Second Nature

Chapter 18

18 

In the lobby of The Grove, a huge man in a gray silk suit approached Cade, and without shaking hands, announced, "I'm Eddie Helco, Mr. Fairchild's personal assistant. Follow me."  

Eddie was built like a defensive lineman, and in his extra-large, double-breasted suit, he looked like an expensively dressed mattress. Eddie escorted Cade to a private elevator that he unlocked with an electronic key. They rose twelve floors and stopped at a marble-tiled foyer. Eddie crossed the foyer, swung open French doors, and ushered Cade inside the living room of Weston Fairchild's spacious penthouse. Then Eddie turned around and departed, ducking slightly to pass under the doorframe. 

On the far side of the largest Persian carpet Cade had ever seen, Weston hovered over a bright yellow golf ball, concentrating on a 6-yard putt. He did not look up as Cade entered.  

Weston's tall, broad-shouldered build, high cheekbones, and pure white hair gave him the look of a well-preserved elderly statesman. Below a masterful facelift, sagging skin at his neckline betrayed his years; still it was almost impossible to believe the man was eighty-one. Designer clothing adorned his impressive figure: a collarless shirt of royal purple silk, untucked, over cream-colored linen slacks and tan goatskin loafers. Cade figured his grandfather's platinum wristwatch alone cost more than Cade's dive boat. 

Weston tapped the ball. It rolled across the plush carpet, past an ancient-looking hammered-bronze chest, and clinked into an etched-crystal wine flute tipped on its side. Weston reached into his pocket and plunked down another ball, still ignoring his guest.  

Cade felt nervous, but he wasn't going to lose his cool. Two can play this game. He parked himself next to a glass wall overlooking the bay, his back to his host. Eventually the old man would acknowledge his presence. It took only thirty years for him to phone him, right?  

Below the penthouse spread a panorama of the crescent beach of Coolahatchee Bay. Looking west, boardwalks crossed sugar-white dunes leading to the blue-green waters opening onto the Gulf of Mexico. To the Northeast, a pine forest bordered a saltmarsh flecked with yellow swamp buttercups and marsh bluebells, Indian tobacco and wild rye. Cade could see where recent bulldozing had uprooted trees nearly to the banks of the marsh. The raw earth, streaked with red clay, looked painful. 

He heard Weston step up beside him. "Quite a view." 

Cade nodded, turning his gaze southward. Beach-ball-sized inflated eyes hung from the top of the window to scare off seabirds from smashing into the glass. "I can see the tin roof of Kay's Kitchen on the far side of Taylor's." He pointed. "Six trawlers. All but two of the boats are in." 

"Know what I see?" Weston swept the putter across the vista. "I see the future. I see paved streets with street lights, neighborhoods-by-design, an area by the shore with fine shops and restaurants." 

Cade did not look away from the view. "Have you heard what the people of Marina and Taylor's think about your plans for their future? They don't want your blessings." 

"Because it's so noble to be poor? Is that it? That's why they resist a better life?" 

"No, it hurts like hell to be poor. But the folks I talk with want to find a way to make a decent living on the bay without spoiling the place." His eyes roamed the tree-lined shore. "You build your golf resort and pricey condos, throw in the gift shops, the cobblestone streets, all the other touristy crap that goes along. Maybe you got another Palm Springs, maybe it's Key West, but it's no longer Cool Bay. This place won't be recognizable." 

"That's your opinion. Think about the others, the kids. You know there's not enough work to go around. They grow up and leave because they can't find jobs here."