The Investor: An Investor's Return

Hold my calls for the day, Alyssa. Sorry for being curt with you, but it wasn’t a good trip. No, it was real crappy one. Thank you, now if you could head back to your desk, I’ve got a report to make. Talk with you again in a moment.

Okay. Take a breath. It’s nothing big. I can do this. Goddamned town. He may be upset, but I know we can salvage this. Now or never, time to call him up.

Hey boss, I was just calling to report about my trip. Before you say anything, I know this trip was supposed to be incredibly lucrative, and I said it was basically a done deal, but there were some unforeseen circumstances. See, I assumed it was a done deal, because we did research. A lot of research. And our polling and interviewing with the residents told us all that there were several of them who were unhappy with their environments and would like us to come in and help elevate their communities. So, when we went in, we were certain it was a done deal. But, unfortunately, it seems as though despite our many polls and interviews, we overlooked a few crucial issues with purchasing the properties out from under the residents. I’m sorry.

Alright, alright, I know you’re upset. I understand. But, hear me out, we can still salvage this deal. There’s just this one guy we have to find. The sheriff said it wouldn’t help, but I know how to read people, how people talk and act, and I’m sure he was just trying to get me out of there before I could figure anything out. But me, I’m too clever for the little hick town. The sheriff thought he’d beat me, but I’d already figured out how we could still finish off the deal.

See, it started with the first guy I went to visit. A fine gentleman named Mister Wilke. He was the first resident we’d flagged as wanting change and willing to sell. Outside of taking offense at Alyssa’s manners, which he saw as very rude at times, he said a few things that stuck with me. Specifically, when I pressed him on a particular turn of phrase. Around the middle of the conversation, after I told him of our interests in his property, he said, “I really can’t sell the place.”

See, that flew up a ton of red flags in my book, so I started trying to find out what on earth it could mean. After several different questions about his position and what was going on, he revealed to me, “I don’t actually own the property.”

Now, I thought that sounded odd. So, I started asking follow-up questions, confirming all of the things he’d told us in the polls and interviews. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t some sort of elaborate prank. He proceeded to answer every single one of my questions with the same information he’d provided, indicating that he should legally be the owner. After the long series of questions, he admitted to me, “Ownership around town gets a little odd, involves the charter and a whole lot of confusion and regulations.That causes most of us to rent from people to streamline things.”

I, of course, asked the logical question for a property investment firm to ask, “So, who owns your property?”

His response, through the stuttering and equivocation, was twofold. First, he stated that the individual who owned the property, as well as many of the others in the area, was named Richard Ryer, though the gentleman claimed that he goes by Dick. Whether that is true or not, I am uncertain. Second, Mister Wilke also stated that Mister Ryer doesn’t visit his property. That tells me, he doesn’t care much about it, which presents us an opportunity, you know. We might well be able to get a whole huge swathe of land.

Armed with that information, I contacted Alyssa, asking her to look into this guy. As it turns out, this place wasn’t the only place he didn’t visit much. The guy had almost zero digital footprint. He existed, but beyond existence, little was easy to find with simple google searches. That marked him as an oddity, but also meant he probably wasn’t particularly digitally literate, so he may well not realize there’s been an increase in interest around his old town. We could probably purchase the land from him below their value because of that. It’s not likely he knows the value of the properties.

Now, the fact that one person says someone they’ve never known owns a bunch of the local property in and of itself doesn’t tell us much, right. It could just be someone’s ramblings, or someone who doesn’t really know what’s going on. I was uncertain of my next step to take at that point, so I went to the local watering hole. Sitting there and talking with people would help me to figure out the rest of the town’s goings on, what their opinions might be, and how they think. So, I was talking with the woman who seemed to be their primary bartender at the time, a lady named Linda, when she reacted oddly. Almost as though she hadn’t even known who owned those properties. Which seemed strange to me, you understand, because she also claimed to have lived in town almost all her life, right across the street from those properties. Before I could ask too many questions, however, our conversation was rudely interrupted. The Sheriff showed up, out of the blue, to move me out of that place. Of that conversation. He introduced himself, then started loudly bragging about his net worth while he dragged me outside. That’s what I meant when I said he was scared of me figuring things out. He pulled me through the doors of the little bar. He tried to shove me down into my car and tried to intimidate me. But us civilized people, we’re made from stiffer stuff, you know. I wasn’t scared of the hick sheriff and I showed it to the little man.

