with vehicles.
Hardie was playing on field number six, and the game was in progress. Theo and April found seats in the bleachers and caught their breath. Hardie was a forward, and when the ball rolled out of bounds near the bleachers, he chased it and saw his two friends in the stands. He smiled and nodded, then hustled away. Theo and April watched a few minutes, got bored, and began wandering around. It was an amazing sight to see ten games in progress at the same time, all with fans screaming and coaches yelling and whistles blowing. The complex was in a beautiful setting, with hills on all sides, surrounded by woods and nature, far removed from any traffic congestion.
Why ruin it? Theo asked himself. Why slap a four-lane highway carrying twenty-five thousand vehicles a day through the middle of such a pretty, rural part of the county? Why choke up the place with traffic and smog? It made no sense.
He and April made their way back to the parking lot. Theo was holding his cell phone, and April was holding her mother’s video camera. They began walking along a long row of parked cars, Theo on one side, April on the other, and as they went they videoed the license plates of the vehicles. No one else was in the parking lot; they were off cheering for their teams, but Theo kept an eye on the foot traffic. It wasn’t illegal to video the license plates of a car anywhere, but he didn’t want to be forced to explain what they were doing.
There were actually three large lots scattered around the complex, and it took almost an hour to walk behind every vehicle and record the license plate numbers. No one noticed what they were doing, though there were a couple of close calls. Theo simply put his phone to his ear and began talking.
They counted one hundred forty-seven cars and trucks. The plan was to review the video, write down the license plate numbers, go to the website of the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles), and find a way to get the names of the owners. It was safe to assume, at least to Theo, Hardie, and now April, that the owners of the vehicles parked at the soccer complex could well be some of the strongest opponents of the bypass. What parent would want their kid playing soccer in an atmosphere of exhaust smoke and gaseous fumes?
Fortunately, the Red United team won, and Hardie’s coach was in a good mood after the game. His name was Jack Fortenberry and his son was the team’s goalie. According to Hardie, Coach Fortenberry was a soccer fanatic who coached teams in the complex during the fall and spring and also coached an elite travel team in the summer. Hardie had briefed him on the bypass and its dangers.
They met behind a net, far away from the others as the crowd was breaking up and leaving. Hardie introduced Theo and April to his coach, who quickly made it clear he had strong misgivings about the bypass. He distrusted the politicians, and he suspected a handful of big businessmen were pushing the project. He was angry that the proposed route ran next to the soccer complex, and he understood the potential hazards.
Coach Fortenberry said exactly what they wanted to hear. He offered to help in any way possible, so Theo laid out their plan.
Chapter 22
Judge, who was still sleeping on Theo’s bed instead of under it, got restless on Sunday morning about the time the sun began peeking through the curtains. Theo always enjoyed sleeping a little later on Sundays, but that would not happen on this day. He told Judge to be quiet, and that made matters worse. The dog needed to go outside, and after fifteen minutes of harassing his owner, he won the battle. Downstairs in the kitchen, Theo said a lazy good morning to both parents as he carried Judge to the back door and released him.
“Why are you up so early?” his mother asked.
“Judge wanted to go out.”
The kitchen table was covered with thick Sunday newspapers, and the way they were strewn about gave the impression his parents had been reading for some time. Theo glanced at the coffeepot and saw it was almost empty. He glanced at the clock—6:45. “You guys are up early too,” he said.
“Couldn’t go back to sleep,” his father grunted.
“Who wants pancakes?” his mother asked. She didn’t cook often, and Theo and Mr. Boone knew they should take advantage of every opportunity. “With sausage?” Mr. Boone asked.
“Of course.”
“What kind of pancakes?” Theo asked.
“What kind do you want?”
“Blueberry.”
“Blueberry it is.” She was already opening the fridge.
Theo poured himself some orange juice and took a seat at the table. A headline in the Strattenburg Gazette caught his attention. It read: COMMISSIONERS UNDECIDED ON BYPASS. He picked it up and started reading. It was not written by Norris Flay but by another reporter. According to the story, two commissioners were in favor of the bypass; two “had problems” with it; and the fifth seemed hopelessly undecided. The loudest supporter was a Mr. Mitchell Stak, a fifteen-year veteran of the County Commission and its current chairman. Mr. Stak owned a hardware store south of town and claimed the bypass would not affect his business in the least. This appeared to be true. As a businessman, a retailer, he was described as a rabid pro-growth commissioner who had never voted against a new subdivision, shopping center, apartment complex, mini-mall, car wash, or anything else that might add to the area’s “economic development.” A conservationist described Mr. Stak as being a “terror to our clean air, clean water, and quiet streets.” Stak fired back with a beauty: “The tree huggers would keep us in the dark ages.”
