Anthill_a novel

36
THE DAY OF DECISION for Nokobee arrived in the morning of one of those late September days on the Gulf Coastal Plain so hot it seemed that fall as a season had been banished. At eight o'clock three linen-clad executives entered the boardroom on the top floor of the Sunderland Office Building. Drake Sunderland, president and chief executive officer of the company named after his father, moved on past the conference table to the continental breakfast laid at the end of the room, drew a cup of coffee, added skim milk, no sugar, picked up a glazed donut, unglued his fingers with a paper napkin, and slumped into the nearest chair at the table. He was fifty-five years old, thirty pounds overweight, and had an as-yet-undiscovered partly blocked right carotid artery.
Raphael Semmes Cody, chief counsel, a short, slim man of twenty-eight years, dressed in a J. Press summer suit, shirt, and tie, selected croissants, butter substitute, and fruit. Richard Sturtevant, vice president and chief financial officer, sixty-plus, rumply white-haired, and with more than ample girth to advertise the good life he had enjoyed, hesitated, then chose the same. Both took seats opposite the president.
Drake Sunderland crinkled his face into an alpha good-old-boy smile. "Well, Raff, I'm so glad you made it. I'm really happy to see you. What you got?" He pulled himself up straight in his chair as he spoke. Tense this morning, no mistake about that. No feigned humor in his eyes now. All three knew this was going to be a crucial meeting for Sunderland Associates.
Raff urged himself silently, Stay calm, stay focused. He breathed deeply but quietly as he spoke. "Well, sir, I've got some good news and, well, a little bit of semi-bad news, or at least a problem or two we'll need to fix."
Sunderland looked up, slid his spectacles down his nose to look over them, and studied Raff's face.
"The good news," Raff said, "is that we won the blind bid on Nokobee Westside. The Jepson lawyers in Atlanta just called me thirty minutes ago, as promised, to give us the word. Furthermore, we came in only five percent over the next-highest bid. So we ended up shaving it close; we did really well."
Sunderland leaned forward, brightened again. He balled and lifted his fists with thumbs up the way he did at Auburn University football games, but this morning a little less emphatically.
"That's good, that's real good. What's the bad news?" Then he frowned, working his mouth from side to side.
"Well, sir, it's the enviros again, as you might guess. They are not going to be happy campers on this one. I think we underestimated how serious they are. Nokobee Westside is what they call 'biologically rich.'"
Vice President Sturtevant said, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Raff continued, ignoring the question. "They've designated it a local biodiversity 'hot spot.' I've checked with the state Department of Environmental Management, and here's what they've got. The area immediately to the west of Lake Nokobee has two species of salamanders, a bird, and a turtle listed as vulnerable under the Endangered Species Act. And there's worse. In that pitcher-plant bog that lies on the boundary with the national forest? There are two endemic plant species. That's endemic. I mean, found no other place on earth."
Vice President Sturtevant interrupted with mocking exasperation, "Well, guys, the f*cking salamanders and pitcher plants. There goes the golf course."
"I'm afraid there's more," Raff continued. "The longleaf pine stand can't be cut. Just can't be cut at all. We assumed that since longleaf pine is found all over the South, taking it out at Nokobee would be no problem. But that westside stand is original old growth, and there's only about two percent of real old growth like that left in the entire United States. I know the timber at Nokobee is worth over a million dollars, but we can't harvest it."
Sturtevant broke in again. Time to talk sense to this fellow. He's gone over the line, giving everybody a hard time. He slammed his hands on the table, but not too hard, since he was only four feet from Sunderland facing him. "What are you saying? That we gotta pull out? This is the best deal the company ever had. People are starting to move into that area big-time. Property prices are going up. Nokobee Westside is going to give us the biggest profit we ever had."
He paused, let it sink in, continued quietly, "Now, look here. That whole region may be piney woods now, but in a few years it's going to be built over as much as the suburbs around Mobile and Pensacola. It's going to be a real nice place to live. New South and all that, you know. You're going to have your housing developments, your schools, your strip malls. Lots of paved roads. Nobody is going to stop any of that. So endangered species or whatever the hell you're talking about don't have a chance anyway, do they? Why can't we just leave the bog maybe and a couple of acres of piney woods alone, a little nature center maybe, that ought to be enough for any judge or jury, and just present the enviros with a done deal. Let 'em suck it up. Fat accomplee, as they say up at Emory."