When intimidation didn’t work, he moved on to more subtle tactics. HE tried to convince me that finding Mister Ryer wouldn’t help. He scolded me, saying Mister Ryer’s reaction to my offer was eminently predictable, one of three options. “First,” he claimed, “he might just say no. Because the money you’re offering is paltry compared to what he could make himself by coming back.” Especially considering that I wasn’t planning on offering him full price, I knew that would probably be true. But it also was meaningless, because the only reason he wouldn’t come back to the town to examine his property for all these years would be if he didn’t like having it in town. A sentiment that the sheriff confirmed for me with his next reason.

“Second,” the Sheriff continued to argue, “he might say that that’s a good idea, then cut you out, and go behind your back to renovate everything himself. Because betrayal is the nature of the whole Ryer family.” The fact that even the Sheriff of the town has that opinion of one of the towns former citizens tells me that there’s some bad blood there. That just proved to me it’ll be easy to convince the strange man to sell. He didn’t want to be connected to a town that hated him.

Finally, the sheriff concluded by telling me, “Third, he may just say that it’s more complicated than that. Because the fact is, owning property here is complicated. Who and how someone can own it is enshrined in our lovely town charter.” Up until that point, I was still unsure of how I’d approach actually getting it. I was going to need to find the town charter, do a ton of research, and find the loopholes. But when he said who could own property was in the charter, I realized there was a far easier way to take care of that issue.

So, here’s what I propose. My plan has really only two parts. We need the property rights and we need the ability to own it, right? With that in mind, first, we need to find this Mister Richard Ryer. It shouldn’t be too hard, I mean the sheriff indicated the man was a billionaire. Even if he’s offline, it can’t be too hard to track someone with that much money in the bank, right? I mean, I’ve never heard of a billionaire who doesn’t have at least a couple of insanely expensive purchases on their record. Once we find him, he should be more than happy to agree to sell the land to us for renovation. I mean, every indication says he doesn’t want to have any more ties to that town. We do that first, so when the second half of my plan happens, no one else can swoop in and pick up the property.

Then, once we get the written agreement to the purchase from the eccentric billionaire, we move on to the ownership issue. According to their own sheriff, who can own things is in writing in the charter, from ages ago. Now, I’m no lawyer, so I’m not positive about this thing, but I’m pretty certain we can sue their little tiny county for discriminatory practices encoded in their charter. You’ll have to run it by our lawyers, of course, but I’m sure they’ll agree it’s an eminently winnable case. The courts will undoubtedly get the rules on ownership stricken. I understand it may take a little time, but eventually the courts are bound to rule in our favor, right? It can’t be legal to do that. And then, with the ownership rules out the window, we swoop in with the written sales agreements, pick up the properties, and start the renovation projects. Simple enough plan. So, how soon are we going to start looking for this Richard Ryer fellow?

Wait, what? What do you mean I’m fired? I’m one of your best goddamned employees, and you’re just going to throw that out the window? Over what, one screw up? One little, insignificant, hick town? Why? No, I don’t give a damn. You just fired me, remember, that means you’re not my boss anymore. So, I can talk however the hell I want with you. Now tell me, why the hell are you firing me? Oh, you’re trying to say I’m getting sloppy? You and I both know that’s a load of bull. Tell me the damn truth, alright. Who the hell is forcing you to do this? Is it that creepy sheriff? I don’t care how rich he is, he’s a small town sheriff, we don’t need to succumb to his threats. I…

Goddamned it all, he just hung up on me. Well, screw him anyways, I’ll just do this on my own. Alyssa, can you come back in? So, Henderson just fired me, which means your call is undoubtedly coming soon. I know you were listening in on that call, because you’re a good secretary. Are you interested in helping me out? Finding this rich kid, getting the deal, making some money and screwing over those townies in the process?

What do you mean he promoted you? The hell? Don’t walk away from me! Damn it. Damn it all, I don’t need anyone. What I do need is a drink. Now I’m talking to myself. Great.