Chapter 8: Are We All in?

At two-thirty on Saturday afternoon, I pulled into a parking space near the entrance of the massive office building I’d soon own. I knew from my summer work experience that this spot was usually reserved for one of the senior lawyers.

I had almost parked in Will’s space, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I parked next to it instead.

I’d expected the car park to be empty apart from the few cars of the people I was meeting, but there were well over a dozen vehicles parked in various spots around it. At first, I thought that was strange because I knew the firm didn’t open on Saturdays. That’s why we were able to meet there—we knew there would be meeting rooms available. But then I remembered the car park was shared with the neighbouring two-storey office building, which housed several small businesses. It made sense that those business owners might have been working over the weekend.

David had heard a rumour that the building might be up for sale soon, and I’d asked him to keep an eye on the situation. It could make a nice addition to my burgeoning property portfolio.

Or should that be Property Empire? How many properties did you need to own before your portfolio became an empire?

Or was it about how you managed the portfolio rather than its size? Emperors were ruthless, driven, and power-hungry. I wasn’t any of those things. Was I? I didn’t think I was. I didn’t want to be, but look at what this meeting was about. And Thursday’s video conference. Multi-million-pound deals. Was I an Emperor in all but name?

I glanced at the passenger seat and sighed. It was empty, of course. I’d invited Lana, but, quite rightly, I suppose, she’d said she didn’t belong there. It was a board meeting. Private and confidential.

I looked ahead again, gripping the steering wheel. I could see Bobby, David, and another person I didn’t recognise sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard outside the atrium—a courtyard formed by the two halves of the building jutting out on either side. I marvelled once more at the building’s design—it was so unique. The central atrium, constructed entirely of glass, connected the two halves of the building. To its right, the ‘functional’ half of the building, where most of the ‘work’ got done, was a simple box shape. But to the left, the ‘client’ wing, housing all the meeting rooms, had a striking semi-circular end.

I’d never seen anything like it before.

It was a ‘statement’ building.

But what statement was I making by buying it?

I took a deep breath, then reached down to push the stop/start button, killing the engine.

“Time to put your game-face on,” I said out loud.

“Gentlemen,” I said as I approached the men sitting at the wooden picnic table.

“Paul, you’re early,” David said. He stood to greet me, offering his hand.

“As are you,” I said, shaking his hand and raising an eyebrow.

He grinned. “Charlotte has arranged a play date for Alfie. There are currently five little four-year-olds tearing my house apart. It’s much more peaceful sitting here in the March sunshine, enjoying a cold can of Coke.”

I nodded.

“What’s in the bag?” Bobby asked as he also rose and offered his hand.

I had two bags with me—a messenger bag slung over my shoulder containing my laptop, and a sturdy paper bag in my left hand. After shaking Bobby’s hand, I pulled the top of the bottle of blended Scotch whisky out of the bag, then let it fall back in.

“Picked it up on the way over,” I said. “I figured if we’re signing contracts today, we could have a ‘wee dram’ as a celebration.”

“Now that sounds like my kind of celebration,” said the third man, also rising from his seat and offering me his hand. He had a soft, Scottish accent. You could almost call it ‘subtle.’ Every word was precise and clear, but had its own, self-contained up-and-down rhythm that made even that one short sentence sound like a song.

“Paul,” David said as I shook the stranger’s hand, “this is Oliver Croft. He’s the commercial property lawyer Jeremy assigned to draft the lease on your behalf.”

“Aye,” he said, “I’ve done most of the work on the purchase, as well, even though the gaffer’s getting most of the credit.”

“Just par for the course, Oliver,” Bobby said. “You’ll do the same to one of your Junior Associates when you’re a Partner.”

“Like I’ll ever make partner,” he said. “They don’t make folks like me into a partner.”

“Folks like me?” I said as I released his hand.

“Take your pick,” he said. “Working class. Scottish lawyer in England. Gay—”

“Gay?” I said. “Why would that make a difference?”

“Trust me,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “it makes a difference.”

“Not to me, it doesn’t.”

He gave me a half-smile. “Good to know.”

Part of me didn’t understand how someone’s sexuality could hold them back professionally. Another part of me recognised that was the reason Vicky started her own restaurant rather than waiting to be promoted to Head Chef at Micester Hall.

Oliver nodded towards my bottle bag. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” I removed the bottle from the bag and handed it to him. He held it with both hands, inspecting it. His face was unreadable.

I hadn’t known there would be a Scotsman at the meeting. If I had, I would have either bought something more expensive or not bothered at all. At thirty-five quid, it wasn’t a cheap supermarket bottle, but it wasn’t an expensive choice either. It wasn’t even a Single Malt. Had I offended him without realising it?

“No bad,” he said, nodding. “No bad at all.” He looked up. “Monkey Shoulder. Interesting choice, Mr Robertson. Where’d you get it?”

“There’s an off-licence between my house and campus—”

“D’you mean The Study Room? Aye, good place. Next to Jak’s Café, right?”

“You know Jak’s?”

“Aye, best little greasy spoon in England. No quite up to Edinburgh standards, but Jak does a hell of a Full English. I keep asking her to do a Full Scottish, but she dinnae know the difference.” He held up the bottle. “So, you’re a man of good taste, Mr Robertson?”

I smiled. “Paul,” I said. “Every time you say ‘Mr Robertson,’ I feel the need to look behind me to see who you’re talking to.”

He smiled and held the bottle back out to me. “We have some snifters inside.” He paused. “Paul.”

“Of course you do,” Bobby said. “This is Will’s firm.”

“Now there’s an Englishman who knows his whisky,” Oliver said. “But we’ll need to wash the glasses and put ‘em back before we leave.”

“Speaking of inside,” David said. “I assume you have a key?”

Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black fob on a keychain. “Keyless entry. Shall we go in now and get started, or wait for your other guests?”

“If we go in, can we activate the main doors?” I said. “I don’t want to leave anyone out here wondering where we are or how to get in.”

“Aye, no bother. Let’s get inside and get things set up. Make a pot of tea and a pot of coffee.”

“So, what is the difference between a Full English and a Full Scottish?”