The school that I suspected was the preserves processing center was indeed owned by Entermann’s Realty. According to everything I could find, it was officially empty, out of commission, and had been since Highland Heights Public Schools closed the doors in the midnineties due to decreased enrollment. I wondered if anyone was even aware that it was being used.
Entermann’s had purchased it two years earlier from a bankrupt developer. The developer, Uriel Harris, had snatched up numerous run-down and vacant properties over a ten-year span. His plan had been renovation, all hinging on tax breaks and grants. Though the tax breaks had been approved, the revenue base continued to drop. That was when Entermann’s stepped in and bought it for pennies on the dollar.
Before Harris, HBA Corporation made a bid on the property. It’s one of the largest builders of hospitals in the country. I understood that the size of the building meant it would have made a good hospital, and the area needed health care; nevertheless HBA was outbid by Wilkens Industries. Fifteen years earlier, Wilkens had paid $5 million for the property, purchasing it from Highland Heights.
What I found interesting was that the old firehouse and the large building beside it had at one time also been owned by Highland Heights. The money trail for the firehouse was different, but currently it was owned by Wilkens Industries. The building housing The Light was owned by The Light, a not-for-profit, paid in full, having been given to the ministry by Marcel Clarkson, a wealthy benefactor.
I made a note to research Marcel Clarkson and tried another route. I called a friend at Preston and Butler.
“Jenn?” I asked, hearing her voice on the other end of the line. She and I’d hung out after work on more than a few occasions. Her choice in men always lent itself to some late nights filled with plenty of beer and pep talk. I hadn’t seen her in a while, not since leaving the firm, but I hoped we were still close. “It’s Stella Montgomery.”
“Hey, Stella, what’s up? How are you doing?”
“I’m good. I’ve been working a story, and I was wondering if you could help a friend out?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “But I’ll give it a try. What do you need?”
“I’m following a trail on some property. I keep seeing Entermann’s Realty coming up. I remembered that the realty firm was a client of Preston and Butler. Would it be possible to send me a list of all the properties they currently own?”
“Jeez, I’m not sure.”
“Jenn, I totally get it, but if you could, you’d save me a ton of time, and I can’t tell you how depressing this has been. I keep coming up empty on all counts.”
“Stella, for all those times you sat and listened to me bitch about Jimmy, I’ll give you this. Can you give me a day or two to get it all together? Then I’ll e-mail it to you.”
I bit my lip. “How is that scumbag?”
She laughed. “You always did have a way with words. I actually kicked his lazy ass to the curb.”
“Good for you!”
“Yeah, you convinced me I didn’t need a man around. We need to hang out sometime.”
“We do. I’d love to catch up. Guess what?”
“What?”
I smiled. “I’m kind of dating someone.”
“No way! Single-for-life Stella . . . we do need to catch up. Just tell me he’s not like Jimmy.”
“So far no, and he’s employed.”
“Sounds like a winner. I’ll get that list together as soon as I can and send it to your e-mail.”
“Thank you!”
I hung up and tried a search for Wilkens Industries. Founded in the early nineties by the original CEO, Marcel Clarkson . . . ding ding . . . it served as an umbrella for a few defined subsidiaries. In 2000 Clarkson stepped down due to medical reasons and was replaced by Matthew Lee. He was still the CEO. Under Lee’s supervision Wilkens Industries had grown exponentially. The board of directors read like a who’s who of nobodies. With last names like Smith, Johnson, and Jones and first names like Robert, Steve, and John, I couldn’t have found the individuals unless I’d entered a board meeting and asked for their Social Security numbers. Being as Wilkens was a privately owned company, accessing its payroll records would take some time. Though it was private, I was able to access tax information through IRS records. Currently the net worth of Wilkens Industries was listed near $55 million, with a plethora of diverse investments and subsidiaries, one of which was Entermann’s Realty. Ding.
Interesting.
As the clock neared four fifteen, I closed my search and sent a text to Dylan.
Stella: I’M MEETING A FRIEND FOR DRINKS. I’LL CALL WHEN I GET HOME.
Dylan: IF YOUR FRIEND IS A FIREMAN, WE NEED TO TALK BEFORE THEN.
I grinned.
Stella: YOU’RE THE ONLY PUBLIC SERVANT I PLAN ON TALKING TO. MY FRIEND’S FEMALE.
Dylan: GOOD TO HEAR.
“That’s the best smile I’ve seen on your face all day.”
I looked up at Foster. “I haven’t had a lot to smile about.”