Chapter Forty-six

The next morning, Parrott climbed out of bed early. He took care of Horace’s needs and let the cockatiel play with his toys in the family room, while Parrott cooked breakfast for Tonya and himself. He wanted to make the most of being able to stay home until mid-morning.

Last night when he’d told Tonya about the meeting with Brock Thornton, she’d balked. “I’m not ready to change our investment strategy right now, Ollie. My priority is a new house.”

Parrott didn’t want to burden his wife with the truth, that the meeting would be a ruse. “I’m not overly excited about investing with this guy either, but I think we should hear what he has to say. We owe that much to Ma and Herman, too.”

“Okay, but I’m warning you ahead of time. I’m suspicious of anyone who makes a lot of promises or seems too eager.”

Parrott turned his back on Tonya’s last comment, devoting his attention to the eggs he was whipping for omelets. What was the comment the crime writer, Andrea Baker, had made? Something about Brock Thornton’s not wanting people to come to him, that he sought out his clients. Why had it been so easy for Herman to set up an appointment with the most successful money manager in Brandywine Valley? Or to use Tonya’s words, why did he seem so eager?

Last night he’d pored over the information the chief had given him from Sylvester. The fact that there was no information about Thornton prior to coming to Brandywine wasn’t in and of itself damning. It seemed fishy, but maybe there was a legitimate reason for him to have scrubbed his profile. A better question was what had made M. Robert Pennington sponsor the new financial planner? People in Brandywine Valley weren’t all that welcoming to outsiders. Parrott knew that from experience.

While he sautéed the vegetables, added the beaten eggs to the pan, pulled the cooked edges from sides, and let the liquid fill up the spaces, Parrott couldn’t stop thinking this was going to be a very interesting morning.

The office of Powell Construction Company in Exton was not luxurious, but still impressive, with two full walls of shelves full of tile, paint, flooring, cabinet, and countertop samples. Herman ushered Parrott and Tonya into a large conference room, where Cora already sat, hands folded on the table before her.

The chrome and glass table gleamed in the sunbeams streaming from the east-facing windows. The room smelled of lemon and ammonia. Dressed in casual attire, khakis, sport shirts, and blazers for the men; pants, silk shirts, and pumps for the ladies, the four potential investors looked from one to the other.

The modern clock struck ten. “Wonder when this guy Thornton’s going to show up,” Herman said, his face drawn into a scowl.

Always the first to give people the benefit of the doubt, Cora said, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Maybe he’s caught in traffic.”

“What traffic?” Tonya threw back her head and laughed. “I’m just glad none of us Black folks are late.”

The comment was no sooner out of her mouth than Herman’s assistant appeared at the door to announce Thornton’s arrival, less than one minute late. Framed by the doorway, the financial planner was a specimen of sartorial excellence. Blond, broad-shouldered, and wearing a navy pinstripe suit and a starched white shirt, open at the neck, he had a casual glamour that transcended his somewhat ordinary looks. He posed in the doorframe for a moment, then strode right up to the table, giving a firm handshake to each person and making eye contact with his deep-set watery-blue eyes. The guy knew how to make a first impression. Parrott had to give him that.

Herman played host and offered a chair, some coffee. Thornton declined both. He dug into his leather briefcase for a folder, an iPad, and what looked to be a fancy pen. Then he set the briefcase on the floor next to him.

“Thank you for meeting with us this morning,” Herman said. He offered a brief introduction of Cora, Parrott, and Tonya, leaving out what each of them did for a living. Parrott was glad for that, although he thought it odd, considering that the financial planner would surely want to know that detail if he were to handle their money. Maybe Herman didn’t want to drive the guy away right off the bat by saying they were a caterer, a police detective, and a retired military pensioner.

“A pleasure to meet you all.” Thornton shot his cuffs and ran his hands through wavy, blond hair. “I understand from Mr. Powell here that you are interested in investing with BMT Financial Services. I have a short video to introduce you to our products and services.” His eyes scanned the room. “Do you have a projector?”

Herman shook his head. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I’ll just use my iPad.” Thornton turned up the volume, set the iPad on a tiny stand retrieved from his briefcase, and touched the iMovie icon. A professional-sounding woman’s voice welcomed them to BMT Financial Services, while soft, melodious music played in the background., and stark black, white, gray, and green graphics attested to the cutting-edge techniques practiced there.

Words like “grow,” “skyrocket,” “multiply,” “reliable,” whizzed past Parrott’s ears, while he paid more attention to Thornton’s facial expressions, body language, and demeanor. From the top of his perfectly coiffed hair to the buff on his soft leather loafers, he exuded the impression of confidence and success.

After the presentation, Thornton invited whatever questions the group might have. “That’s one of the hallmarks of our service. We are transparent and ready to guide your financial decisions at a moment’s notice.”

“Well, I have a question,” Herman said. “You claim to provide a higher return on investment than any of your competitors. Can you explain how you do that?”

“Sure.” Thornton flashed a dazzling smile that seemed to Parrott to be both condescending and practiced. “That’s probably our number one most frequently asked question.” He pulled a stack of brochures from his folder and passed them around, so everyone had one. “Investments work just like any other industry. The greater the volume, the better the deals. Because all my clients are heavy hitters—like you folks—I’m able to put their money into dividend-paying investments with low risk and high performance.” He paused to pat his iPad. “My volume of business is so high that I’m able to operate with a higher profit margin, and I pass this along to my clients by taking a lower percent in commission. Most of my clients are investing for the long-term, so they’re happy to watch their money grow each quarter, knowing it’s being nurtured by a knowledgeable and trained professional.”

Cora, who apparently had hung on every word, asked, “Your video stresses ‘personalized’ service. What does that mean, exactly?”

“Good question. BMT is a one-man operation. You won’t be bombarded with calls or visits from different agents who don’t know you or your history. You will deal with me and me alone, and I will be there for you whenever you need me. I treat every one of my clients with the respect and care that he or she deserves, and I treat your money as if it were my own.”

Thornton looked from one to another of the group for another question. He was unhurried, unruffled. Tonya’s posture and toe-tapping on the carpeted floor signaled to Parrott that it was his turn.

“Mr. Thornton, do you encourage your clients to diversify? In other words, do most of them maintain holdings in real estate or other assets besides what they have invested with you?” Parrott tilted his chair back and pretended to stare at the ceiling, while he scrutinized his subject through peripheral vision.

Thornton stood at his place, bestowing a beneficent smile upon the group. “That would be entirely up to the client, or in this case, clients. Mr. Powell told me you would be interested in investing as a group. Perfectly fine. I’d be honored to have your business.”

Sensing that the sales pitch was drawing to a close, Parrott asked, “Would you mind if we contacted some of your current clients as references?”

A flicker passed over Thornton’s eyes There are anonymous testimonials from clients in the brochure. I must protect the privacy and security of my clients, for obvious reasons. You probably wouldn’t like me giving out your financial information to other people, so I hope you understand.”

“I’m sure you are very discreet, Mr. Thornton. Still, this is a lot of money we’re talking about investing with you. I think my family and I would like to verify with at least one or two of your clients that they are satisfied with your work.”

“Fair enough. There is one client who has given me permission to share his contact information with prospective clients. His name is M. Robert Pennington. Why don’t you have a chat with Mr. Pennington and get back to me? The sooner, the better. Every day that goes by, your money could be growing exponentially.”

As Thornton shook hands and made his exit, Parrott congratulated himself on allowing Herman to set up the meeting. If Parrott had truly been interested in investing, he would have asked way more specific questions. As it was, Parrott had given the appearance of being a potential investor, and that was good enough. This is going to work out even better than I thought.