opinions in the presence of the mink and diamonds set.
At the podium, Foley began his presentation. "Six years ago, Brant Hill was only a concept. Not a unique concept, of course, across the country, as Americans grow older, retirement communities are springing up in every state. What makes Brant Hill unique isn't the concept. It's the execution. It's the degree to which we carry out the dream."
A new slide flashed onto the screen, a photograph of the Brant Hill common, with the swan pond in the foreground and the rolling hills of the golf course stretching into a soft shroud of mist.
"We know that the dream has nothing to do with a comfortable old age followed by a comfortable death. The dream has to do with life. With beginnings, not endings. That is what we offer our clients. We've made the dream a reality. And look how far we've come! Brant Hill, Newton, is expanding. Brant Hill, La Jolla, is sold out. Last month we started construction on our third development, in Naples, Florida, and already, seventy-five percent of those unbuilt units have been sold. And tonight, on the sixth anniversary of our first groundbreaking, I'm here to announce the most exciting news of all." He paused, and on the screen above him, the Brant Hill logo reappeared on a background of royal blue.
"At eight A.M. tomorrow," he said, "we will be making our initial public offering of stock. I think you all understand what that means."
Money, thought Brace as he heard the murmurs of excitement in the room.
A fortune for the initial investors. And for Brant Hill it self, it meant an infusion of cash that would spur construction of new developments in other states. No wonder there was champagne on the table, as of tomorrow morning, half the people in this room were going to be even more wealthy than they already were.
The audience burst out in applause.
Greta did not, which Robbie noted with some discomfort. The old stereotype about stubborn redheads held true for his wife. She was sitting with arms folded, her chin jutting out, the very picture of a pissed-off Socialist.
More slides appeared on-screen, reflecting a changing collage of colors on Greta's face. Photos of La Jolla's Brant Hill, designed as a cluster of Mediterranean-style villas overlooking the Pacific. A photo of the health club in Newton, where a dozen aging women in snazzy warm-up suits danced aerobics. A shot of Newton's fifth green, with two men posing beside their canopied golf cart. Then a photo of residents dining in the country club restaurant, a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket.
Where the rich folk live.
Brace shifted in his chair, uncomfortably attuned to what Greta must be thinking of all this. Taking care of rich folk was not what he'd planned for his life's work when he'd been a medical student. But then, he hadn't anticipated the pressures of student loans or a home mortgage or saving for their kid's college fund. He hadn't imagined he would be forced to sell out.
Greta uncrossed her legs, and as her thigh brushed against his, he felt an unexpected dart of anger that she couldn't see his side of this. She was the wife, she could hang on to her principles. He was the one who had to keep their family fed and housed. And where was the sin in taking care of the rich? Like everyone else, the rich got sick, they needed doctors, they needed compassion.
They paid their bills.
He crossed his arms, withdrawing both physically and emotionally from Greta, and stared at the projector screen. So this was Ken Foley's real purpose for the dinner�to drum up excitement about the initial public offering, to fire up demand for the new stock. Foley's speech was intended for a far wider audience of investors than was now in this room. Already, Brant Hill must be showing up on radar screens of brokerage firms across the country. Every word he said tonight would be piped straight to the business media.
A new slide appeared, an artist's rendition of the new nursing
At the podium, Foley began his presentation. "Six years ago, Brant Hill was only a concept. Not a unique concept, of course, across the country, as Americans grow older, retirement communities are springing up in every state. What makes Brant Hill unique isn't the concept. It's the execution. It's the degree to which we carry out the dream."
A new slide flashed onto the screen, a photograph of the Brant Hill common, with the swan pond in the foreground and the rolling hills of the golf course stretching into a soft shroud of mist.
"We know that the dream has nothing to do with a comfortable old age followed by a comfortable death. The dream has to do with life. With beginnings, not endings. That is what we offer our clients. We've made the dream a reality. And look how far we've come! Brant Hill, Newton, is expanding. Brant Hill, La Jolla, is sold out. Last month we started construction on our third development, in Naples, Florida, and already, seventy-five percent of those unbuilt units have been sold. And tonight, on the sixth anniversary of our first groundbreaking, I'm here to announce the most exciting news of all." He paused, and on the screen above him, the Brant Hill logo reappeared on a background of royal blue.
"At eight A.M. tomorrow," he said, "we will be making our initial public offering of stock. I think you all understand what that means."
Money, thought Brace as he heard the murmurs of excitement in the room.
A fortune for the initial investors. And for Brant Hill it self, it meant an infusion of cash that would spur construction of new developments in other states. No wonder there was champagne on the table, as of tomorrow morning, half the people in this room were going to be even more wealthy than they already were.
The audience burst out in applause.
Greta did not, which Robbie noted with some discomfort. The old stereotype about stubborn redheads held true for his wife. She was sitting with arms folded, her chin jutting out, the very picture of a pissed-off Socialist.
More slides appeared on-screen, reflecting a changing collage of colors on Greta's face. Photos of La Jolla's Brant Hill, designed as a cluster of Mediterranean-style villas overlooking the Pacific. A photo of the health club in Newton, where a dozen aging women in snazzy warm-up suits danced aerobics. A shot of Newton's fifth green, with two men posing beside their canopied golf cart. Then a photo of residents dining in the country club restaurant, a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket.
Where the rich folk live.
Brace shifted in his chair, uncomfortably attuned to what Greta must be thinking of all this. Taking care of rich folk was not what he'd planned for his life's work when he'd been a medical student. But then, he hadn't anticipated the pressures of student loans or a home mortgage or saving for their kid's college fund. He hadn't imagined he would be forced to sell out.
Greta uncrossed her legs, and as her thigh brushed against his, he felt an unexpected dart of anger that she couldn't see his side of this. She was the wife, she could hang on to her principles. He was the one who had to keep their family fed and housed. And where was the sin in taking care of the rich? Like everyone else, the rich got sick, they needed doctors, they needed compassion.
They paid their bills.
He crossed his arms, withdrawing both physically and emotionally from Greta, and stared at the projector screen. So this was Ken Foley's real purpose for the dinner�to drum up excitement about the initial public offering, to fire up demand for the new stock. Foley's speech was intended for a far wider audience of investors than was now in this room. Already, Brant Hill must be showing up on radar screens of brokerage firms across the country. Every word he said tonight would be piped straight to the business media.
A new slide appeared, an artist's rendition of the new nursing
Similar Books