Richard Sturtevant was a good man, a moral man, a former Southern Baptist pastor who had never cheated on his wife. His faith had empowered him with an inner calm: whatever happens, good or bad, whether manifest to the human mind or beyond our understanding, is God's will. But he also had an M.B.A. from Emory University, and a soul where dwelleth the eleventh commandment of the bottom line. People counted with him, jobs counted, and economic growth measured in annual per capita net yield was, well, America's bottom line. The fate of a few rare species had to be kept a few notches down on the priority list.
Sturtevant thought he saw Sunderland nodding, so he decided to escalate and bring out the ecclesiastical nuclear weapon. "That's what God intends," he said through tight lips. "You can read it right there in scripture: He gave us dominion over earth--not to sit around and gawk at, but to use, to prosper with it, and to multiply."
Raff was ready for this. He'd known for some time that God would push His way into the discussion. "I understand what you're saying, Rick. But consider this. People care about quality of life, and Nokobee Westside has quality of life written all over it. I'm telling you, this whole business can blow up in our face if we get reckless. I don't know if you ever read him, but that environment reporter at the News Register, Bill Robbins, is a killer on things like this. That guy knows the name of every kind of plant in this part of the state, and most of the animals too, and he's got a special thing for bogs and old-growth longleaf pine. If we make a wrong move, he's going to be on us like a hawk on a one-legged chicken. And the big conservation organizations will come in too--Sierra Club, Nature Conservancy, Longleaf Alliance--and a lot of people around here you never heard of."
Sturtevant, throwing up his hands, came back hard at Raff. "Now, that's a one-sided picture of things if I ever heard one. You're forgetting that there are a lot of people around here who don't love piney woods. Most of the population, if truth be told. We're living in one of the most conservative and religious places in America. You've got a lot of folks who like to go out in the woods and hunt and fish and all that, but they believe people should come first if there's any kind of conflict. They don't want a bunch of nature parks with guards all over the place. They don't want government interfering with their lives. They don't want a bunch of liberal bureaucrats up in Montgomery and Washington regulating this and regulating that, and telling them what to do. They believe Jesus came to save souls, not bugs and snakes."
Raff's eyes popped open at this last expression. It was what LeBow had said, nearly word for word.
Sturtevant went on. "They're sure that He's coming again, the End of Time, real soon. Right or wrong, I wouldn't laugh at them, if I were you. There are a lot of people around the country feel that way, and most especially down here. We go ahead and tie up a high-quality property like Nokobee, and they're going to raise hell. There could be a war, I'm telling you."
Drake Sunderland turned to look at Raff again over the top rim of his eyeglasses. He was getting twitchy. This was not like poker at the Cosmopolitan Club, where the elite meet and talk up cozy big deals; this wasn't the kind of business news reported in the financial section of the News Register. He thought, Maybe we'd have been a lot better off if I didn't take this boy genius into the firm in the first place. But then it came to him, No, no, that can't be. He knows the ropes. He knows which way the trees are gonna fall.
He said to the two men facing him, "Do we really have to worry about a bunch of Bible shouters and peckerwoods?"
"Drake--" Sturtevant protested.
Sunderland silenced him with a rise of his hand. "Just a minute, Rick."
Sunderland was thinking worst-case scenario now. His name and the family's shares might not be enough to save him if he steered Sunderland Associates into both a financial and a public-relations disaster. Who the hell is this Bill Robbins anyway? he wondered. He and his buddies could be big-time trouble, that's who, sorry to say.
Sunderland murmured, almost a whisper, "All right, Raff. What do you suggest? I'm sure you've been giving this a lot of thought."
Sturtevant started to speak again: "Drake, for God's sake--" But Sunderland silenced him a second time by raising his hand.
Raff nodded, reached for an attache case he'd carried in with him, and laid it on the table. Almost there, he thought, almost there. Focus, focus, focus...
"Mr. Sunderland, Drake...and Rick, I'm certain we can solve this problem with a shift in strategy. We can do it, and I hope to everybody's satisfaction, just by the way we figure the budget, and with all due respect to you, Rick, as our financial officer. Suppose we didn't make those habitats and species into obstacles that we put on the cost side of the ledger. Suppose we added them to the profit side."
He opened the attache case and took out copies of a three-page memorandum he'd prepared. He handed one to each of the two men.
"I've been checking. It's getting routine around the country for high-end retirement communities and second-home resorts to make an asset out of nature if they possibly can. As you can see on the first page, the trend started back in the sixties and it really began to climb in the nineties. It's now a national trend, and it's more or less recession-proof. I've broken out the southern tier of states to show it's well on the way here as well.
