Dark Waters Read Free Page A

After all this time working with the Madison power structure, the man was as connected as a male octopus in mating season.
    Under the Current Activity tab, Ethan found links to a pollution cleanup, a drive to distribute free soap to the downtown homeless shelters, a push to overcome the state attorney general’s religious-based resistance to sex education in schools, and a petition asking the local Catholic bishop to apologize for inflammatory remarks about victims of priestly abuse. He seemed to have no bone to pick with any current construction projects.
    Ethan closed that window and clicked the bookmark for the Lady of the Lakes blog. This was the unofficial source for everything on the isthmus, and its anonymous Lady seemed to know everyone’s dirty laundry. He put Bloom’s name in the search box and read the half-dozen entries that mentioned him. Four praised his efforts on behalf of local residents; two criticized his alleged womanizing, but numerous women jumped to his defense in the comments.
    On a whim, Ethan put his own name into the search box. There were no results. He couldn’t say why, but this annoyed him. He was involved in those controversial condominium projects, not to mention his role in rescuing the victims of Arlin Korbus, the mad tattooist. The news had mentioned him, although only tangentially, focusing instead on Rachel Matre’s heroics. Wasn’t he worth at least a comment?
    He shook off those thoughts and returned to the immediate problem. Why did Bloom want to see him? Was he coming as a friend or as a foe?
    ETHAN CAME AROUND his desk and shook Garrett Bloom’s hand. In person, he was as tall as Ethan, and as neat, tanned, and slicked into perfection as he was in his photograph. “Congratulations,” Bloom said at once.
    “And why is that?”
    “Because I’ve chosen you for my newest project.”
    Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
    “Oh, yes. Do you know the old mental hospital on Atwood down by Olbrich Park? Just past the gardens, down the hill from the road?”
    “Yeah, I know it. It was called Parkside, right?”
    Bloom snapped his fingers and touched the tip of his nose. “That’s the one.”
    The building always looked more like a prison than a hospital to Ethan, which reflected the attitude toward mental health care during its years of operation. The Mendota Mental Health Institute on the north side eventually absorbed Parkside’s patients, and the building stood vacant for several years, gradually falling into disrepair. It was now little more than a shell, used by addicts and others for illicit activities.
    Bloom continued, “We’ve bought it, and we want it renovated into a community center. That whole area is underserved, and deserves more than it’s got. And you’re the contractor we’ve chosen to do it.”
    “Really? Don’t you need to take bids, or—”
    Bloom waved his hand as if shooing flies. “Not with private financing like we have. We can hire whoever we want, and we want you.”
    Ethan was speechless for a moment. “I’m flattered,” he said at last.
    “Don’t be,” Bloom said with a smile. “It’s going to be a mess, politically and publicly. There’s a reason nobody’s done this before.”
    “Which is?”
    “The land is tied up in litigation over its possible Native American significance. But I’m pretty sure I can get around that in a way that will benefit everyone.”
    Ethan knew the difficulties that came with this sort of project. After centuries of disenfranchisement, Native Americans were not hesitant to use the courts to stop what they perceived as desecration. Truthfully, Ethan didn’t blame them, but he had no desire to get tangled up in it. “ ‘Pretty sure’ still leaves an awful lot of leeway,” he said guardedly.
    Bloom turned serious. “I’m ‘pretty sure’ enough to have raised twelve million dollars in funding. I wouldn’t waste my time doing that if I thought it would fall apart. I respect the native tribes