Thunder Bay Ch. 01

Arriving for the start of another day at work, I glanced at my watch before entering the Centennial Bank's Headquarters. I was right on time despite near gridlocked traffic on the Dan Ryan Expressway. The drive from my home in Willowbrook, an upscale community west of Chicago, had taken an hour to complete.

My high-heels clicked noisily on the terrazzo floor as I paced briskly towards the bank of elevators. My corner office on the twenty-first floor seemed more like a second home than a place to work. Putting in long, tedious hours and working weekends had become second nature.

For the past twelve years, I worked hard to attain the position of Vice-President of Centennial Bank. But it hadn't come without costs. The financial rewards and perks of my position weren't worth the loss of a marriage, a marriage to someone I still often thought about. But it was too late to turn things around. My ex-husband, Rick had remarried and was about to become a father for the second time. Admittedly, I still loved him.

Stepping off the elevator, I scurried down the corridor towards my office, stopping briefly at the coffee bar to fix myself a cup. Coffee and cigarettes, along with a steady diet of fast food, had become my mainstay. I rarely cooked. It was something I never quite got the knack of.

"Morning Valerie!" Emily Hanks greeted, peering over her glasses. "How's my favorite Vice-President this morning?"

"Morning Emily!" I responded, forcing myself to smile. "I'm alright I guess."

Emily Hanks, a woman in her mid-sixties, had served as the personal secretary to the Vice-President for the past twenty plus years. She'd seen three of my predecessors come and go. To me, Emily was more than just my secretary. She was my confidant, someone who knew me better than I knew myself.

Tossing my purse and tan leather attaché onto the credenza behind my desk, I booted up my computers. While they connected with our networking system, I walked over to the full length windows. The sun rising in the east cast a long shadow over the adjacent office building

"You look very nice today." Emily stated, entering my office with a handful of documents in her hand. "Is that a new suit?"

"No. It's one I haven't worn for awhile." I replied. "I just had the hemline shortened a little."

"You don't think it's too short, do you?" I asked, hoping she'd say no.

"Not with those legs!" Emily laughed, setting the papers on the corner of my desk. "Those girls down in Accounting wear their skirts a lot shorter than that!"

"Yeah but they're ten years younger than me." I countered, grinning.

"So what?" Emily asserted. "Age doesn't mean a darn thing. If you've got great legs, there's nothing wrong with showing them off a little."

My legs were probably my best asset. Standing five foot, eight I still had a great figure. Granted, it wasn't as good as when I was in college but thirteen years since then hadn't taken their toll on me. My butt was still quite shapely and my breasts were still firm. Not that it mattered much. I wasn't seeing anyone nor had I since my divorce. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in a relationship. Men seemed to shy away from career women for some reason. At least, that was the conclusion I'd come too. I'd even taken to having my dark brown, shoulder-length hair highlighted with blonde streaks to draw attention to myself but without much luck. Guys noticed me but kept their distance. Maybe it was my gradient tinted eyeglasses that kept them from approaching me. They shaded my bright green eyes but they were necessary to keep eye strain to a minimum.

It was just about noon when Burt Wheeler came barging into my office. Glancing up from my computer monitors, I could see he was upset about something.

Burt was the grandson of the bank's founder, Trenton Wheeler, which was probably the only reason he was ever promoted. He didn't know squat about financial matters, relying on his subordinates to make the majority of his decisions. Rarely in his office, Burt spent most of his time on the golf course at the Sandstone Country Club.

As usual, Burt was casually dressed. Instead of a suit, he was wearing Docker dress slacks and an Izod Polo shirt. Overweight by at least thirty pounds and balding, he didn't exemplify what you'd expect for a man in his position.

"What'd you do this time Burt?" I questioned, continuing with my work.

"I just got a call from the Chief Financial Officer." Burt disclosed, flopping his fat ass down in the chair in front of my desk. "He informed me that I don't have the authority to authorize a five-million dollar loan."

"That's right. You don't." I affirmed, leaning back in my chair. "Any loan over a million dollars has to go before committee for review."

"Well that's bullshit!" He exclaimed. "As president of this bank I should have the authority to do anything I want!"

