“Are you saying that I should use another law firm … not yours?”
“Oh that’s definite. We couldn’t represent you because of our association with Mentor.”
“So Mentor is not the vendor?” asked Wendell.
“Absolutely not.”
“Well where exactly do they fit into this transaction?”
“Advisors only. No direct involvement, financial or otherwise. I know it’s a bit odd but that’s all I’m at liberty to tell you. I can recommend a local attorney, though. He’s a young fellow but very thorough. I had dealings with him a year ago and was quite impressed.”
“Sure,” said Wendell. “Send his particulars, as well.”
There was a moment of silence on the phone, then what sounded like someone humming.
“Already done. You should be receiving it now.”
“It’s coming through. I’ll read it on my laptop in the car. I have satellite reception.”
“As you can see, my entire office is always attached to my belt. My wife hates my I Phone with a passion, but it helps pay the bills,” the lawyer laughed.
“Thanks for your help. I hope the fish start biting.”
For a split second Wendell wondered if he was the fish who had just struck the bait but the thought passed quickly. The two men said goodbye and Wendell got out of his car and wandered over to a path that led through the dune. A few feet later he emerged onto soft sand and found himself staring out across a wide beach at the ocean. He wondered who Mentor was. He decided to drive past the property again, still unsure of his next move. He made his way back to his car and retrieved his laptop from his briefcase. A few minutes later he was reading the vendor’s name for the first time. Bob and Cynthia Loughton.
He stared at the screen, a bit frightened but equally excited. Finally he punched the numbers into his phone and arranged an appointment to meet Mr. Loughton at 2:00 PM on the property.
X X X X X
Wendell arrived right on time and Bob Loughton was already there, just wandering around on the small acreage. He waved and Wendell parked and walked over to him. Loughton was sixty years old but appeared much older than that. He was a thin man by nature, but his skin seemed to hang on him as if he had recently lost weight. His smile was friendly though his eyes were sunken and yellow. The two men shook hands.
“Just so you know, it’s the Big C. That’s the reason I’m selling. Never thought I would, but why burden the missus with realtors and lawyers and all kinds of other crap. It’s a good piece of land, plenty high enough to build on and you could put fifteen houses here if you wanted. But to be honest the houses are getting bigger every year and you might want to cut that back to twelve. You are a builder, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been building custom homes in Florida,” answered Wendell.
“Well land here isn’t as dear as it is in Florida … but it ain’t cheap either. All I want is a fair deal. I’m not going to gouge you but I’m not going to be around much longer and I want to make sure my wife is taken care of. We don’t need the money all at once. My lawyer suggested I offer the property with a builder’s mortgage. Down payment first, then you have two years to either come up with the cash or get a subdivision registered and start the roads and services. The interest rate is fair. After registration, we will extend the mortgage for another three years. I don’t expect to be around so you can pay my wife a lump sum each time you sell a lot. The lawyer gives you what he calls a partial discharge so the purchaser get’s free title. It all sounds complicated to me but my lawyer says it’s a good way to do things and it’s all worth my while. He already got something passed by town council to say they are in favor of a subdivision. When Cynthia and me moved here, the island was damn near vacant. Look at it now! I guess everyone wants to live near the ocean and I can’t blame them for that. It’s what I wanted.”
“I understand you live nearby,” said Wendell, a bit lamely.
“That’s my house over there. The Gold Hole is right beside it.”
“The Gold Hole? What’s that?” asked Wendell.
“Hah! I thought you knew about that. It’s nothing really. Just a big hole all covered in weeds. Back in the thirties an industrialist figured he’d found the site of a three hundred year old shipwreck, laden with gold and silver. Some folks even said it was Blackbeard’s treasure trove but I never did believe that. Frankly, I don’t think there is a damn thing down that hole other than a few old ice chests that folks dumped in and maybe even an old car. It used to be a kind of unofficial dump. It seems that whatever goes in, just sinks. But a few people still believe there’s treasure down there. Anyway, it’s too close to my home to sell so it’s not part of the property shown on the survey. It’s just a curiosity, that’s all. That’s the end of your property where you see that orange picket. I understand you already have a copy of the survey and the draft proposal that was put to council.”
“Yes, I have all that,” said Wendell.
“I’d like to walk and talk some more but to tell you the truth, just coming down this path has tuckered me right out. I think I better get back home while I still can. If you are still interested, just talk to my lawyer. You got his name, right?”
“Yes I do.”
“Well you seem like a nice enough young fellow. If I was your age, I’d buy the damn place myself.” Bob Loughton laughed out loud but Wendell didn’t understand the joke. “I guess I did buy it when I was your age. Well, a bit older but that was because of the war.”
It was Wendell’s turn to laugh. “I guess that’s a pretty good recommendation.”
They were at a fork in the path and Bob Loughton stopped and turned.
“You won’t go wrong if you decide you like it.”
The two men shook hands and Wendell looked into Bob’s sunken, yellow eyes. He thought he might see telltale signs of a cagey old horse trader but instead he saw tears forming. He held his gaze long enough to be sure, squeezed the old man’s hand warmly and looked away.
“It won’t take me long to make up my mind,” said Wendell, sympathetically.
“You know what’s right for you.”
The two men parted without another word. Wendell started walking back to his SUV but looked back long enough to see the old man trudging slowly toward his house. He wondered if the old fellow would ever walk to the end of his property again. Probably not.
Wendell stayed longer on Topsail Island than he had intended but his foreman assured him that everything was going fine in Florida and there was no need to hurry back. Wendell met with the lawyer, Ian Knox, who had been recommended and was also impressed by him. He agreed to prepare an offer to purchase and have it ready in two days. Wendell wondered why it would take so long.
“It’s not like buying a house. It’s a commercial deal. The offer will be at least twenty pages long and each paragraph is important. For example, Town Council’s approval in principle. We have to ensure it is transferrable. Then there is the mortgage. I don’t have to actually prepare the mortgage but I have to lay out the terms and the partial discharge component. It’s complicated but don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”
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