The report went back and forth with the pros and cons, and it was obvious that hard feelings were developing and tensions were high. As he read, Theo noticed a knot forming in his stomach. Why was he getting involved in such a nasty fight? He was just a kid and this was a real war being fought by some hard-nosed politicians. Then he thought of Hardie and the Quinn family farm. He thought of Judge and the thugs who beat him.
He read on as the sausage began to sizzle in a skillet. His mother hummed in her bathrobe as she cooked away. His father was lost in the business section of the New York Times. Judge was whimpering at the back door, no doubt excited over the fresh aroma from the kitchen. Theo let him in.
The public hearing on the bypass would be held before the County Commission in just over two weeks, and from all indications it would be a regular brawl. Mr. Stak boasted that 75 percent of the people in the county were in favor of the bypass and his supporters would flood the public hearing with a massive show of strength. Hogwash, said Sebastian Ryan of the Stratten Environmental Council, the bypass is favored by a slim minority and most of those are business people who want to make a buck. The opponents would turn out in record numbers.
For the first time, Theo actually thought about going to the public hearing. It might be a cool thing to watch! Hundreds of angry citizens, all squaring off in front of the five county commissioners. It promised to be a controlled mob scene, probably with deputies scattered around the room to keep the peace. Theo doubted his parents would allow him to go, but he liked the idea. He decided to think about it and maybe ask them later.
Over pancakes and sausage, Mrs. Boone said, “Let’s go to the early worship service.”
Mr. Boone nodded and said, “Sure.”
“I like it,” Theo said. He really didn’t have a vote in matters involving church attendance, but that rarely stopped him from offering his thoughts on the matter. The early service was more enjoyable. It ran from 9:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m. and was not as stuffy as the main worship hour at 11:00 a.m. The dress was more casual and the sanctuary was not as crowded.
“Then you guys had better hurry up,” his mother said. Theo and his father exchanged looks of polite frustration. It was just after 7:30. They had well over an hour to get ready. Mr. Boone could shower, shave, and get dressed in about twenty minutes. Theo, not yet shaving, could do it in fifteen. Both knew it would take Mrs. Boone at least an hour to get ready, yet she was telling them to hurry. But both remained quiet. Some things were not worth discussing.
* * *
After lunch, and long after church, Theo reluctantly went to
his room to begin work on a book report. It was to be a three-page analysis of the main characters in Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, one of Theo’s favorite books. He liked the book but he didn’t like the idea of spending a good chunk of Sunday afternoon writing about it. Nevertheless, he trudged up the stairs and closed his door. But he couldn’t find the book. He looked everywhere, then went downstairs to the den and searched some more.
“Maybe you left it at the office,” his mother said. Bingo! That’s exactly where the book was.
“Be back in a minute,” Theo said. He took off on his bike and ten minutes later slid to a stop at the rear door of Boone & Boone. He unlocked it and stepped into the little room he called his office. He found the book where he’d left it, on a shelf next to his Minnesota Twins poster schedule.
Theo could not remember the last time he was all alone in the family’s law office. The place was always busy with lawyers on the phone, clients coming and going, printers rattling away, Elsa up front running the show and directing traffic, and Judge sneaking around looking for either another nap or something to eat. Now, though, on a Sunday afternoon, there was not a sound. It was eerily dark and quiet as Theo eased through the hallway and walked to the front window by Elsa’s desk. The conference room, with its dark leather chairs and book-laden shelves, was somber and still. Theo decided he preferred the place when there were people around.
The old wooden floors creaked as he headed back to his office. It had once been an old storage closet. To get there he always walked through two larger storage areas, filled with countless white cardboard boxes stacked neatly together. Things were changing, though. The digital age was dragging older lawyers like the Boones into the world of paperless files and storage, and not a minute too soon, in Theo’s opinion. Why destroy so many trees to produce so much paper that becomes useless almost as fast as it is filed away? He’d had these discussions with his parents. At the age of thirteen, Theo was already a tree hugger.
There was a table where Dorothy and Vince placed files before they were officially boxed away for permanent storage. As Theo walked by it, something caught his attention. It was the name JOE FORD in bold letters on the side of a large expandable file. Evidently, Mr. Boone, having been fired by Joe Ford, was cleaning out his files and putting them away. This was somewhat unusual because Mr. Boone was notorious for leaving stacks of old files around his office for years after they were no longer needed. His brother Ike had the same habit.
