"I've seen the area when I was there on business," Matt put in.

"Then you surely know what a bargain it would be if we could buy that piece of land for the twenty million Thorp owes on it. We could either develop it ourselves or hold on to the land and sell it later for a nice profit. Five years ago, it was worth $40 million. If Houston continues its economic recovery, it'll be worth that soon."

Matt was jotting notes in the Thorp file and waiting for a break in Peter's recitation so that he could explain that he preferred that Intercorp invest in commercial buildings, when Peter added, "If you're interested, we'd have to move quickly because both Thorp and Collins indicated they're expecting an offer for that property at any hour. I thought they were trying to hustle me until they named names. Evidently Bancroft & Company, here in Chicago, is hot for the land, and no wonder! There's nowhere else in Houston like it. Hell, we could grab it for twenty million and turn around in a few months and sell it to Bancroft's for twenty-five to thirty million which is what it's actually worth." Peter's voice trailed off because Matthew Farrell's head had snapped up and he was staring at Peter with a very strange expression on his face.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"I said that Bancroft & Company plans to buy the land," Peter said, wary of that cold, calculating, ominous look in Farrell's eyes. Thinking Farrell wanted more information, he added quickly, "Bancroft's is like Bloomingdale's or Neiman-Marcus—old, dignified stores with a predominantly upper class clientele. They've begun expanding into—"

"I'm familiar with Bancroft's," Matt said tightly. His gaze shifted to the file on Thorp and he studied the appraisal on the Houston land with heightened interest. He saw the figures on the appraisal documents, and he realized the land was a bargain with a huge potential for profit. But profit wasn't on his mind right now. With renewed anger, he was thinking of Meredith's actions Saturday night.

"Buy it," he said softly.

"But don't you want to hear about some of the other properties?"

"I'm not interested in anything except the piece of property that Bancroft's wants. Tell legal to draw up an offer, contingent on our own appraiser agreeing with Thorp's appraiser on the value of the tend. Take it to Houston tomorrow and present it to Thorp yourself."

"An offer?" Peter almost stammered. "For how much?"

"Offer fifteen million, and give them twenty-four hours to sign the contract or we'll walk. They'll counter immediately with twenty-five. Settle at twenty, and tell them we want ownership of the property within three weeks or the deal is off."

"I really don't think—"

"There's another contingency. If Thorp accepts our offer, they are to keep the entire transaction completely confidential. No one is to know we're buying that land until after the sale is consummated. Tell legal to include all that in the contract, along with the other usual contingencies."

Suddenly Peter felt uneasy. In the past, when Farrell had invested in or bought companies Peter had recommended, he hadn't done it on Peter's recommendations alone. Far from it. He'd checked things out himself and taken precautions. This time, however, if something went wrong, Peter would be solely and entirely held to blame. "Mr. Farrell, I really don't think—"

"Peter," Matt interrupted with silky finality. "Buy the goddamned property."

Nodding, Peter stood up, but his unease was growing by the moment.

"Phone Art Simpson in our legal department in California, give him the contingencies, and tell him I want the contracts here tomorrow. When they arrive, bring them in and we'll discuss the next steps."

When Vanderwild left, Matt turned in his chair and looked out the windows. Obviously, Meredith still thought of him as an inferior lowlife, beneath her contempt, which was her right to do. It was also her right to make her feelings clear to everyone who read the Chicago newspapers, which was what she'd done. However, exercising those rights was going to cost her about ten million dollars—the additional price she was going to have to pay Intercorp for the land she wanted in Houston.

Chapter 20

"Mr. Farrell said I was to bring these contracts to him as soon as they arrived," Peter informed Miss Stern in an assertive tone, late the following afternoon.

"In that case," she replied with thin gray brows raised, "I would suggest you do exactly that."

Irritated at having lost yet another skirmish with her, Peter swung on his heel, knocked on the rosewood door of Matt Farrell's office, and opened it. In Peter's desperation to dissuade Farrell from acting precipitously on the Houston land, he failed to notice that Tom Anderson was at the far end of the large office, studying a painting that had just been hung on the wall. "Mr. Farrell," Peter began, "I have to tell you that I'm extremely uneasy about this Thorp deal."

"Do you have the contracts?"

"Yes, I do." Reluctantly, Peter handed the contracts to him. "But will you at least listen to what I have to say?"

Farrell nodded to one of the burgundy suede chairs that made a semicircle in front of his desk. "Sit down, while I look these over, and then you can have your say."

In nervous silence, Peter watched him reading the long, complex documents that committed Intercorp to a cash outlay of millions of dollars without a trace of expression on his face. Suddenly, Peter wondered if the man was ever susceptible to such human weaknesses as doubt or fear or regret or any other strong emotion.

In the year since Peter had joined Intercorp, he'd seen Matt Farrell decide he wanted to accomplish something; when he did, he could untangle complications that had kept his staff running in circles, override any remaining obstacles, and have the deal closed in a matter of a week or two. When motivated to achieve an objective, he plowed through any obstacles in his path, human or corporate, like a deadly tornado—with awesome force and complete lack of emotion.

The other men who worked closely with Farrell as part of his "reorganization team" were better at hiding their awe and uncertainty about their employer than Peter was, but Peter sensed they felt as he did. Two nights ago they'd all worked until ten o'clock, and they'd invited Peter to join them for a late dinner. Tom Anderson had decided at the last minute to continue working. During that dinner it became obvious to Peter for the first time that not one of those four men knew Farrell much better than he himself did. Only Tom Anderson seemed to be privileged with Farrell's trust and friendship, though no one knew how he'd earned it.