Part 24 (2/2)

During a break in the session in Sawyer's office, Steve was talking with John when one of Sawyer's office a.s.sistants came in the room to discuss something privately with Sarah. Steve noticed that Sarah had her checkbook with her and figured Sawyer was due for a payment. Steve and Amy had always wondered how much Sawyer was charging the conservancy in legal fees. But during the two-year period since they had retained him, the Hallquists had never been privy to the billing information. Despite being treasurer, Steve didn't see the books, much less process invoices and issue checks. When it came to legal fees, that was between Sawyer and the Steffians. From a couple of feet away, Steve could see Sarah's checkbook ledger, inadvertently left open on the desk. Steve was stunned at what he saw. He told Amy that it appeared the Steffians had paid Sawyer at least $600,000 up to that point.

”I saw a six and six digits,” he would later say.

The Hallquists didn't feel strongly one way or the other about the amount; after all, they hadn't had to pay anything. But Steve couldn't help thinking that the case was not that complicated. He had been studying Connecticut Supreme Court decisions handed down in cases that were similar to the suits the conservancy had filed against the city. From his reading, it was clear that all the legal precedents were against them. He couldn't bite his tongue any longer. He told Sarah the lawsuits were fatally flawed and it was only a matter of time before the suits were dismissed. ”You'll lose,” he said flatly, suggesting they should do what it would take to settle.

Sarah didn't like the implication that she was throwing her money away. But Steve believed just that. ”You are going to lose, plain and simple,” he said. The tension between the couples was obvious.

”Have you read the cases?” Steve pressed. ”There's precedent here. You are going to lose and lose bad.”

Sawyer had a different opinion.

Steve didn't want to hear it. ”Your opinion doesn't count,” he snapped. ”There's a friggin' state Supreme Court decision.”

Frustrated with Sawyer, Steve told Sarah, ”You're throwing your money away. If you really want to change the law you better get a lobbyist because a lawyer isn't going to help you.”

September 5, 2002 Mayor Beachy welcomed representatives from the city, the NLDC, Corcoran Jennison, the State of Connecticut, and the Fort Trumbull Conservancy into the chambers at City Hall. Marty Jones, the president of the development company, sat at one end of the table, an attorney at her side. Sawyer sat opposite her on the other side of the table, flanked by the Hallquists on his right and the Steffians on his left. Beachy, Londregan, Goebel, and city officials filled in the seats along the sides.

Beachy made his pitch: the city would take the remaining homes from Parcel 3 and relocate them to Susette's block, which would be preserved. This would allow construction of new office complexes on Parcel 3 and hotel and upscale housing along the waterfront.

The NLDC still couldn't accept the idea that these homes would be permitted to stay. But Jones expressed her opinion that her firm could proceed under Beachy's concept. ”Do you see any problem with this approach?” Jones asked a state official.

”No,” the official said.

Jones looked back across the table. ”We can do this,” she said.

Goebel pointed out that the plan didn't call for these properties to stay. Jones dismissed his concern, saying her firm could work around it. Goebel didn't say much more.

We've got ourselves a deal, Beachy thought. In his mind, the biggest hurdle had been crossed and a settlement was in reach. Even Londregan was convinced a compromise was in reach.

But John Steffian was far from convinced. All along, he and his wife had been pus.h.i.+ng for a change in the way the city carried out its munic.i.p.al-development plan. Among other things, they wanted a guarantee that eminent domain would not be used to take homes, whether that came by way of a city ordinance or some other measure. Also, going into the talks the Steffians had repeatedly asked who was ultimately calling the shots. Was it the state, the city, or the NLDC? They still hadn't gotten a straight answer. So the idea that this group was on the cusp of reaching a settlement was ridiculously premature, in their view. Besides, John heard a lot of double-talk. Even before the trial the city and the NLDC had been arguing that it had to tear down homes in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood because they were on a flood plain. But that wasn't true: a seven-story building at the Naval Undersea Warfare Center, known as Building 2, rested on a much lower elevation and was in the flood plain, yet the city had no plans to tear it down. More dishonesty.

John Steffian decided to weigh in. He suggested that in order for the argument to remain consistent, Building 2 should be torn down.

The room suddenly went silent. The building in question was worth millions and probably the most suitable for reuse in the Fort Trumbull area.

Beachy was floored by Steffian's statement. He knew the city's plan had been a devious one, but Beachy was earnestly trying to cobble together a compromise that would satisfy all sides. He thought he had had Steffian's commitment to that end. Suddenly it felt like the rug had just been yanked out from under his feet.

The Hallquists were even more stunned. Amy jabbed Steve. ”How can he do this?” she whispered, convinced there was an effort afoot to derail the settlement.

Seething, Steve froze.

”Say something,” she said, kicking Steve under the table.

Steve stood up. ”I don't agree with John,” he announced.