"Your grandfather set the rules." I responded. "I didn't."

"Besides, it's good banking business to have more than just one person responsible for loaning out that kind of money." I explained. "If you want to change the rules, go talk to your father."

"I did." Burt countered, leaning over my desk. "And he told me you have the authority to sign loans for any amount. Why's that?"

"Maybe it's because I've got great legs and you don't!" I laughed. "Or....maybe it's because the bank trusts my judgment and they don't yours."

"I need you to review the Thunder Bay loan documents and put your signature on them." Burt asserted in a commanding tone. "I expect to see the loan approval before the end of the day."

"There's no way I'm approving that loan!" I countered, rising to my feet. "I denied that loan weeks ago. I'll be damned if I change my mind!"

"I'm giving you a direct order Ms. Marlowe!" Burt shouted, getting in my face. "I can have you fired for insubordination if you don't follow my instructions!"

"I don't think so." I contradicted with a smirk. "You don't have the authority to do that either. In fact, you don't have the authority to do much of anything."

"You Bitch!" Burt screamed, slamming his fist down on my desk. "I'm calling my father!"

"Tell him I said hi." I jested, sitting down in my chair. "And tell him thanks again for the new Mercedes."

"You....you got a new car?" Burt questioned, his voice trembling.

"Yeah. A new S550 sedan." I replied. "It was a bonus for drawing those commercial loans away from the New England Banking Company."

Wheeler bolted through the doorway, no doubt headed back to his office for a stiff drink. He always kept a bottle of expensive scotch and another of vodka in the credenza behind his desk. Everyone knew Burt had a drinking problem but nobody stepped forward to help him get out of it.

Letting my nerves settle down, I pulled up the Thunder Bay loan application on my computer just to review it. Scanning over the documents, I remembered why I hadn't bothered to put it before the loan committee. The Simmons family had a poor credit rating, which eliminated them right off the bat. With no past experience in business, let alone the houseboat trade, that was another point not in their favor. Our research department had done a thorough investigation of the houseboat industry, finding seventy-five percent in the construction industry fail within the first five years. Thunder Bay had failed within three.

Picking up my phone, I called Katie Blanchard in Research.

"Katie, this is Valerie. Can you find out what the inventory is for Thunder Bay Houseboats?" I asked. "They're located down around Somerset, Kentucky."

"You just want the updated inventory?" Katie inquired, jotting down my requests.

"A....find out what the real estate appraised for." I asserted. "And check their bank records to see how much outstanding debt they've got on their books."

"How soon do you want all this?" Katie asked. "We're awfully busy down here."

"Tomorrow or the next day is plenty soon enough." I replied, putting her worries at ease. "I'm not in any big hurry."

Even though I had no intentions of approving the five-million dollar loan for the Simmons family, I wanted more information on Thunder Bay Houseboats. It was for my own curiosity more than anything.

Two days passed with my nearly forgetting about my information request from Research. Katie's sudden appearance in the doorway to my office refreshed my memory. Bright eyed and bubbly, Katie was like a ray of sunshine wherever she made an appearance. A very petite person, her coal black hair hung halfway down her back. Katie was well liked, especially by all the guys looking to score with her.

"I've got everything you asked for." Katie proclaimed, handing me a file folder filled with paperwork. "It took some time putting it all together."

"I appreciate all your trouble." I affirmed, quickly scanning through the information. "I'll take it home with me and look at it later."

Tucking the folder into my attaché, I went back to taking care of bank business. After spending most of the day reviewing account information on our most exclusive clients I called it a day around 5:00pm. I thought about staying longer but I was getting anxious to review the information Katie had gathered for me.

It was almost 6:30 when I wheeled into my driveway. The security lights illuminated my two-story brick home in the gated community, where I rarely spent much time. While a frozen entrée simmered in the microwave, I put on a pot of coffee. I was planning on a long night going through the Thunder Bay information. The coffee would keep me alert as well as wide awake.

The financial information on Thunder Bay was enlightening but not very favorable. Reviewing their current houseboat listings, construction materials inventory and real estate appraisals, I found the company wasn't very solvent but still not close to filing bankruptcy. Running the numbers several times to check for accuracy, I discovered Thunder Bay was worth the five million dollar asking price, perhaps more.

