Brett Page 20
Bryce gestured to a painting of Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty.
“You’d love Greece. The islands are peaceful. Private. Exactly the atmosphere my more refined patients expect. Jack and I—you know him, don’t you?”
He nodded. Jack Tillman was another plastic surgeon whose family roots ran oak-tree deep. Dan’s own were tenacious and hardy, but thanks to the father he’d never met, they were shallow as crabgrass.
Bryce continued. “We want to bring a bit of Greece to our own corner of the universe. There are a thousand cosmetic surgical centers, but ours will offer world-class facilities in tropical seclusion. Deep water access from the Intercoastal Waterway means our patients can recuperate aboard their own yachts.” He righted a tiny boat. “Or in one of our cottages. Think of the advantages—no airport hassles, no paparazzi. Just sail south and return looking refreshed and rested after a little touch-up.”
At the hint of unexpected possibilities, Dan’s chest tightened the way it did on those rare occasions when things in the operating room took an unexpected turn. Thankful his host couldn’t see the reaction, he focused on his glass of single malt and took a sip.
“Interesting,” he said, leaving Bryce to interpret the remark.
The other man tipped his glass to the arrangement of buildings. “We invited a few friends to invest—Mark, Foreman, Chase. Do you know Chase? He’s a thoracic surgeon, like you.”
Not exactly like me. Chase spent more time on the golf course than he did in surgery.
“Not well,” Dan admitted. In fact, he rarely saw any of Bryce’s circle outside the hospital or fundraisers. Tonight’s poker party had marked a change in that status, but if he was reading the other doctor correctly, a lot more than cards were on the table.
“They’ll all be here tonight.” Bryce’s focus drifted to the far corner where stacks of chips stood waiting on a green-felted table. “I found the perfect spot on north Merritt Island. It’s raw and undeveloped, except for an abandoned orange grove.”
Dan followed the man’s glance as it slid back to the wall of maps.
“The owner was a miserable old coot.” Bryce’s eyes narrowed. “He wanted to practically donate the land to the state. Lucky for us, the transfer didn’t go through before he died. I tracked down his only heir, who loves the idea of a quick sale. Unfortunately, we’ve lost an investor.” Bryce tsked. “Chase. His ex hired some big-bucks lawyer out of Boca who tied up his last dime until the divorce is final.”
Dan squelched the urge to comment on Bryce’s callousness. “Bad timing for you,” he offered.
“The worst.” Amber liquid swirled in Bryce’s glass until it sloshed against the sides. “Property like this won’t come along again. I’m not going to let it slip past.” He knocked back the last of his drink and stared at Dan, his jaw set. “We need someone who shares our goals and interests. Jack mentioned your name.”
While the other man spouted facts about leverages and loans and the near certainty of doubling his investment in a year, Dan forced himself to pretend an overwhelming interest in the model architecture. If the profit margin was even half what Bryce said it was, the venture would solidify his financial and professional security.
He wanted in on the deal so bad he could taste the Kalamata olives, but something told him there had to be a catch. “I might be interested,” he hedged. “I’d have to take a look at all the details. What’s the buy-in?”
“This is the last big parcel without a house or a business in all of Merritt Island. Plus, we’ll have to dredge a new channel for the bigger boats.”
“How much?” he insisted.
“Half a mil. Maybe a little more. The rest we can finance once the land is ours.”
Bryce headed to the bar for another round while Dan did a quick calculation. There was the money he’d set aside to expand his practice. If he scrapped those plans and plundered his retirement funds, he could scrape up half a million dollars. Not overnight, but he could do it.
“Equal shares?”
“Jack and I will take a larger risk for a bigger share of the profits. Even split for the rest.”
“What’s the time frame?”
“The lawyers have to do their thing, of course.” Bryce splashed more Scotch into their glasses. “Some eco group wants the land, but with the niece on our side, we can outbid them. Say, ninety days? Something like that work for you?”
Dan tamped down his enthusiasm with a long pull from the fresh drink. “Maybe,” he allowed. “And my role?” A center like The Aegean wouldn’t have much call for a thoracic surgeon.
“You’d sit on the board of directors. Lend your name to our advertising campaign. Why don’t you take a look at the property?” Bryce held out a folded paper.
Dan slipped the map into the pocket of his leather jacket. He had rounds at the hospital first thing in the morning, but the rest of his Sunday was wide-open. “I’ll check it out,” he said.
“Fine, then. Let’s get together one night next week and crunch some…” Bryce’s head tilted at the sound of muffled voices beyond the door. “One last thing,” he said quickly. “Before all this happened with Chase, the group of us had planned a fly fishing trip to Belize. It’s coming up in April. For obvious reasons, you’d take his place.”
“Sounds great,” Dan said as the door swung wide enough to let a blast of heat and noise into the darkened room.
Dan hid his astonishment behind a stoic facade while the others, all doctors who’d followed their parents to Harvard and Yale, filed in and drifted to their seats, pulling bills from fat wallets. Even as he exchanged the usual pleasantries with the men, it was hard to grasp the truth. He’d spent his youth so far beyond the wrong side of the tracks, the sound of a passing train was just a whisper in the night. And now, he was a member of the inner circle.
“That’s one-fifty to you, Dan,” Bryce said.
He wrenched his attention to the present and slid a couple of chips into a growing pot. Over the next week he would visit the property, put his financial guy to work on the money issues and hire an instructor to teach him one end of a fishing rod from the other. But for now, he would focus on the cards he’d been dealt. For the next few hours, he made sure not to win too much and, thinking of the money he needed to raise, made real sure he didn’t lose too much.
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Dan
The Hometown Heroes Series, Book #3
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