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“Unfortunately,” Dave continued as if I hadn’t told him what he already knew, “the buyer’s been given permission to run a full environmental impact assessment.”
My eyes narrowed. “Um, not to be Captain Obvious here, Dave. But when you say ‘given permission’ that sounds suspiciously like you weren’t the one giving said permission. But I know full well that’s your job.”
As director of the Seneca Lake branch of FLLT, he could green-light or kill these negotiations anytime.
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I gave them permission.”
I refrained from saying “duh” and sat there instead. Waiting.
“We’re bleeding funds, Natalie. You know that.”
“And you’re getting pressure to give this sale a hard look?” I finished.
“I am.”
That land might be protected, but it was also a prime piece of real estate that could put money into the coffers of FLLT for other projects. Since Finger Lakes Land Trust encompassed all of the lakes, there was a perpetual push/pull between directors that I didn’t envy Dave having to navigate.
“Why this one? There are a hundred other projects like it.”
“Frankly?”
“Yes, please.”
Dave’s gray and white peppered beard made him look very fatherly, and usually, he did take care of his staff, and the land we tried to protect, like a dad sometimes. But like my own father, tough love was sometimes the name of the game.
“The proposed sale price is twenty percent more than market value.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head like one of those old-fashioned cartoons. “Are you kidding me?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Shit,” I said, slinking into my chair, completely forgetting that I was a professional and sitting across from my boss. This was worse than I thought. “They’re gonna sell it?”
By “they” I mostly meant “you” since Dave had to approve the sale before it went to the FLLT board. But throwing him under the bus wasn’t any way to get what I wanted. And I wanted to conserve this land.
I sat up. “Dave,” I began. “This has only a little to do with my rowing program and the community well-being. There are a million reasons why that inlet should not be developed. Water quality. Erosion control. Old-growth trees.”
I was just getting started, but Dave stopped me. “Natalie. You know as well as I do all of that will be taken under consideration in the impact assessment. This is far from a done deal.”
“But—”
“I wanted you to know first because of your ties to the property. But it’s moving forward.” His tone, firmer than it had been before, left little room for continued discussion. “Now unless you want to actually meet the buyer, you might want to head home early.”
I sat up even straighter. “He’s coming...here?”
“In fifteen minutes.”
Oh man. Part of me wanted to meet this douchebag, but the other part of me wanted to be as far away from this place as possible when he came. Watching Dave watch me was the clincher. For the most part, the guy had been a great boss. The best call here was probably to leave without doing anything I would regret.
This would be a battle, keeping the inlet in the Trust. One that wouldn’t be won this afternoon.
“Leaving early,” I said, standing, torn between saying “thanks for the heads up” and “thanks for rolling over so easily for some cash.” This Bitter Betty needed to get out of here.
“Good call,” Dave said as I opted for neither and simply walked out of his office.
Opening the door, I half expected to see the devil incarnate himself on the other side, but instead, the office was, as usual, mostly empty. The majority of us usually worked in the field, and today was no exception.
Grabbing my stuff from the small office at the end of the hall, I flipped off the lamp—I’d dismantled the disgusting fluorescent lights that did no one any favors—and headed out. But just as I got to the front door, a perfectly see-through front door, he appeared.
