He frantically scrolled through the hundreds of PDF documents related to the acquisition. Search, Julian muttered to himself, sweat beading on his forehead. Environmental, historical, EPA. It won't be in the main folder, Elena said helpfully, pouring more water into Chloe's glass as if nothing were happening.
Check the addendum to the title report. Page 402, Julian's head snapped up. How do you know the page number? I have a good memory, she said simply.
Julian navigated to the addendum. He scrolled. Page 399, page 400, page 401, page 402. There it was, a scanned document yellowed with age, embedded in the digital file.
City Ordinance 19B, restriction of commercial development on Class 4 industrial sites. It explicitly named the Kensington lot coordinates. Julian read the paragraph. he read it again. Shall remain designated for industrial use only or be subject to a mandated 50-year soil remediation process prior to any residential or commercial rezoning.
50 years remediation. Elena was right. If he bought the company on Monday, he would be the proud owner of a toxic wasteland that he couldn't sell, couldn't develop, and couldn't reszone. The land wasn't worth billions.
It was a liability worth negative $50 million in cleanup costs alone. The debt he was about to take on would crush Thorn Dynamics within 6 months. He had been standing on the train tracks, and this waitress had just pushed him out of the way of the locomotive. Julian slowly lowered the tablet.
His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had almost lost everything, his reputation, his fortune, his ego. He looked up at Elena. A normal man would have been relieved.
A good man would have been grateful. He would have stood up, shaken her hand, and written her a check for $50,000 on the spot. But Julian Thorne was not a good man. He was a narcissist who had built his life on the belief that he was the smartest person in every room.
And in front of his subordinates, his date, and the entire restaurant, a waitress earning tips, had just proven that he was a fool. Gratitude didn't wash over him. Humiliation did. And humiliation in a man like Julian quickly curdled into rage.
Who are you? Julian demanded his voice low and dangerous. I told you I'm Elena. No.
Julian stood up, knocking his chair back. It clattered loudly against the floor. Waitresses don't know about EPA soil remediation clauses. Waitresses don't know how to structure a leveraged buyout.
Who sent you? Was it Sterling? Is this a setup? Mr. Thorne, please sit down, Elena said, stepping back slightly.