The Bang & Olufsen stereo units had chrome cases holding hundreds of CDs, but they were dwarfed by a couple of huge oil paintings, both depicting a full-frontal nude man. The fireplace had been sandblasted and treated to resemble rough red stone; fake logs were stacked in the grate. De Jersey took it all in. Moreno was a man of undeniable wealth but questionable taste. In the hallway more paintings and large photographs of handsome men adorned the walls. Beyond, he located a shining state-of-the-art kitchen with a black-and-white checkered marble floor, a large island, and a restaurant-sized sink unit and fridge-freezer. It all looked as if it had never been used.
De Jersey moved into the office, where a bank of computers lined one wall and massive television screens hung from the ceiling. The leather swivel chair was well worn, the waste bins overflowed, and a large shredder basket was full. The desk, running the length of the room, was stacked with documents, loose papers, notebooks, more dirty ashtrays, and used coffee cups.
De Jersey examined everything, then went through the filing cabinets, gathering as much information as possible. He failed to open the computer files, which were protected by a personal password. His wristwatch alarm went off at twelve, as he had set it, and by one fifteen de Jersey was back in his suite at the Carlyle.
He sat down at the small antique desk and read the hurried notes he had made. When he felt that he had a pretty good assessment of Alex Moreno’s personal life, he went to shower. On his return he began to familiarize himself with Moreno’s business activities. His bank statements made obvious the soaring costs of developing the Hamptons property but not where the money was coming from to pay for it.
At 11:00 A.M. Edward Cummings checked out of the hotel by phone. At eleven ten he left and, as Philip Simmons, caught the twelve o’clock jitney bus to the Hamptons, sitting in the back, where he read The New York Times and spoke to no one. At two thirty he arrived in East Hampton. He hired a car from Pam’s Autos and booked into The Huntting Inn, a B and B. From his room he made an appointment to see Moreno’s contractor at the site at 5:00 P.M. As “business adviser” to Moreno, he had spoken of the need to oversee the progress on the renovations. He learned that Moreno had an outstanding invoice for $155,000.
Moreno’s property stood on a plot of land off the Montauk highway toward the luxurious and most sought-after district of Georgica. As he drove, he looked for Hedges Lane, finally locating it off Baiting Hollow Road.
De Jersey drove past the guesthouse, nearly complete. The main house was partially built. Massive plumbing pipes and air-conditioning vents were stacked beside it. Nearby stood a line of trucks, and on the far side of the skeleton building, he noticed a digger removing earth for the pool. It was freezing cold; the rain puddles were covered with ice, and the winter sun didn’t even begin to warm the air.
No one paid much attention as De Jersey parked the car. His anger grew. The pool alone was costing a hundred thousand dollars and the guesthouse $2 million. The final budget had to be around $7 or $8 million. By the time he returned to London, the property would belong to him.
“Mr. Simmons?”
De Jersey was confronted by a muscular, rather stocky man in his late thirties. “I’m Brett Donnelly.” They shook hands. “This is my team. The architect was around earlier. Did you want to see him? They’re all running from one deal to the next. It’s like a property bonanza. You live out here? Know the area?” Donnelly fired off questions seemingly without wanting answers. He pointed to various areas of potholes and planks as they made their way to his trailer. He banged his boots clean at the door; de Jersey entered close behind him. The heat was overpowering. Donnelly took off his padded jacket and hard hat and picked up a coffeepot. “Cream?” he asked, fetching mugs.
“Just milk,” replied de Jersey.
Donnelly unhooked his phone, put down the coffee, then sat in his office chair, rocking back and forth.
De Jersey said coolly, “I think it all looks very impressive here.”
“Yeah, it’s been a big job. The East Hampton Village Zoning Board has been driving us crazy. We waited three months due to a variance with the land on the west side, and a further two weeks for the pool permits.”
De Jersey sipped the bitter coffee as Donnelly talked. It was fifteen minutes before the man finally fell silent, leaning back in his chair with a blue cloud of cigar smoke above his head.
“When do you fill the pool?” de Jersey asked.
“Any day now, it’s almost dug.” Donnelly gave de Jersey a quizzical look. “Are you Canadian?” he asked.
De Jersey smiled. He had never thought of the accent he was using as Canadian, but he nodded.
“How can I help you?” Donnelly asked.
De Jersey opened his wallet and proffered a card; he’d had the forethought to have it printed. “As I said, I’m Mr. Moreno’s business adviser.”
“Nothing wrong, is there?”
“We need to discuss my client’s financial situation.”
Donnelly opened a drawer. “You know we have an interim payment due?”
“Yes. It’s why I’m here.”
“That’s good. I’m just a local contractor, and I can’t afford to keep all these men on without the payments being met on schedule. I’ve got a few other projects, but this is the most substantial.”
“Mr. Moreno is broke.”
“What?” Donnelly was stunned.
“I have to tell you to halt the rebuilding until we have released certain funds. At the moment, Mr. Moreno cannot pay your last invoice.”
“What?” Donnelly repeated.
“I’ll see that it is paid, but you must stop work until further notice.”
“Jesus, God, I’ve got twenty-four men on this contract. I’ve gotta pay them a weekly wage. It’ll bankrupt me. I mean, are you saying the guy’s totally broke?”
“I am saying that there will be difficulties in meeting your last invoice. We could probably sell the property at a substantial loss, of course, but you would be paid eventually. The buyer might even retain you to complete the work.”
“Oh, my God, I don’t believe this!”
“This is an excellent piece of land in a prime position and with building permits already in place. I’m confident this is just a short-term situation, but you’ll want to get Mr. Moreno down here fast to sort it all out as quickly as possible. I’m sorry.”
Donnelly hesitated. “Am I missing something here? You say you’re Mr. Moreno’s business adviser, but you don’t sound like you’re employed by him, more like you’re…”
“Handling a tricky situation. I refer to myself as his business adviser, but it’s rather more complicated. I’m taking over his business because of his mounting debts, some of which are owed to me. I am making sure this development is completed, so I also get what is owed to me.”
“You want me to get Moreno here?”
“Correct, and I suggest you do not mention I’m here. We don’t want to make him feel like he’s being ganged up on.”
Donnelly punched the buttons on his phone and spoke briefly to Moreno, who said he would be at the site the next morning at nine. He hung up and told de Jersey what had been said.
They shook hands, and de Jersey, returning to his car, watched Donnelly instruct the workers to quit for the day.
De Jersey dined at a sushi bar in Sag Harbor. It was almost seven when he returned to his room and placed a call to the Maidstone Arms, which was virtually opposite his hotel. He was told that they were expecting Mr. Moreno to check in after ten.
At close to 11:00 P.M., de Jersey called the Maidstone Arms again; Mr. Moreno had just checked in. He identified himself as Mr. Donnelly and left a message asking to move the morning meeting up two hours, to 7:00 A.M.