Realizing I'd been basing my dollar figures on the retail value of the fourteen new and used houseboats, I tried discounting their value to what I thought the market would bring for a quick sale. Not surprising, it brought the true value of Thunder Bay to just under four-million dollars.

Pouring the last cup of coffee left in the pot, I propped my feet up on the couch and started formulating a plan. If I were to purchase Thunder Bay and all of its assets for cash I might be able to get the Martin family to accept my offer. I wasn't about to offer them five-million, not even four-million, just something close enough to tempt them into selling. But I'd have to be careful. Being the Vice-President of Centennial Bank, I'd have to skirt the issue of conflicts of interest and ethical practices.

Venture Limited LLC was a holding company I'd put together a couple of years back just for opportunities like the one I was considering. Nothing more than a limited liability company, Venture Limited's only assets were a post office box, a letterhead and a box of business cards.

If I worked it right, I could claim the entity was solely independent from Centennial Bank. Legally, I had every right as an independent entrepreneur to purchase Thunder Bay. But I knew Centennial would frown on it if they were to ever find out. Actually there were only two people I'd have to worry about, Burt Wheeler and his father, Jared. Burt I could handle but his father wouldn't be so easy.

Not wanting to make a rash decision that I might regret later, I spent a few days thinking it over. The temptation to make Thunder Bay an offer was too much of an opportunity to let slip by. From the seclusion of my office, I phoned Thunder Bay on my cell phone. I knew calling from my office phone would identify Centennial Bank as the caller. There was no way I could ever let that happen.

The phone rang several times before someone answered the phone at Thunder Bay. The woman's voice sounded like she might be middle-aged. Asking to speak with Frank Martin, she put me on hold while she went to find him.

A minute or so later, I heard Frank Martin's voice for the first time. His voice was raspy with a slight trembling. He sounded elderly but it was difficult to really tell. Representing myself as Valerie Marlowe, President of Venture Limited LLC, I got right to the point.

At first, the gentleman on the other end of the line seemed evasive about discussing the sale of Thunder Bay with me. I thought it odd but I pursued the matter further, mentioning I was talking a cash offer. That was all it took. Frank Martin's attitude changed immediately. Cash always changes people's attitude!

We conversed for almost an hour with Frank doing most of the talking. He answered my questions thoroughly and without hesitation. I took that as a sign he was an honest and forthright person. Deliberately, I withheld the financial information I knew about Thunder Bay, wanting to discuss those matters in person.

I accepted his invitation to visit Thunder Bay Houseboats, trying my best to conceal my eagerness. It was a four-hundred mile drive from my home in Willowbrook to Somerset, Kentucky but I was more than willing to make the eight hour journey. The possible financial rewards were too great not to.

Friday morning of that week I set out for Somerset, Kentucky which was located in the south central part of the state. Information that I gathered off the internet informed me the resort community was situated on Lake Cumberland, a man-made lake covering sixty-three thousand acres with over twelve-hundred miles of shoreline. I was as eager to see the lake as much as I was to visit Thunder Bay.

Arriving in the resort town around 3:00 in the afternoon, I found it thriving with countless businesses catering to tourists as well as the populace. Boat dealerships were outnumbered by new and used car dealerships as well as fast food restaurants and hotels.

After checking into the Holiday Inn and getting settled in, I walked down the street to a family style restaurant for something to eat. Catfish and fried chicken were the main items on the buffet, both of which were prepared to perfection. Not being a big eater, I found myself trying both, going back for seconds. Maybe it was the fresh, clean air that had made me hungry or just the idea of getting away from the bank for a few days. Either way, I was enjoying myself.

Returning to my hotel room, I phoned Frank Martin on my cell phone to let him know I was in town. The news seemed to enliven his tone of voice, probably because he was eager for us to meet. I set up an appointment with him for the next morning at 10:00am.

Saturday morning, I awoke around 7:00 after getting a good night's sleep. Grabbing a quick shower and fixing my hair and make-up, I stopped in the hotel's restaurant for a bite of breakfast, something I rarely took time for.

