Chapter 12: The Developer's Offer
Marcus Webb arrived on a Tuesday morning, in a dark suit. He carried a leather folder and a smile that had closed many deals. Behind him, a young associate carried a rolled set of plans.
"Nate," Webb said, extending his hand. "Good to see you. Thank you for letting me walk the property."
Nate shook his hand. "Marcus. You asked, and I said yes to a tour. That is all I have agreed to."
Webb walked the lot. "This waterfront frontage is rare, Nate. The harbor view, the dock access. You could not buy this today at any price."
"You could buy it from me for six and a half million," Nate said. "That is your offer, as I recall."
Webb laughed. "Six point five million, yes. Cash, clean close, no contingencies that matter. You walk away comfortable. Your daughter stops worrying. Everyone wins."
Webb gestured toward the street. "The city gets new housing. Young families get condos with a view. And you, Nate, you get to rest. At seventy-one, you have earned that."
"I am not tired of this place," Nate said. "I am tired of people telling me I should be."
"Twelve stories," Webb said. "Forty-eight units. A restaurant on the ground floor. It would transform this corner of Charleston."
"My wife and I built our first boat not far from here," Nate said. "We promised that every person who boards is a guest, not a wallet. If I sell this lot for condos, where does that promise go?"
"It goes with you," Webb said. "A promise is not a building, Nate."
"Maybe not," Nate said. "But a building can hold a promise, if the people inside it keep it."
That afternoon, Sarah Hargrove called from Atlanta. Nate took the call in his office, with the door closed and the harbor light coming through the window.
"Dad," Sarah said, "Marcus Webb called me. He said the tour went well."
"The tour went," Nate said. "I would not call it well."
"Dad, please listen," Sarah said. "Six point five million dollars is security. You are seventy-one. Mom is gone. The store takes so much out of you. I worry about you down there alone."
"I am not alone," Nate said. "I have Angela, and Abby, and people who have trusted this store for years."
"I know you love them," Sarah said. "But you had a terrible week. A salesman humiliated you in your own store. Customers are leaving. How much more of this do you want to carry?"
"Sarah," he said, "I hear you. I truly do. You want me safe, and you want me free of worry. But selling in anger, or in fear, is not the same as selling because it is right."
"Then when would it be right?" Sarah asked.
"When I can look at this place and say, honestly, that its work is done," Nate said. "I cannot say that yet. Not while we are still trying to make it right."
Sarah sighed. "I am not asking you to decide today, Dad. I am asking you not to close the door completely."
"I am not closing it," Nate said. "I am refusing to be rushed through it."
Nate touched his jacket pocket. "I want to keep the promise Margaret and I made. I want a store where a stranger in a canvas jacket is greeted like a guest. If I sell now, while I am angry, I will regret it for the rest of my life."
"No," Angela said. "We decide, if we ever decide, with clear eyes and a steady heart. Today, my heart is not steady."
Webb called that evening, as Nate expected he would.
"Nate," Webb said, "I know Sarah spoke to you. I am ready to move fast if you are."
"Marcus," Nate said, "I appreciate the offer and the tour. But I will not decide this week, and I will not decide because the store had a bad few days."
Webb was silent for a beat. "Fair enough, Nate. You have always been a straight shooter. I will leave the door open."
He stood on the dock as the sun lowered over the harbor, painting the water gold. Abby came out with two cups of coffee and handed him one.
"Mr. Hargrove," she said, "are you all right?"
Nate took the coffee and smiled. "I am torn, Abby, and that is all right. Torn means I still care about both sides. The day I stop caring, that is when I should worry."
Abby nodded. "For what it is worth, I am glad you did not decide today."
"So am I," Nate said. "Some decisions need a night, or a month, of clear water. This is one of them."
They stood together, watching the boats in their slips, the store solid behind them.