May 20, bright and early
I waited outside the agency's front door until a mousy-looking young woman with green glasses unlocked it and guided me to a chair pushed against a bookcase. The entire office—or at least the part I could see—was not much bigger than a walk-in closet. But every wall, shelf and surface was loaded with notebooks, papers and dossiers.
"Neither Mr. or Mrs. Jones have arrived yet," the woman said. "Can I help you with something?"
She looked uncomfortable as she settled down behind an enormous mahogany desk that drowned her thin frame.
"Were they expecting you for a certain account?" she continued.
"I'm here to see about The Grand East Hotel," I said. "I'm... representing a possible buyer."
"Ah!" the woman shuffled through the stacks of papers near the telephone. "I know they've been doing a lot of work on this one. The details should be around here somewhere."
"Who owns the hotel anyway?" I asked. "It seems no one knows."
The sound of a wind chime was followed by hurried steps and a sharp, yet ingratiating voice telling me the information wasn't available to the public. Mr. Jones, who dumped an armload of papers and his briefcase on the communal desk, obviously had arrived.
He introduced himself, shook my hand and then glared at the young woman.
"Mary Beth, you know this is our most important project at the moment, and I've explicitly told you I shall be the one handling it. If you truly would like to be helpful, post these packages for me please. They have to make it out in this morning's mail."
Mary Beth didn't flinch. She scooped up the thick envelopes, stuffed them into a black canvas bag and made her way to the door. Her eyes remained lowered as she said good-bye to both of us.
"Difficult finding competent help these days," Mr. Jones said, settling down in the chair Mary Beth had vacated. "I know everyone says that, but it's true. Now then, how may I be of assistance?"
"I'm here on behalf of a wealthy New Yorker, who also wishes to remain anonymous."
"What is he or she looking for, exactly?"
"A solid investment. My... client... was interested in learning the history of the hotel. We're aware of the financial details."
"It was erected in the middle of the nineteenth century as a hotel for wealthy businessmen and their families. Very practical since it was—and still is—right near one of the train stations. It burned to the ground several years later and was rebuilt, in keeping with the same style. Throughout the years, it has been extensively refurbished, yet without tarnishing elements such as the grand staircase. The contemporary touches added in recent years make it quite an exquisite and original property."
"Who built the hotel?"
"The family prefers not to provide those sorts of details at the moment."
"Isn't it a matter of public record?"
"Yes and no," Mr. Jones said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his annoyance. "You don't quite understand. This hotel was the project of an investment company that no longer exists. You could say it passed through many hands as time went by."
"But there was always one main owner behind it, isn't that right? That's what people seem to say..."
"People will say anything," he said, rising swiftly. In an instant, he was holding the door open for me. "Is there anything else I can do to assist you? If so, we shall have to make an appointment. I have several meetings today so I cannot be held up."
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