Thunder Bay Houseboats was located on Smokehouse Road, which led to the Whiskey Creek Marina, a boating facility located right on the lake. Finding it wasn't difficult with the directions Frank had given me over the phone and the map I'd downloaded from the internet.

Weather for the late May morning was absolutely perfect. The bright sun warmed the air into the mid-seventies with powder blue, cloudless skies overhead. I took it as a positive sign of things to come. I just hoped I was right.

A large sheet metal sign with the Thunder Bay Houseboats logo sat perched on two large metal poles at the entrance to the business. Slowing as I made the turn into the firm, my eyes caught sight of the houseboats, sitting perched on concrete stanchions. Passing through the gates I drove slowly over the graveled lot to the main building, seeing a van and a pick-up truck parked there.

It was a little disappointing to see the condition of the building in person. In the photographs I'd seen, it looked much better. Paint was flaking off the building, giving it a blistered appearance. Getting out of my car, I slung my purse to my shoulder, allowing my eyes to quickly scan over the rest of the business. The ten foot high chain link fence that surrounded the property was rusting, showing signs of neglect much like the main building.

As for the half dozen houseboats on display, they were beautiful to say the least. Looking much larger in person, I couldn't help but wonder how difficult it was to navigate the huge vessels. I was certain it took a small crew to man the houseboats safely.

"Miss Marlowe?" A woman's voice spoke out, interrupting my thoughts.

"I'm Rebecca Martin, Frank's daughter-in-law." She announced, extending her hand. "I'm glad to see you made it alright."

Rebecca was most likely the woman I'd spoken with on the phone during my initial call. She was in her mid-forties with shoulder-length blonde hair. She was an attractive woman with a tall, slender figure. Her eyes were warm and inviting, much like her pleasant smile.

"Frank's out in the shop." She stated. "I'll show you to his office, then I'll go out and get him."

The interior of the building wasn't much better looking than its exterior. Besides needing paint, it looked like it could stand a thorough cleaning. Construction materials were stacked haphazardly everywhere I looked. I found myself growing more disappointed the more I looked around. Frank Martin's office was all the way to the rear of building. Small and cramped, his desk was cluttered with paperwork and magazines.

"No wonder this place is going under!" I thought to myself. "No one in their right mind is going to buy a houseboat from a business that looks like this!"

"I see you're still here!" An elderly man's voice laughed as he entered the cramped office. "You didn't make a run for it like I expected you would!"

Seeing the elderly gentleman confined to a motorized wheelchair caught me completely off- guard. It was something I hadn't expected. Frank Martin looked to be nearing his seventies. His snow-white hair gave him very distinguished look but the years had taken their toll on him. He looked weathered, like a man who'd worked hard all his life.

"Valerie Marlowe." I stated, extending my hand. "I'm glad we finally get to meet in person."

"Damn! You're a good looking woman!" Frank exclaimed with a grin, shaking my hand. "You look more like a Kentucky gal than a woman from the Windy City!"

"Actually, I was born and raised in New York." I revealed, enjoying his compliment.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" The elderly man suggested, still clenching my hand. "I'm sure you don't care for beating around the bush anymore than I do."

Frank guided the wheelchair behind his desk with little effort. Clearing off a place on his desk, he set out an ashtray before lighting up his cigar. I took the opportunity to light up a cigarette.

"I'm sure you're disappointed in seeing the condition of this place but my credit's pushed to the limits." The elderly man disclosed. "It needs a good coat of paint and some cleaning but I can't spare the cash right now to pay for it."

"I understand." I affirmed. "Let's hope we can strike a deal so you won't have to worry about it."

"I'll always worry about this business, even after I sell it." Frank proclaimed, taking a draw on his cigar. "I started this business with every dime I had. I had to mortgage my house to get enough money to get it going."

"Houseboats are all I've ever worked on." He decreed. "I helped build the very first Jamestowner Houseboat back in the sixties. I also helped build the very last one."

"Tell me what you know about houseboats, Miss Marlowe." Frank avowed. "What's your experience."

"I'm afraid I don't have any experience at all." I responded. "I'd have to learn, I guess."

"That won't cut it!" Frank exclaimed, before I could say another word. "If you don't know shit about houseboats, you won't make it in this business!"