“Sure. I’ll drop back tomorrow.”
Two days later the barbershop was acquired.
“That’s one down,” Lara said.
The bakery was next. It was a small family bakery owned by a husband and wife. The ovens in the back room permeated the store with the smell of fresh bread. A woman was talking to one of the owners.
“My husband died and left me his insurance money. We had a bakery in Florida. I’ve been looking for a place just like this. I’d like to buy it.”
“It’s a comfortable living,” the owner said. “My wife and I have never thought about selling.”
“If you were interested in selling, how much would you want?”
The owner shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Would you say the bakery’s worth sixty thousand dollars?”
“Oh, at least seventy-five,” the owner said.
“I’ll tell you what,” the woman said. “I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars for it.”
The owner stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
The next morning Lara said, “That’s two down.”
The rest of the deals went just as smoothly. They had a dozen men and women going around impersonating tailors, bakers, pharmacists, and butchers. Over the period of the next six months Lara bought out the stores, then hired people to come in and run the different operations. The architects had already started to draw up plans for the high rise.
Lara was studying the latest reports. “It looks like we’ve done it,” she told Keller.
“I’m afraid we have a problem.”
“Why? The only one left is the coffee shop.”
“That’s our problem. He’s there on a five-year lease, but he won’t give up the lease.”
“Offer him more money…”
“He says he won’t give it up at any price.” Lara was staring at him. “Does he know about the high rise going up?”
“No.”
“All right. I’ll go talk to him. Don’t worry, he’ll get out. Find out who owns the building he’s in.”
The following morning Lara paid a visit to the site. Haley’s Coffee Shop was at the far end of the southwest corner of the block. The shop was small, with half a dozen stools along the counter and four booths. A man Lara presumed to be the proprietor was behind the counter. He appeared to be in his late sixties.
Lara sat down at a booth.
“Morning,” the man said pleasantly. “What can I bring you?”
“Orange juice and coffee, please.”
“Coming up.”
She watched him squeeze some fresh orange juice.
“My waitress didn’t show up today. Good help’s hard to get these days.” He poured the coffee and came from behind the counter. He was in a wheelchair. He had no legs. Lara watched silently as he brought the coffee and orange juice to the table.
“Thank you,” Lara said. She looked around. “Nice place you have here.”
“Yep. I like it.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Ten years.”
“Did you ever think of retiring?”
He shook his head. “You’re the second person who asked me that this week. No, I’ll never retire.”
“Maybe they didn’t offer you enough money,” Lara suggested.
“It has nothing to do with money, miss. Before I came here, I spent two years in a veterans hospital. No friends. Not much point to life. And then someone talked me into leasing this place.” He smiled. “It changed my whole life. All the people in the neighborhood drop in here. They’ve become my friends, almost like my family. It’s given me a reason for living.” He shook his head. “No. Money has nothing to do with it. Can I bring you more coffee?”
Lara was in a meeting with Howard Keller and the architect. “We don’t even have to buy out his lease,” Keller was saying. “I just talked to the landlord. There’s a forfeiture clause if the coffee shop doesn’t gross a certain amount each month. For the last few months he’s been under that gross, so we can close him out.”
Lara turned to the architect. “I have a question for you.” She looked down at the plans spread out on the table and pointed to the southwest corner of the drawing. “What if we built a setback here, eliminated this little area and let the coffee shop stay? Could the building still be put up?”