that hung down into the dark, thick body hair that his liberally spread shirt collar exposed.
We shook hands and proceeded on a tour of the haunted house. Hutch was a tough talking type, who spoke very forcefully and confidently. He seemed to know what he was talking about and it was quite a different picture from the one that the soft-spoken Duane had laid out the day before.
“You gotta knock all these out down to the base,” he said, smacking two of the charred rafter stubs with his beefy fist. “Then we tie new plates here and here and there, all around.” I looked over at UB whose lips were closed tight. I could tell he was a little scared of this guy. “Then you’re gonna want to decide whether you go with the old window dormers, and if so, what kind of windows—I’m gonna tell you straight—it’s gonna be expensive to reconstruct what you had. Or, you go with the straight hip roof design. I can do that for a lot less.”
He continued on, like a new general in the field, taking over where others had gotten bogged down. Even if he actually knew his stuff, I wondered whether he could find and marshal the necessary soldiers to carry out the work, all at a price that wasn’t a total rip-off. I also wondered what exactly was going on, and the fact that Frank had anything to do with the situation made Mr. Gold Chain Hutch suspect. At the conclusion of our meeting, I asked Hutch about his business and background.
“Been in the business for 25 years,” Hutch answered, sounding a bit like a pneumatic hammer. Started out working for a road building contractor. Then worked for a GC—mostly commercial—then a home builder for about 10 years. Started my own business seven years ago, mostly renovation, but some new construction, all in Bergen County.”
I then asked him for a quote, and to my surprise, he gave me one on the spot, without having taken any measurements. “Forty-two thousand dollars—just the roof,” he answered. He handed me his card, shook hands with me, then UB, said, “You can reach me,” and with Frank behind him, descended the stairs. As UB stepped around the wreckage, I peered through the charred remains on the side of the house facing Highland Cross. Less than a minute later, I saw Hutch and Frank appear on the street below. They seemed to exchange few words with each other before parting ways. I then watched Hutch cross the street, get into a late model, high-end Audi, and drive off. I would have felt more comfortable with the guy if he had gotten into a pick-up truck with a door bearing signage including the word “builder” or “construction.”
No sooner had UB and I exited the house a few minutes later, when a late-model Cadillac pulled into the driveway. Two men stepped out. “Hello, Bruce,” called out the driver.
“Hi, Dan,” UB answered. We met up in the center of the driveway. “I’d like you to meet my nephew Eric.”
“Yeah, of course. Hi, Eric,” the man greeted me. “Dan McFerren.” I recognized the name. It was UB’s accountant. “I’d like you to meet my partner, Tony Imbroglio.”
“Hi, Tony,” I said, shaking hands.
“Hi,” he returned.
I had little on which to judge these two visitors, except that I knew that for a number of years, UB had used Dan for accounting services. However, I did think it was just a bit odd that Dan was casually dressed—trousers and a plain blue dress shirt but no coat or tie. In those days, one would have expected more formal attire. At least he wasn’t wearing any jewelry. I wasn’t sure about Tony. Slim, with fancy trousers, slick shirt and well-shined, expensive shoes with thin soles, he reminded me of the Fox in Pinocchio. Which, I thought, would mean Dan just might be the wolf.
The day before, UB had mentioned that Dan would be coming over to meet about the financial issues relating to the renovation project that lay ahead, but it was all kind of sketchy. Why such a meeting would require this guy Tony, I wasn’t sure. In any event, UB suggested that we meet up in his office, his headquarters, so we strolled in that direction while exchanging general remarks about the fire and the current condition of the house, the prospect for colder, wetter weather, and the need to proceed with construction of a new roof.
“So are you an accountant too?” I asked Tony.
“No, I’m a real estate appraiser, investor. Do some management too.”
“I see,” I said, trailing everyone up the stairs to headquarters, but actually I was thinking, Uh-oh. As Tony’s trouser cuffs lifted with each step, I noticed that the backs of Tony’s shoes were as scuff-free and shiny as I’d noticed the toes to be, when we were out on the driveway. His socks had the sheen of silk. Professional job, I thought, and shiniest shoes ever to have climbed these stairs. “So is your office near Dan’s?” I continued.