Theo took a step closer and looked at the tabs in the Ford file. There was one labeled Sweeney Road. He knew better than to pry, but then Theo had a habit of being too curious, especially around the office. He opened the Sweeney Road file, flipped through a half inch of papers, and found what he thought he might find. The document was called an option—a rather simple title, and it gave the buyer the option, or the right, to buy two hundred acres of land from the seller, a Mr. Walt Beeson. Who was the real buyer? On paper it was an outfit called Parkin Land Trust (PLT), a corporation that had just been created and done so in a way to conceal the faces of the people behind it. Since the option he was holding came from one of Joe Ford’s files, it was pretty obvious to Theo that Fast Ford had set up another company to hide behind.
Most documents regarding land and land transactions were required to be filed for public record in the county courthouse. Options, though, were not recorded, and Theo knew this. As he read on, it became clear the rumors were correct. Mr. Beeson would sell his two hundred acres near Sweeney Road to PLT if, and only if, the county commissioners voted to approve the bypass. At that time, PLT would pay Mr. Beeson the sum of $10,000 an acre, or a total of $2,000,000. If the county commissioners rejected the bypass, then PLT would owe Mr. Beeson the cost of the option, $50,000, and walk away.
There was a paragraph requiring both parties to keep the option as quiet as possible. Secrecy and confidentiality were crucial to the deal, which appeared on the surface to be a straightforward option. Nothing illegal. Developers like Joe Ford did their business by picking the next hot real estate spots and building on them. If they guessed right, they made a lot of money. If they guessed wrong, they lost a lot of money.
Theo wondered how Ike had learned of this deal, but he really wasn’t surprised. Ike had a knack for hearing things around town. Theo kept flipping pages. The option was signed by Mr. Walt Beeson, as seller, and by a Mr. Frederick Coyle, a vice president of Parkin Land Trust. No sign of Joe Ford, yet. Under another tab, Theo noticed the words Parkin Land Trust, Inc., and he pulled it out. It contained the documents of the newly created PLT Corporation, a company Mr. Boone had put together only a month earlier. Theo scanned the documents, the office notes, even the handwritten scribble of his father, something he easily recognized. The new company had four owners, or stockholders: Joe Ford owned 50 percent; Frederick Coyle owned 20 percent; Stu Malzone owned 20 percent; and Peter Kyzer owned 10 percent. Theo had never heard of Coyle, Malzone, or Kyzer, and he quickly scribbled down their names. He placed the file in exactly the same position he’d found it, and hustled back to his office. If he needed to see it again, he knew where to find it.
He locked the rear door of the office and sped home. Upstairs, alone with Judge and with his door locked, he opened his laptop and began searching the white pages. He quickly found the addresses, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses of Coyle, Malzone, and Kyzer, all of whom lived either in the city or county. Theo searched Mr. Coyle and learned he had been sued by a business partner six months earlier. Theo made a note to check the file in the courthouse. A Google search of Mr. Kyzer produced a recent story in a local business magazine featuring him and his string of gas stations where an oil change cost $20 and could be done while you waited. He was forty years old and loved to fly helicopters and duck hunt, among other things.
There wasn’t much to be found on Mr. Stu Malzone, but one brief entry from an old copy of the Strattenburg Gazette put icing on the cake. It was a wedding announcement two years earlier. Stu Malzone, age twenty-three, had just gotten himself engaged to one Belinda Stak, age twenty-one, daughter of Mr. Mitchell Stak. Both bride and groom were students at Stratten College. The engagement photo showed the smiling faces of two young people who looked younger than their ages.
Theo checked the white pages again to verify what he almost knew to be true—there was only one Mitchell Stak in Strattenburg.
His head was spinning as he tried to line up the facts and put them in order. Mr. Joe “Fast” Ford was secretly buying land to develop to make a killing when the bypass was built. To do so, he set up the PLT Corporation to hide behind. The five county commissioners would vote to approve or not approve the bypass. The loudest supporter of the five was Mr. Mitchell Stak. His son-in-law, Stu, now twenty-seven years old, had been given a 20 percent share of PLT by Joe Ford, and done so in a way that it would not be made known. On paper, a 20 percent share was worth $400,000, and that was before Joe Ford set about developing the land. It was safe to assume that the 20 percent share would be worth far more after Joe Ford leveled the property and covered it with motels, strip malls, fast-food joints, and parking lots.
Theo suddenly had a knot in his stomach, a thick, throbbing sensation that made him feel sick. He walked to his bathroom, splashed some water in his face, and said a few words to Judge, who seemed completely unconcerned.