Where Are You Now?

56

W ith a satisfied smile, Derek Olsen signed the last of the mountain of papers that transferred the dilapidated town house he owned on 104th Street and Riverside Drive to Twining Enterprises, the multimillion-dollar real estate firm that was building an upscale luxury condominium next door. He had insisted that Douglas Twining Sr., the chairman and CEO of the company, personally attend the sale.

“I knew you’d pay what I wanted, Doug,” Olsen said. “It was a lot of baloney that you didn’t need my building.”

“I didn’t need it. I wanted it,” Twining said quietly. “I could have done without it.”

“And not have the corner? Not have the view? Maybe have me sell it to someone who put up one of those dumb sliver buildings so your fancy people look west at a brick wall? Come on.”

Twining looked at his lawyer. “Are we finished here?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Twining stood up. “Well, Derek, I suppose I should congratulate you.”

“Why not? Twelve million dollars for a fifty-by-one-hundred-foot lot with a broken-down house that I paid fifteen thousand for forty years ago? That’s inflation for you.” Olsen’s gleeful smile disappeared. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m putting this money to good use. A lot of kids in the Bronx, kids who won’t grow up in your fancy-schmancy condos and won’t go to the Hamptons for the summer, will now have some parks to play in-Derek Olsen parks. So when are you going to tear down the house?”

“The wrecking ball will be there Thursday morning. I think I’ll handle it myself. I haven’t forgotten how to do it.”

“I’ll come watch. Good-bye, Doug.” Olsen turned to his lawyer, George Rodenburg. “Okay, let’s get out of here,” he said. “You can buy me an early dinner. I was too excited to eat lunch. And while we’re eating, I’ll phone my nephew and Howie and let them know that it’s coming down on Thursday morning. I’ll tell them I just got twelve million bucks for it and it’s all going for my parks. I only wish I could see their faces. They’ll both have heart attacks.”