“Not too far away,” he said, rounding the top of the stairs, as UB led the procession down the hallway. “Our desks are about 10 feet apart.”
The Pinocchio image of the Fox and the Wolf was somehow coming into sharper focus. The better description of this guy Tony, I thought, was “real estate wheeler and dealer.” In my career as a real estate lawyer, primarily on the workout side, I had encountered many-a-wheeler dealer, and I was developing a healthy dose of skepticism about the whole arrangement between UB’s accountant and this “real estate appraiser, investor” who “does management too,” wears fancy pants and is introduced as the accountant’s “partner.”
UB opened the door to the central room of his headquarters and snapped on the lights. I noticed Tony wrinkle his nose at the same time I caught my first full whiff of cat crap. They took seats with their backs to the shelves loaded with UB’s canned goods, and as I sat opposite and faced the Vienna sausages and cling peaches, I nearly laughed out loud. I could hear Cliff’s phrase, “The world according to Bruce.”
Our discussion initially covered talk about the bids from Hutch and Duane and the desire for further alternatives. Both Dan and Tony were skeptical about Frank. They thought all three—Frank, Hutch and Duane—might be in cahoots.
“How could someone come up with an estimate so quickly?” Tony said, agreeing with my question about Hutch’s on-the-spot quote without the benefit of any measurements.
“Yeah,” Dan chimed in. “I think he came up with that to make Duane look reasonable. Duane then gets the job, with Frank getting a slice of the action. Frank then gives a spiff to Hutch for having provided a higher quote, which convinced you that Duane’s was the better bid.”
Dan’s take on Frank sounded more than just plausible. But now I had to assess Dan and Tony, for surely they too had angles. I mean, who dresses like Tony and who partners with a guy who dresses like Tony without some angle being involved? I started out by questioning Tony about valuations for the commercial property. Several years ago, apparently, Dan had used Tony to appraise it in connection with a tax appeal that UB had been pursuing. Tony’s figure had been about a third of the assessed value, which, eventually, was reduced significantly, but not to the absurdly low level of Tony’s appraisal.
When I asked Tony directly for explanation of the huge divergence between the assessed value and his appraised value, he said, “My number was a joke, it was so low, but it was among friends.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but just then I remembered that I was in New Jersey, not Minnesota.
[Redacted conversation.]
We moved on to the issue of property management. “Since we’re having a big picture conversation,” I said, “we should talk more about how this property should be managed going forward. As I mentioned in my outline, I think it would be great if we could put things on a level where Uncle Bruce can have a hand in how the property is run, but that the leasing, the maintenance and so forth, can be put in the hands of capable, professional management to increase the income and to free-up Uncle Bruce so he can travel and do things he’d prefer to do.”
As time would reveal, it was an entirely naïve statement. UB had more time on his hands than was good for him—and way too much space, to boot. Years later, I would see that I had no idea what I was talking about. It was all missing the point about UB and what he wanted.
“That’s where Tony comes in,” said Dan. “You could use him to manage the property.” So here was the angle, or at least one of them, that had arrived in the Cadillac from which these two gentlemen had alighted.
“Yeah, and once I get familiar with it,” Tony jumped in, “I could see myself making an offer on it.” With that line, my defenses were fully up.
I responded without waiting for UB. He had been rather quiet up to that point anyway. “Well, really, I think Cliff is quite familiar with the property—Dan you’re familiar with Cliff, are you not?”
“Oh yes, I know Cliff,” said Dan.
“It’s my understanding,” I continued, “that Cliff has been doing a fair amount of work for UB with regard to managing the property, but it’s a kind of informal arrangement, and maybe the best, short-term approach is simply to give Cliff clearer authority and direction and let him manage the property until it’s decided exactly what should done with it in terms of long-term development.”
“Yeah, but I think Cliff would have a conflict of interest, being both a tenant and the manager of the property. I’d advise against that.”
Conflict of interest? Was he kidding? And what, I thought, was the Dan and Tony show if it didn’t have conflict of interest written all over it? I wanted to be done with these guys. “Well, I think we’ll have to take this all under advisement,” I said. They got the hint, and after a few superfluous words to UB, they made their exit.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
[1] Not his real name.