"I haven't gotten exact data on this point, but it also seems clear that two factors weigh in high on profitability. The closer the development to a major center of population, and the larger the natural area around it, the larger the per-acre profit, especially for homes at the high end. I've checked directly with a number of land management experts and large real estate developers around the country, and they're virtually unanimous on that point. They're listed there on the second page. On page three I've summarized very briefly what I think we should do."
Raff paused to let Sunderland and Sturtevant scan the pages.
"So, bottom line. I think we're in a situation here where it would pay to build a smaller number of estates than we planned. Maybe have a row of relatively small lots lining most of Lake Nokobee Westside, with a private gated road. Each house would have its own access to the lake, but there would be a community landing and boathouse about in the middle. With that we add some nature trails but leave the rest of the Nokobee tract just as it is. We won't need any developed lots, because each house would have the lake on one side and the reserve on the other. The beauty of it is, we get the amenities of the natural world, at the lake and inland, scott free. And the initial construction payout and asking price can be actually smaller than for most high-quality homes. And that's a good thing, now that the real estate market is in a slump. So it's the prudent strategy for this company to follow short-term or long-term. Rich people can always buy houses, but the middle class maybe not."
Drake Sunderland was listening carefully, poker-faced. Raff was ready to lay down what he considered his trump card. He took a sip of water and cleared his throat.
"Now, here's something else. The public relations potential would be absolutely tremendous. We could headline the endangered habitats and species we saved. Advertise the concept. Make Nokobee famous. How many developments, especially in this state, can take credit for protecting endangered species? And what's more, in how many places can you just walk out of your home and see them? We can set up tours for residents on the nature trails, provide brochures about the beauty and value of the Nokobee environment. Get the governor here to help celebrate opening day. That would be a super photo op for him and for us. Maybe even get the best part of it declared a state botanical site, with a big tax deduction and management provided by the state."
Raff noticed, as he spoke, that Rick Sturtevant was growing more agitated. His face had begun to redden. Pushing the memorandum away from him with the back of his hand, he exploded.
"Oh, for God's sake, what is this? F*cking Earth Day? Haven't you heard a word I've been saying? South Alabama and on out to the Panhandle are not the rest of America. They don't fit anywhere on your charts. I keep telling you this is the most conservative and religious part of the United States. People around here believe what they read in the Good Book, every word, and I might as well tell you, so do I. They're angry. They don't like government control in the first place, and they sure don't like some rich tree-huggers coming here and gobbling up the best land, taking away their jobs."
Sunderland's mouth had fallen slightly open, as though he were stunned and struggling to find a response. Raff moved in quickly, relieved at the outburst. Rick Sturtevant was unraveling. He was confused and starting to whine. He had obviously not been prepared for anything like Raff's proposal. His response had been emotional.
Raff lived by three maxims. Fortune favors the prepared mind. People follow someone who knows where he's going. And control the middle, because that's where the extremes eventually have to meet.
"Rick, like I say, I understand where you're coming from," Raff continued, "but hear me out, please. I grant you that twenty or thirty years ago what I've suggested might have stirred up trouble, you're right about that. But you've got to admit that things are changing fast. A lot of people coming into the upscale housing market are native to the coast, not just outsiders, and a lot of them are religious and conservative just as you are, and we have to respect that political position for sure and put a lot of weight on it. But a lot of others--and especially among the retirees--more and more are going green, and that's true regardless of their origin."
Sturtevant was regaining his composure, and he felt encouraged by Raff's courteous response. "That might be true of a bunch of granola-crunching left-wingers, but what makes you think it's going to be true of the conservative majority in South Alabama and the Panhandle? These people get their conservatism from their mother's milk."
That was a hardball, but Raff caught it. "You're right. That's true. But think about the two words conservatism and conservation; they both come from the same Latin stem, conservare." Smiling, he added, "Now, don't tell me that's something I picked up at Harvard. In fact, I learned it down there at Florida State University from a Southern professor who's an expert in both subjects. He asked his class, what is conservatism without conservation? And how are we ever going to be energy independent and save our natural resources without conservation? Here's something to consider. A recent author put it this way: green is the new red, white, and blue."
Raff now lifted his hands in supplication. "And you gotta admit, not everybody wants to play golf. A lot of people want to live close to nature. And down here, you know as well as I do, you can go out and enjoy nature in shorts and a T-shirt almost all year-round, if you want to."
Richard Sturtevant had stopped listening. He was scribbling something on the back of the memorandum Raff had given him.
