Chapter 3: The Pitch

They had acquired quite a few old family photographs. A computer had been used to create an averaged profile of their features, then a guy with calipers measured my face. They got a 'very good' match. My birth certificate was authenticated. After all that we got down to business. As the closest male descendent of the line I was to inherit an island if I performed certain tasks.

An elderly gentleman read aloud from the contract laid out over one hundred years before. The heir would only be granted ownership and access to the funds under management if an impressive home was raised on the site of the original homestead and was occupied by said heir for a period of one full year. The princely sum of thirty thousand dollars was to have been set aside when the contract was drawn up. Its purpose was to grant said heir the funds to construct their home. Occupancy was to begin within three months of the reading of the contract. He laid down the paper.

I'd been shot down before I even left the runway. My disenchantment must haves shown.

"Not much in today's terms, is it?"

"Nope. I might get it done for five times that, depending on what's available."

"You're in luck." He said in a dry tone of voice. "It went into an interest bearing account at five percent compound interest. The account balance is currently just over four point four million dollars."

"Holy Christ." I exclaimed. I sat back in the chair and thought about what was involved. Services would have to be run. I'd seen the lawyer's aerial photograph. The road was gravel and devastated by wash-outs. It would have to be dug out, properly filled in and paved. Hopefully all the services could be run parallel to the road, beneath the surface. The island was considered by many to be a wildlife refuge. There was no sense in rocking the boat unnecessarily. (besides, buried services should be relatively weather proof. Costal Maine wasn't known for easy winters.) For that reason I wouldn't put in a sewage field either. Instead I'd use a big septic tank.

I'd seen a museum that was built of pre-stressed hollow-core concrete slabs. It looked quite striking with all the vertical elements. A series of clestory windows just below the roof line would add to the look. I recalled looking into the strength and limitations of the construction technique. A shed-style roof with the highest edge towards the south should yield good internal illumination. A couple diffuse spot lights illuminating the front of the building would hopefully make the place 'impressive' enough to satisfy the lawyers that were administering this contract. I stopped staring out into space and focused on the old man.

"I'll need access to an architect with experience in pre-stressed hollow-core concrete slab construction. He or she must have working relationships with a civil contractor to get the road upgraded, a mechanical engineer to check the loads and water-proofing of this type of home construction and a general contractor that has good quality subs in electrical, plumbing, heating and concrete work. I need this within twenty-four hours. To save money I'd like to rent a small house in-town as living in a hotel for several months would prove expensive and tedious. Please arrange for something. I'll need access to the building funds quite soon as I'll need capital to rent a dwelling, hire and bond the architect, get the road-building underway, get the utilities run and to purchase a vehicle. If the place is to be 'impressive' I'll also need the services of an interior decorator. I have certain constraints under which they must labor, as I will be the one living there, not them."

The old man was smiling. "I'm glad that you're taking the bit in your teeth, young man. I'll get my firm right on it." The rest of his team was sitting there, obviously in shock.

We agreed to meet the next morning, same time, same place. We shook hands and I left.