Drama, Intrigue, and New Home Construction

We speak with builder/novelist, Michael Ruddy, author of the new book, Conflicts With Interest.

All good teachers recognize the value of a good story to make a point.  In his new novel, Michael Ruddy draws on his many years as a homebuilder – and the hard lessons learned – to craft a story that is both entertaining… And sobering.

In Conflicts With Interest, Ruddy introduces T.R. Morgan, a successful builder who finds himself dealing with lawsuits, insurance companies, fraud, and a host of issues that may hit close to home with many builders today.

Included here is an excerpt from Conflicts With Interest.  You can download the first two chapters or purchase an advanced signed copy of the book here.

Conflicts with Interest, by Michael Ruddy.

Chapter 1: Vegas

The river card snapped to the felt. It was the king of spades.

T.R. Morgan sat patiently awaiting his turn, caressing his cards with the fingers of his left hand.

“Check,” he said, while directing his view toward the far end of the table. Feeling even more nervous.

The young man in the open-collared, red silk shirt sat erect. The other players were out of the hand, but watched intently.

“My friend,” Juan Carlos said in a soft Spanish accent. “I would like to offer you a chance to chop.”

“What?” T.R. asked. What was he talking about?

Everyone, except the dealer, looked at him, knowing he was clueless to the concept.

“You know—chop the pot,” Juan Carlos stated easily.

“Can you do that?” T.R. responded; at which time, if not earlier, the entire table learned that T.R. was an amateur player, floundering in a cash game with a world champion and various seasoned opportunists. More to the point, he knew that they knew and it did not sit well with the pros.

Though it offered a financial opportunity for most, the unfamiliar situation slowed the game to a snail’s pace.

Unexpectedly, from directly across the table, a kind player in a hooded sweatshirt and dark glasses chose to deliver T.R. from his immediate misery.

“Juan Carlos is offering you a chance to split the pot,” the hooded player said. “Without any more betting you still get half the pot.”

“How does that work? Can you do that? Is that legal?”

T.R. earnestly questioned, as if the hooded stranger were his newly appointed poker guidance counselor. The others answered silently with expressions of disbelief.

What now? T.R. asked himself, while sensing the distant music emanating from the headphones of the heavyset man seated to his left.

“Just say yes or no,” whispered the dealer, leaning close enough to share his dousing of Old Spice.

Jim Morrison and The Doors played quietly from the headphones — “When you’re strange, faces come out of the rain.”

“Do I show my cards?” T.R. asked the dealer between the choruses playing next to him, careful to avoid interruption out of respect for the lyrics—“When you’re strange …”

“Only if you want to,” Juan Carlos replied after hearing the question and surveying the other players, all the while smiling knowingly. The dealer did not acknowledge T.R.’s inquiry this time.

“Okay, if that’s how it works,” T.R. said, and slid his cards facedown to the dealer, who eagerly began to divide the pot in equal portions. At the same time Juan Carlos flipped his cards over, showing nothing. His grin covered his face.

T.R. should have known better before he sat down. The buy-in was a $1,200 minimum, with a re-buy at any time. Was there a strategy to this game that he did not fully understand?

Unfortunately, the answer was—most likely. Nevertheless, he was now seated. What next? Should he just get up and leave? Damn! This is an embarrassing situation, he thought, while struggling to maintain composure.

As the dealer placed the next hand in the appropriate positions, the clang of slot bells, and the clamor of casino voices were now a vague nuisance to T.R.’s senses, which seemed to be shutting down involuntarily. The eyes of all the table players were focused on his dwindling chip stacks. They lusted for his chips, and he could feel his face flushing red.

The betting participants slowly dwindled to Juan Carlos and T.R. The river card, again, snapped to the felt. The familiar sound announced the ace of spades. T.R. was holding two additional concealed red aces between the thumb and index finger of his now quivering left hand. A set of aces, he proclaimed to himself. This time I have him beat!

“Check,” Juan Carlos said. The other players stared in amazement, smirking, while also attempting to conceal their delight at the thought of T.R.’s impending march to the abattoir.

“I’m all in,” T.R. said, pushing his chips to the center of the table, deliberately using both hands for emphasis and at the same time attempting to stop the shaking in his left hand.

“All in!” he said again, louder, and certain of success.   “All in!”

Juan Carlos returned T.R.’s happy-face expression with a sympathetic smile and said more softly and slowly than before, “My friend … you were so kind to me the last hand; I would like to return the favor. Chop?”

He motioned with his right hand as if sharply, but delicately, slicing the soft red felt. The dealer stared straight ahead to maintain his objective composure, keeping his Old Spice essence to himself.

Not again, T.R. thought with revived purpose. He has me on the other ace but my betting strategy didn’t provide any indication of the possible third.  He might have two pair. So what? Not enough.

T.R. smiled back toward Juan Carlos and shook his head, full of confidence—about to validate the ultimate poker experience—playing with and beating a world champion.

“Okay, my friend,” Juan Carlos announced. “You give me no choice … call!” Juan Carlos displayed a full house. He smiled wider it seemed, perhaps, to engage everyone’s complicit enjoyment of the massacre.

There was a two-deep crowd of socioeconomic misfits gathered around the table now. The word in the poker room spreads rapidly—Juan Carlos at table six.

What should I do? T.R. thought. Should I show my cards and at least get some credit for a magnificent losing hand?  Instead, T.R. slid his cards to the dealer, in a folding, chicken-shit manner—the cards and T.R. facedown. And while he did so, his cell phone started burring in his pocket.

T.R. muttered to the dealer, meekly, as he arose from the chair, reaching for the phone, “Deal me out while I take this call in the other room. I’ll be back. Nice hand, Juan Carlos.”

T.R. walked out of the poker room, and on the final vibration, flipped open and answered the phone.

“Hello, Ryan. What’s up?”

“Julie just got served,” he said in his serious, sober voice.

“Served what?” T.R. answered with an attempt to diffuse the situation, thinking humor might break the tension he heard in Ryan’s voice.

“Very funny.”

“What are you talking about?” T.R. was stalling for time to think. He knew what it was.

“The papers! A notice against you, me, and the company.”

T.R. paused for a moment to slow things down in his mind. “Why did Julie get served?”

“She didn’t know who it was, and I wasn’t home,” he said, even more agitated.

“What does it say?”

“It’s from Sanderson’s firm. It’s thick, I don’t know how many pages, it’s nasty, everything … you personal, me personal, the company, defects—everything.”

“Okay … calm down, Ryan. We did anticipate that something like this might be coming our way. We are fully aware of our one unhappy customer. Remember?”

“Not from Sanderson! Not this way … not at home … not at Christmas. Julie? The kids?” His voice was shaking with angry emotion.

“Relax … you’ll be all right. Relax.”

“Damn it! I don’t need this right now … with everything I’ve been through. Why are they doing this? We told them we would take care of it.”

“I know … I know. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

T.R. was upset, but Ryan was clearly beside himself, his volume way up. T.R. knew that he could not make further light of this situation. “I’ll give Hayes a call in the morning and he’ll help us. Relax!”

“Stop telling me to relax! I’m fine.”

T.R. paused again. “You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m fine. I’m just mad as hell. How low will they go?”

“As you now know … low. I’ll call you back after talking with Hayes tomorrow. Love you.” He slapped the phone shut and gripped it tightly, as if he was squeezing the bad news out of it.    Continue…

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Wednesday, Februry 10, 2010  2:00pm ET

Connecting with Buyers:  Forging Ties and Building Trust

Presenter:  Melinda Brody

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Register here.