“You’re joking, Art,” Mr. Anderson said. He waved a hand at the envelope. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“Unfortunately, we’re not,” Pete said crisply as he stared ahead, his veins on the verge of explosion.
“You can’t do this job that low,” Mr. Anderson said, staring at Chip’s father. His brows were creasing more by the moment, as though his mind was turning the numbers. “You can’t. Nobody can in this business. How . . .”
But his words trailed away. The questions How did you do it? and What’s your secret? brewed in the mind of every man at that table. How on earth had McBride and Sons managed to lowball a bid more than $150,000 below his? His? Which was so low he had barely accounted for his own salary? McBride and Sons had an overhead one hundred times greater than Redpoint’s. He had lowered his profit margin to a scrape-the-bottom-of-the-barrel percentage and given up his dream of moving to an office anytime soon. The Barter was going to be the build-his-reputation renovation, the job with his sign proudly staked on Main Street for months declaring, “Redpoint Construction: We Build Your Dreams.” This was going to be the job to get all jobs.
His name would have been synonymous with the Barter’s.
Chip’s father pushed himself to standing and extended his hand. “Mr. Richardson. We are looking forward to working with you.”
It took but a moment for Mr. Richardson to switch his gaze from Chip to his father. “And I as well. Do you know,” he said, clapping the man’s back and turning toward the door. “I just went to visit the Celebrity Stage in Phoenix last weekend, and I had the most marvelous idea about a revolving stage.”
Chip watched, crestfallen, as his father strolled out of the conference room, guided by the hand of Mr. Richardson.
“I hope you’re happy.”
Chip turned to see Pete standing, pushing uneven stacks of papers into his briefcase with jerky movements. Pieces of paper stuck out all over, but Pete snapped his briefcase shut anyway.
“Me?” Chip said. “What reason on earth would I have to be happy about this, Pete? Tell me. My first big job just flew out of my hands. To you. To Dad.”
“Yes, and you’re the reason we have this nightmare of a job to contend with at all. Honestly, Chip. You thought you could manage this job for $2.3 million? You’d have sunk the first month.”
“Wait,” Chip replied, putting a hand up. “Now just wait a second. You don’t want this job?”
“How could we want this job? Who in their right mind would want this job for 2.1? We’re going to lose so much money we’ll be a hundred in the hole by the time it’s over with. And with all that man’s change orders? He’ll have us bouncing from one foot to the other with all his crackpot, twenty-four-hour ideas.”
Chip felt like he was hearing his brother’s words from the opposite side of a tunnel. He was hearing everything, but the words were coming slowly. His brother was actually upset that they got the job. His brother hadn’t been trying to take back that envelope to lower the bid, but to pull out. To lose. To lose because his father, for some insane reason, wanted to underbid.
“But why?” Chip began.
Pete frowned. Stared into Chip’s eyes. “Why do you think?”
Without another word, Chip pushed past his brother and out of the conference room. He strode down the plush carpet hallway, following the voices as he went through the lobby and turned into the auditorium. Beside the empty stage in the dimly lit room they stood, his father listening as an enthusiastic Mr. Richardson talked with his hands.
“May I have a word?” Chip said.
Mr. Richardson, who was in the middle of circling his hand in the air, stopped.
Chip’s father hesitated, then spoke. “Mr. Richardson. If you don’t mind.”
“Take your time, take your time,” said Mr. Richardson, who was now gazing off toward the stage with one finger on his chin like someone in the midst of his biggest breakthrough yet. “Of course . . . ,” he was mumbling to himself as they stepped to the back of the room.
When Chip’s father finally stopped and turned around, Chip spoke. “I want you to pull out.”
“No.” His father shook his head. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. The earnest money you’ll lose will be a drop in the bucket—”