John paused and turned toward Steve, who faced the others in the room.

”This is not what we agreed to,” Hallquist continued. ”We're here to negotiate.”

Infighting was a bad sign. Beachy sensed trouble.

”Mr. Steffian is speaking for himself,” Amy interjected. ”This is not a directive from the conservancy, and I personally don't agree with his opinion.”

”We need a recess,” Steve said.

Beachy buried his face in his hands, sensing any hope of an agreement had just evaporated.

Londregan didn't know what to think. ”I thought we had an agreement,” he said. All the property owners in the lawsuit were going to be free to continue their legal fight to protect their homes. And the city's developer would be free to commence building on the parcels that were outside the contested area. ”Let these projects go forward for the betterment of the city,” he said.

But Londregan's offer lacked the certainty that the Steffians and Sawyer were after. ”It was an empty promise,” Sawyer explained.

The Hallquists and the Steffians exited the room, trailed by Sawyer.

Once outside, Steve started shouting. Amy pulled out the notes from the members.h.i.+p meeting held at her home weeks earlier. ”Do you see anywhere in the notes where we were directed to negotiate on the demolition of a building?” she shouted. ”No!”

”So why are you bringing this up?” Steve pressed.

John Steffian was just as angry. ”City, state, and NLDC officials comported themselves throughout this meeting as if the conservancy's questions did not exist!” Steffian later explained. ”By steadfastly refusing to discuss the larger issues of eminent domain, the environment, or alternative plan possibilities, the meeting's focus became increasingly circ.u.mscribed, irrelevant, and limited by those officials.”

Sawyer figured that if Steffian's suggestion about Building 2 was enough to halt the talks, then the talks hadn't had much substance to begin with. ”The others,” he later said, ”did not want or were unable to have a meaningful discussion, as evidenced by their complete failure to answer the most basic inquiries.”

A few minutes after stepping out, the Hallquists walked back inside the chamber.

”It's over,” Steve Hallquist announced.

Furious with John Steffian and Scott Sawyer, Beachy blew his top. ”They just don't want to resolve this!” he shouted.

36.

INTERESTED BYSTANDERS.

September 10, 2002 Pfizer executive Dan O'Shea had just gotten to his New London office when he picked up his copy of the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal. The above-the-fold headline on page one grabbed his attention: ”Needy New London Saw Cure for Its Ills in Pfizer's Arrival.” The story opened with an account of eighty-five-year-old Albert Anton, the brother of Daniel Anton, on a pilgrimage back to the Fort Trumbull neighborhood, where he led Journal Journal reporter Lucette Lagnado to a pile of rubble. ”This is where my house used to be,” Anton told the reporter. reporter Lucette Lagnado to a pile of rubble. ”This is where my house used to be,” Anton told the reporter.

O'Shea didn't like what he read next. ”Mr. Anton didn't want to move but Pfizer Inc. had other plans for Fort Trumbull. And how one of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies tried-but so far failed-to realize its vision for Mr. Anton's neighborhood is a big reason this city of 25,000 people languishes, divided and anxious for the economic renaissance it was convinced would come.”

The lengthy feature story hit Pfizer hard, indicating that the drug company had come to New London with a plan to transform the city. ”But redeveloping scores of acres in Fort Trumbull, next to Pfizer's own 24-acre site, would require evicting many longtime residents,” the Journal Journal reported. reported.

Stung by what he'd read, O'Shea put down the paper in disgust. As the vice president of operations and public affairs for Pfizer's research division, O'Shea had carefully followed all the stories about the development project in the local press. Although he hadn't liked all the controversy, none of it had concerned him too much as long as it was largely confined to the Day Day and other Connecticut papers. After all, investors, shareholders, and Pfizer's corporate executives in New York didn't read the and other Connecticut papers. After all, investors, shareholders, and Pfizer's corporate executives in New York didn't read the Day Day. But they all read the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal. The fact that the nation's leading financial paper had fingered Pfizer as the corporation behind the city's efforts to drive people from their homes in Fort Trumbull had O'Shea steaming.

Smart, shrewd, and cautious, O'Shea had spent four years trying to protect Pfizer from guilt by a.s.sociation with the NLDC and its use of eminent domain. But his task had been made difficult by the close a.s.sociation between George Milne and Claire Gaudiani. Her style and the NLDC's reputation made O'Shea bristle.

When he had first learned that Milne was considering New London as a development site, O'Shea had had serious reservations. In retrospect, however, O'Shea had come to view Milne's decision as a brilliant one. When Pfizer had merged with Warner-Lambert, the company had had to centralize a wide variety of business operations, and the New London site suddenly provided the company great flexibility.

He also took satisfaction in Judge Corradino's conclusion that Pfizer had not directed the NLDC to use eminent domain. But now he had to deal with the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal's suggestion to the contrary.

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