Six minutes later . . .

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barton.”

“Good afternoon, Jasper.”

“Right this way, sir.” Jasper led him through the dining room, seating him very close to James Penrose and two other business partners. Jim didn’t recognize the other two men. Based on their attire, he assumed they were angel investors looking to invest in Penrose’s homeless venture.

“Gentlemen, understand that the operation of Emulsion Plastics is contingent on simplifying production and cost cutting, so I’m proposing moving part of our operations to Iowa. Tri-Cities, specifically. We’ll move the plastics refurbishing to the smallest part of the United States, preventing any possibility of anyone copying our process.”

“That’s all well and good, James, but when can we expect recompense for our initial investment? You are talking about investing 1.5 million dollars of our money . . .” Christian tapped his fingers against his cup of coffee.

“Yes,” Lucas added. “A total of 3 million dollars, none of which you have liquid. If you did, you’d be investing in this venture? It sounds too good to be true.” A server delivered a dessert plate with a small piece of carrot cake. Lucas ate it slowly, sipping his coffee in between bites.  

The two men sitting at James Penrose’s table were former board members of RDF Plastics. Lucas Franklin and Christian Tremane had more wealth and power than most who considered themselves rich in Orange County, California. Lucas built his fortune by building switches operating everything from electrical relays controlling the flow of electricity to the microtechnology needed to operate cell phones and microcomputers. Thanks to his ingenuity and critical thinking skills, he teamed himself with a few engineers wise enough to create the tech. All Lucas had to do was sell it. And sell it he did, to the tune of over 400 million in the first year. That was more than thirty years ago.

Christian’s family helped him create his fortune. His great-grandfather invented and patented the very first HVAC system. Christian didn’t understand how HVAC worked and didn’t care about the family’s money. He wanted to create something all his own. So, he built a fortune with a small investment from his family’s trust fund. But little for the Tremane family had a different feel than the middle class. More than half a million dollars for Christian was a small investment. Being raised in a wealthy family, money was a bargaining chip, not to be treated lightly.   

“Exactly,” Christian said. “3 million dumped into a small town in the middle of who-knows-where. It’s a little disconcerting.” Christian stared at Lucas, wincing as he watched him lick the frosting from his fork.

“Gentlemen, I thought we understood each other,” James said, picking up a fresh cup of coffee poured by Jasper himself. “It’s not about the initial investment.” He paused long enough to take a small sip, a sales tactic he learned from his mentor years earlier. “It’s about the political capital.”

“Political capital, James?” As Lucas put his fork down on the plate, Jasper snatched the plate off the table. “Are you planning something we should know about, James?”

James laughed. “Me? No, no, no.” James leaned back in his chair. “However, think about it. It makes those who invest in the project look good, doesn’t it? Just think about it.” He took another sip of the coffee. The table was cleared before James took a second sip of his coffee; the only remaining dishes were three cups of coffee and three crystal water glasses. The bussers cleared the table without interrupting conversations or getting in the way of their guests. Jasper prided himself on training new staff, especially keeping dishes from clanking together in the dining room. 

Jim Barton ordered a simplistic meal. A club sandwich with hand-cut, deep-fried potato chips and a small Caesar salad. The menu also listed a cup of minestrone soup with the sandwich. Jim hated soup. Jasper knew it and also knew it would sit on the table until it was cold.

Barton didn’t know either man other than a handful of articles he read about their businesses in the Wall Street Journal and Barron’s. He couldn’t remember which publication, but the reputations of both men were well-known to him. He sat back, listening to their conversation, waiting for his food and a chance to talk to James.

“Thank you for lunch,” Christian said, standing up, Lucas following his lead. “We’ll be in touch.” Both men shook James’ hand and walked to the double front doors together.

James sat down, sighing, fiddling with his coffee cup. Jasper appeared, refilling it. “Thank you, Jasper.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Penrose.” Jasper took a deep bow and walked back to his station.  

“Sounded like a rough meeting,” Jim said, breaking the silence. “Must be a one-of-a-kind investment opportunity.”

“Something like that.” James sipped his coffee, ignoring Jim.

“Have we met before?” Jim asked, already knowing the answer was no. “You look so familiar.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m Jim. Jim Barton.”

“Barton.” James tapped his fingers on his coffee cup. Snapping his fingers, he looked at Jim and exclaimed, “Oh, right! The real estate guru for the ‘common’ folk.” James laughed. “Common folk. Does that line really work?”  

“Depends on what you’re looking for.”

“Ah, ha,” James raised his coffee cup to Jim. “Touche, dear sir. I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new to the club?”

“New? No. I’ve not had time to come in for several months.”

“Working on a big real estate deal? For the common folk?” James laughed. “Have you ever sold over a million dollars in property, Jim Barton?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Some common folk representative you are.”

“Depends on what you consider ‘common folk’ because in Orange County, California? Common people can afford more than a million-dollar home, can they not?”

James smiled. “They can, indeed. Well, Mr. Barton, I’m James. James Penrose.” He walked to Jim and waited for him to stand up before he shook his hand.

“Jim Barton, Mr. Penrose. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Please,” he motioned for James to take a seat.

“Thank you. What brings you to the club today, Jim?”

“A homeless shelter. I need someone with investment captial. I thought of you. You’ve done a lot for the city of Portland, I figured I’d take a chance. What’s the worst that could happen? You say no, right?”

James nodded. “Why?”

“Why, what?” Jim asked. “Why build a homeless shelter? I guess because we need to help. We have resources; why not help?” 

Jasper came to the table. “Excuse me, Mr. Barton, Mr. Penrose. Would you like anything else? Another dessert? Some more coffee?”

Jim looked at James, waiting for him to answer first. “Yes, please, Jasper. I’d like an 18-year Glenlivet single malt scotch, neat, double.” Jim smiled, starting to believe Gerald’s story. Maybe he was telling the truth after all.

“Same, please, Jasper.”

“Very good, sirs.” Before the words were out of Jasper’s mouth, both glasses sat neatly on the table.  

“A homeless shelter, huh.” James sipped his drink, but not before toasting Jim. “New friendships.”

“And potential partnerships,” Jim winked.

“So, Mr. Penrose.”

“You can call me James, Jim.”

Jim took a slow, long sip, savoring the flavor of the Glenlivet. “Mmm, that’s tasty.”

“My mentor’s favorite drink. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I really appreciated how good the flavor is. I miss that man.”

“Who? Your mentor?”

“Yes. Do you know anything about RDF Plastics?”

“Only what I’ve read online. Didn’t RDF Plastics go bankrupt?”

“Not exactly, but that’s what the politicians want you to believe. They lobbied against the plastics industry, specifically against my mentor, Gerald Moloski.”

Jim laughed. “Come on. That’s a conspiracy theory if I’ve ever heard of one! Politicians out to get one man for utilizing recycled plastics?”

“Laugh all you like,” James took a sip, “but it’s true. Gerald learned how to capitalize on recycled plastics and taught me everything he knew – with a few things that he said I wasn’t ready to learn.” James swished the liquor in his glass. “I wish I knew those things today.”

“What if I told you I met Gerald Moloski today?”

James laughed. “That’s impossible.”

“He said you’d say that. He said he gave you something on your last day. Do you remember what that was?”

James thought about it for a minute. “I lost a lot that day.”

“But you gained something, didn’t you?” Jim pulled out two hundred dollars, laying it on the table.

James’ face lost all color. “How did you? Where is?” James stood up, straightening his suit. “Take me to him. I take it you know where he’s staying?” “I do. First, sit down. We have to talk business and you investing in my venture.”