Sunderland cleared his throat loudly, halting talk from the other two, then he stood up and walked over to the wall-length window on the sunrise side. The morning sky was still unbroken blue. The sun had risen to fade the Mobile River from black into a light brown. The buildings of the city had changed from the bronze of dawn to a brilliant polychrome in the full sunlight. A flock of herring gulls caught Sunderland's eye as they took flight from a parking lot, roused by an approaching automobile. They circled out over Mobile Bay.
Sunderland turned to look at Bankhead Tower a half mile south, still the highest building in the city, its upper floors prominent over the roofs of other midtown buildings. It housed the premier luxury apartments of the city. The large American flag on top caught an errant breeze, unfurled a bit, and fell back. There's the company's greatest achievement, he mused. My father's achievement.
He'd already made up his mind while Raff was talking. Now he tried to put the words together.
"We might do something like that," he said, still looking out.
Then he turned, walked over, and, looking down at Raff said, "But would the enviros trust us? After all, this company is the big bad wolf as far as they are concerned. We've already got a black mark at Nokobee. The fiasco at Dead Owl Cove is the only environmental decision we ever made there. They probably won't understand that we didn't have any other choice. Those ants were eating the place alive--so much for leaving nature alone. Even people couldn't stay there for more than a few minutes. So we had to spray, or do something. Sure, it turned out to be the wrong way, I'll admit that. Half the junk washed on down into the lake, and Good Lord help us, it killed everything along the shore at Dead Owl Cove. There were dead fish floating halfway up the lake. There were dead birds lying all around the trailhead. The enviros and the locals both gave us hell. People thought we were going to give them cancer. Why we weren't fined or sued, big-time, I'll never know.
"So I ask you, what if the ants come back, and we can't spray them?"
"I don't think that's likely, sir," Raff said. "You know, I studied those ants for years while I was at Florida State. It's just something I happen to know a lot about. What happened was a rare genetic mutation. I'm not positive--who can ever be positive about something like that?--but it's never happened before that I know of, and I'm pretty sure it won't happen again." He wasn't pretty sure, but he had to say so now.
Sunderland turned to his chief financial officer. "Well, Rick? Give it a try?"
Sturtevant said sarcastically, "Maybe you can persuade Mr. Cody to put the boathouse and ramp there. Then the whole place'll be under concrete and lawn grass. That'll stop the ants."
Then, grimacing, he threw up his hands. "Hell, Drake, it's your call. But I'm not going to change my mind. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I even think it's a little dangerous, with some of the kind of people we have around here. Anyway, that's the last I'm going to say on the subject. I'm not going to throw myself on the barbed wire for you guys to charge over. I'll just handle the books for you on this one and hope for the best."
He turned then and stared deadpan at Raff for a moment, thinking, Well, I guess I'm looking at the future power around here. I don't want the company to fail, but I'd sure like to see that little shithead fall on his face.
"Thank you, Rick," Drake Sunderland said. "I guess we have a decision."
The meeting was ended. Outside, clouds had formed across the western horizon. There would be some rain in the evening, as another front rolled onto the Gulf. Weather here in the beautiful country was always an intrusion from Kansas, or Illinois, or some other far-off part of America.
They started walking out of the room together, Sturtevant leading. At the door, Drake Sunderland asked Raff to hold back for a minute. His eyes were half closed, his expression somber.
"Look, Raff, I'm going to go with you on this one. It's a gamble, sure, let's not kid ourselves, but I think it's the one that's likely to succeed with a minimum of headaches. I pray to God it does so. And to tell you the truth, if it does succeed, we'll have something to be proud of. I really never did want to cover the Nokobee tract with a bunch of tacky houses if we could manage something better. Especially if we might go bankrupt by investing in too big a project."
Raff gave an emphatic nod. "Yessir, thank you. Thank you for saying that."
"But I also have to warn you, Raff, I'm really upset by what Rick Sturtevant was saying. There may be some truth in it. Development and religion are all mixed up down here. Some say God wants all the land He gave us to be used, meaning developed; some say God wants us to save all His Creation. If we let fanatics on either side take over, we could be in deep shit. I don't want Nokobee turned into some kind of a courtroom battleground. The media would make us look like fools.
"So I'll say one thing to you. Don't let us run into any kind of public relations trouble. Not from your environment friends, not from any Bible-thumping wackos, and especially I want you to keep that goddamn Mobile News Register off our backs. Do I make myself perfectly clear? And here's another thing. If I see this thing is going to tank, I'm going to pull back faster than a frog off a hot stove. I'll leverage the property for a loan, and I'll develop the whole thing in small plots."
Raff nodded gravely. "Yessir, that is perfectly clear."