When I was a kid the Empire State Building was pretty much the center of my universe. I must have gone to the observation deck with my father at least two dozen times. Security wasn’t as crazy in those days, and the lines moved much more quickly. Even without fast passes. Not that my father would have let me get one, had they been available. He’d have said it was wrong for some people to pay extra and jump the queue.
I always walked around the outdoor platform clockwise, starting with the view to the north. I’d take my time and study the city from all four sides. My father would stand behind me, and tell me all about his favorite architects and the buildings laid out around the grid below us. As I grew older he’d quiz me. He’d check what I remembered. And test to see if I noticed which buildings had gone up or had been demolished or altered since our last visit. I was always right. It was one of the few things that pleased him about me. Afterward, if there was time, we’d eat at the diner on the first floor. That made the building a very nostalgic place for me. I’d often pictured going back. Maybe taking my own kids, on a weekend or during a school vacation. But I’d never imagined starting my working week there with an early-morning meeting.
George Carrick’s office was on the twenty-fifth floor. The area outside the elevator was like a little time capsule. All kinds of fine art deco details had survived around the doorframes and light fittings and windows. I gazed around at them, so distracted that it took me a moment to realize that Carrick’s was the only suite on the corridor that had a nameplate.
Carrick’s reception area was a reasonable size, but it was completely dominated by a museum-style display case standing in the center of the space. It was full of scale models of new buildings. A couple looked familiar—ones that had recently sprouted in billionaires’ row—but it wasn’t clear if ground had ever been broken on some of the others. There was an expensive-looking leather-and-chrome couch against the wall to the right, with framed black-and-white photographs of buildings above it. The reception counter was on the opposite side of the room, between two pale wooden doors. A guy was sitting behind it, tapping away on a laptop computer. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties. His hair was cropped short. He had an expensive navy blue suit, a brilliant white shirt, and a narrow blue tie with a faint camouflage pattern.
“Mr. McNaught?” The guy stood up. He had a pronounced French accent. “Mr. Carrick’s expecting you. Please, go straight through.” He indicated the door to his right.
Carrick was sitting behind a brown leather desk. It looked like it was made out of ancient, beaten-up steamer trunks. He closed the lid of his slim silver laptop and emerged, holding out his hand. He was around five-feet-six tall, but stocky. I guessed he’d have been a powerful man when he was younger despite his lack of height. Now he was in his early sixties. His hair was thin and gray, but his face was hard and determined. His eyes were dark and piercing. His black suit was well tailored, and he wore his plain white shirt with no tie.
We shook hands, then he dropped onto a couch in front of his desk like the one in reception. He gestured for me to sit on an identical one on the other side of a low coffee table. The table had a glass top that covered a deep cavity full of more models of buildings.
Carrick held up both hands, palms out. “Before we even start, let’s get all the cards on the table. Who are you working for? Vidic? Shevchenko? Ibrahimovic?”
“None of the above.” I settled back on the couch. “I’m not working for anyone. I’m here on my own behalf. And I have a very simple proposition for you. I recently came into some money. A lot of it. I want to use some of it to buy your building. I’m prepared to be generous. Like I told you on the phone, the place has sentimental value. So please, name your price.”
“I don’t believe you.” Carrick glared across the table. “You came into money? Bullshit. You’re working for the Russians.”
“Why do you think that? I’ve never even heard of those guys you mentioned.”
“I don’t think.” Carrick smiled, but without a hint of warmth. “I know. Because the Russians have been plaguing me for two years to sell to them. Have you seen the area recently? It’s hot. Everyone wants a piece. But I’m not interested in selling. It’s not just a building we’re talking about. It’s people’s homes. Have you seen the places the Russians build? They’re all empty. All the time. It’s the same as London. It’s just a way for those guys and their fat-ass buddies to move their money around. To hide it. And to park their other assets, like paintings and wine collections. They’re sucking the soul out of the city, and I won’t be part of that. I love this place too much. So go back to your bosses and tell them, when George Carrick says no, he means no.”
“Let’s cut the crap, Mr. Carrick. I have no bosses. I want the building for myself.”
“Even if that were true, it’s not for sale.”
“We haven’t even discussed the price.”
“That would be a waste of time. The building’s fate is sealed. I’m knocking it down.”
