ask for them, you’re out of your mind. I hired him before he had hair on his dick. I practically raised that boy.”
Julian ignored the irony. His father wasn’t the one who raised him. “Why did you ask him for numbers?”
“What difference does it make?”
Julian let it go. He had bigger fish to fry. “Dad, regardless of whether it’s a wholly owned sub, I’m President and CEO. I run the company.”
His father lifted an eyebrow, standing over him, hands on hips. “If you run it well, I’ll let you continue to run it.”
“I am running it well.”
“Not recently. Your sales are down this quarter, twenty-eight percent. Last year overall, down five percent. That’s a bad trendline. Your Sandy bubble has burst.”
Julian tensed. “Dad, those expenses are legit.”
“Almost $23,000 last quarter? When your sales are down? What the hell are you doing? What’d you spend the money on?”
“Travel and entertainment? What do you think?” Julian couldn’t believe he had to explain it to his father, who’d lived and breathed T & E, even more than T & A, as he always said.
“Gimme the details.”
“What, are you the IRS now?”
“If you file a return with a number this far out of whack, the IRS is gonna knock on the door. Your door. Then, my door.”
“Please, we both know enforcement is at an all-time low.”
“So says every smartass who gets audited.” His father pressed his fleshy lips together. “How’s it legit?”
“I take people out to eat. It’s not cheap. I take them on the boat. I get party trays, first-class. Lobster, stone crab claws, shrimp. Booze, top-shelf. The whole nine, like you.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “Girls?”
“No, it’s not that kind of sell.”
His father sniffed. “My preppy son keeps it classy.”
“It’s not that, either.” Julian had heard that before, many times. “Building is specialized there after Hurricane Sandy. There’s a lot you don’t know about it.”
“Oh, I’m a rookie at this real estate stuff.” His father scoffed.
“Dad, building down the Jersey shore has unique issues, and I’m also flipping foreclosures, which entails remediation. You have to deal with water damage, mold—”
“Who are you entertaining?”
“Contractors and their subs, other builders, water-damage guys, mold-removal guys—”
“Those are your vendors.” His father looked at him like he was crazy. “They’re supposed to blow you. Not the other way around.”
“Dad, that’s not how it works down there. I need the best contractors, carpenters, and remediators to put my jobs first. The good guys are in high demand. You have to woo them or you can’t get them. Everybody and his brother’s calling himself a contractor. They moved from Delaware and Connecticut for the work. The hotels are full. It’s a gold rush.”
“It was, but it’s over now.”
“Not completely. The news stories aren’t on the TV and in Philly newspapers, but some residents are still out of their homes. Others are suing their insurance companies for open claims. The grant payments are a joke. FEMA lowballs the residents. The money gets held up. It’s a nightmare for them, but for me, it’s an opportunity.”
“One man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.” His father’s forehead eased, so Julian continued.
“I entertain the insurance guys, the FEMA types, guys from Community Disaster Loan, Individual Assistance guys, DHS, Department of Emergency Management, Community Affairs, Jersey Economic Development, mortgage finance agencies, you name it. It’s a governmental clusterfuck.”
“And you want to make sure they fuck you.” His father chuckled, and Julian joined him.
“Exactly, and I have to keep the lawyers happy, too.”
“What lawyers? Government lawyers?”
“Yes, and the ones who get the Sandy people paid, who handle the claims. Private lawyers and public interest do-gooders. I need to stay in front of them so they recommend us when the check comes in.”
“Sandy people? Is that what you call them?”
“Do you realize that five billion dollars in federal and state funds were disbursed for Sandy relief? Three billion was sent directly to the municipalities to be distributed to the residents. And that doesn’t even consider the payout from insurance companies.”
“It is a gold rush.” His father eased into his ergonomic chair, a black Aeron.
“So you see, any T & E is well worth it. I want to parlay my experience with Sandy. I want to build and remediate after hurricanes and floods all across the country. There’s gonna be more, every year, and why not expand into post-disaster building and remediation in five to seven years? It’s a niche, and it’s national.”
“Okay, son.”
Son. Julian warmed. “Not so crazy after all?”
“Not just another pretty face.” His father grinned. “How’d