Carrick went to his desk, took a file from a drawer, and dropped it onto the coffee table.
“See for yourself. It’s all in there.”
I looked through the file. There were quotes from movers for transporting furniture and possessions. Quotes from demolition specialists. A timeline for permit applications. And the draft of a legal document gifting the land to the city for use as a park.
“Is this for real?”
“Every word.”
“The deed’s not executed.”
“Not yet, no.” Carrick bounced up on the balls of his feet, making himself momentarily a couple of inches taller. “I’m still negotiating with the city. I need a watertight deal that ensures the land can only ever be used as a park. I don’t want those sneaky Russian bastards getting it through the back door.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you seem pretty obsessed by these Russians.”
“I am. And I have good reasons. Those guys will go to any lengths to get what they want. They started with a lowball offer. It was insulting. I refused. Then the tricks started. They tried to drive my tenants out of the building, to hurt me in the pocket. They sabotaged the place. Burst the pipes. Made holes in the roof. And when I sent contractors round to do the repairs, they attacked them. Then they brought a bunch of rats and let them loose. But I didn’t budge. I was hoping to ride it out. I thought they’d find something shinier, and lose interest. Then they attacked a tenant. A nice old lady. They put her in the hospital. That was the final straw. I thought, screw you! If I can’t have the place, no one can. I’ll flatten it, and make it impossible for anyone to build anything new there. In the meantime, I’ve brought in security to protect my tenants. And I’m making plans to find new accommodations for them in other buildings I own.”
“Are you getting some kind of tax break for donating this land?”
“No.”
“But you will end up making more on the rent.”
“Wrong again.”
“How so? At least two of the apartments are rent controlled. If the tenants move, they’ll lose that protection.”
“Correct. Technically. But I’m prepared to honor our current terms. I won’t charge them a penny more.”
“That all sounds great, George. But if you’ll forgive me, it doesn’t tally with what I’ve been hearing from the tenants. They say you’re impossible to reach. That you refuse to do any repairs.”
Carrick bowed his head for a moment. “It’s like I told you. I tried to get the repairs done, but the Russians scared off my contractors. And I have to lay low, for my own safety. You should see the threats I’ve had. These guys don’t mess around. And I can’t help my tenants if I’m in the hospital. Or the cemetery.”
“Maybe. But I have one other problem. When I talked to Jonny, he said Norman Davies—the guy who attacked your nice old lady tenant—worked for you.”
“He did.” Carrick bounced on the balls of his feet. “Davies worked for me. As in, past tense. I fired him when I found out what he did. Scratch that—what the Russians obviously paid him to do to make me look bad.”
“Jonny said you were behind the attack.”
“He’s a lying asshole. You believed him? How would a slug like Jonny know anything about my business? And were you there when he talked to Norman? How do you know what he really said?”
“Those are fair points, but here’s something else I don’t understand. If you’re so innocent, and so determined not to sell, why did you agree to meet me?”
“I figured it was another Russian trick. I thought maybe they were trying to get Norman to lie. If he accused me, and I got convicted, I couldn’t run my business. I’d be out of the way. And even if I wasn’t convicted, the mud would stick and the tenants would likely leave. Either way, there’d be more pressure to sell. Which I won’t do. I’m just trying to get that message across.”
“How about this, then. If I can convince you I’m not working for the Russians, will you sell to me? I’ll guarantee to fix the place up. Make it a fit home for the tenants again. I’ll sign legal papers committing to it.”
“No dice. I’m sorry. You just don’t understand these guys. If I sell to you, they’ll pressure you. They’ll keep going after the tenants. Sooner or later someone will wind up dead. And that would be on me. This is the only way. But if you’re really determined to buy a building, I have others. Good ones. I could show you what’s available.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m only interested in this specific building. It’s a sentimental thing, like I said. Just promise me this. If you change your mind, call me. No one will beat my offer.”
“I’ll bear it in mind. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m not going to sell.”
“OK.” I got to my feet. “I understand. And it was nice to meet you. There’s just one last thing.” I took Jonny’s phone out of my pocket and set it on the table. “I’m sorry for that little subterfuge. It seemed like the only way to reach you. I hope Jonny’s feathers aren’t too ruffled. Please apologize to him for me.”