CHAPTER 44: C’est La Vie

Jackson Armstrong sat at the ironwood table in Armstrong Mill’s wood-paneled conference room. Vivian, his mother, sat next to Steven, his father, who sat at the head. Frank and Rebecca sat at the other end, with Tom and Sara across the table from Jackson. Phillip and Monica were present on a computer screen. 

Jackson leafed through a stack of thick file folders. “OSHA,” he said. “Clean Air Act, Clean Water Act. Management plans for endangered species, invasive species, spotted owls, barred owls. HCPs, FMA, NEPA, BLM, DNR, Forest Service, Wild and Scenic Rivers, Antiquities Act, Inholders, Wildlands Project, Climate Change, SFS certification, UN-SDG/ESG.” He dropped the files on the table and the creamy folders fanned out like a bad poker hand.

“Risk,” he said. “Expenses. Opportunities to sue. An army of lawyers couldn’t get through this maze—no offense to you, Phillip.”

“None taken,” said Phillip.

Frank said, “The water inspectors were pissed when I told them to take a hike last week—maybe another quarter of a mil to satisfy ’em. Estimate a hundred grand in legal fees to free up Jackson Valley from the inholder mess and even if they let us log it we’ll lose a third to mitigation. The odds look pretty poor for freeing up any timber sales or bringing in logs from Mexico or anywhere else anytime soon.”

Steven Jackson leaned forward. “Now, son,” he said.  

“Wait, Dad, let us finish,” said Jackson. “I’ve never felt so completely overwhelmed and out of my depth. Frank?”

All heads turned to Frank. “We just got notice SFS has pulled our certification.”

Everyone groaned. “There goes Home Depot!” said Sara.

“I don’t even want to do that math,” said Frank. “As soon as this gets out, that the door’s closed to us, sharks will start circling, looking for cheap blacklisted lumber.”

“I knew that program was risky!” said Vivian.

Steven leaned in. “We loggers lost our social license and they picked it up.”

“We didn’t lose it,” said Jackson bitterly. “They trashed it, then stole it—been making money on it ever since, selling it, taking a cut on every stick of timber sold.”

“It’s a racket,” said Sara.

“That it is,” said Vivian. “Never could understand why—after logging here for over a hundred years, after paying fees and taxes for government oversight—we still have to pay off another layer so we can sell our product?”

“You called it, Mom,” said Tom, and heads nodded.

“SFS give a reason?” asked Rebecca.

“Dead spotted owl on the Two Gorges logging road,” said Frank.

“Convenient,” growled Jackson. “Or someone out there trying to shoot barred owls—hit the poor spotted creature by mistake? We might be able to stop this crap eventually, but maybe not in time to save the mill, our land, or the town. We can’t clear enough timber out fast enough to stop this place from burning to the ground. These are facts we need to face.”

The room went silent. “House built on sand…” said Vivian.

“I think we really need to reconsider the offer from Masters Logging,” said Frank. “It would put us back to zero.”

Everyone moaned.

“Could just call it a day,” said Sara.

“We could,” said Jackson. “But you need to know we have another interested party.”

“Who?” asked Tom.

“Trinity. Frédéric Trinité has made a bid,” said Jackson.

Sara gasped. Tom shook his head in disbelief. Their father stood in anger. “Trinity?” he yelled. “That son of a bitch! This is just a high-tech land grab?”

“In a way,” said Jackson. “Although I doubt he wants to keep the land in production.”

“Conservation easements?” asked Phillip. “Might pencil out, save him a bundle in taxes.”

“Could be,” said Jackson. “I’m thinking resort.”

“Another one?” asked Monica. “How many do those rich people need?”

“He wants us gone, real bad,” said Jackson. “He’s offered us double the offer on the table from Masters Logging.”

Jackson’s father gasped and sat back down. “That’s serious money, son,” he said.

“After we pay off debt and government takes a chunk,” said Frank, “the family could clear…, well, I worked up some numbers.” He passed a spreadsheet around the room. “Phil, Monica, check your emails.” On the screen, Phil nodded.

“My, God,” said Sara.

“He’s also donating another three million to the Yellow Ribbon Alliance in memory of Ginnie,” said Jackson.”

“He should, but if he shuts the mill, the Alliance is dead,” said Tom.

“Without Ginnie, it’s already dead,” said Sara.

“He’s buying us off,” said Frank.

“Trying real hard to,” said Tom.

“Exit money,” said Vivian. “Permanent exit.”

Jackson searched the faces of his family. He could not read them.

Sara laughed. Tom joined her. Frank was next and soon the whole family was engulfed in the hidden joke of it all. They laughed hard, wiped the tears from their eyes.

“What a hoot,” said Sara. “All this fighting, all this crap, to be offered a fortune by the guy behind it all. Hey, well, I’m tempted.”

“I don’t know,” said Frank. “I hate the idea of selling out and having him shutter the mill. Labor force would double, wages would plummet. It’ll kill this town.”

“On the other hand,” said Tom, “if we sell, we could build a new mill, best equipment, get into commercial thinning in a big way—if we could get access to enough land somewhere.”

“Doubtful,” said Jackson.

“Ever notice how government harasses existing businesses to death, but goes out of its way to court new ones?” asked Frank.

“They like shiny new things,” said Tom. “We could be that shiny new thing. I’d like to get into veneer—single line, specialty markets. We’ve talked about it.”

“Yeah,” said Phillip, nodding. “Use the carrot of a new mill to get concessions from all this crap.”

“Crony capitalism, Phil?” asked Sara. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?”

“If that’s how the game is played,” said Phillip, “we can play it that way too—negotiate a 40-year stewardship plan with the feds committing to access and salvage work?”

“Safe Harbor Agreements for any logs coming into our facility? Good idea,” said Jackson, “but I don’t think you have enough chits out there to play that game. I think anything you negotiate with the feds or another state will wind up in court.”

“Does Trinity want our homes?” asked Sara.

“He does,” said Jackson. “He does not want us as neighbors.”

“Not so sure I want him as my neighbor either,” said Frank. “I’d rather burn our house to the ground than let that son of a bitch set foot in our kitchen!”

“He’ll probably never be here,” said Rebecca. “But I’m not sure I want to listen to them shooting beautiful barred owls all around us. It’s twisted.”

“Amen,” said Sara.

“Home is where the heart is,” said Vivian, her dark eyes fierce. “We could find a little patch, build new homes. Start fresh.”

“I like that idea,” said Sara, sneaking a look at Tom. “Find a place, plant some alder, maybe? It grows fast and it’s so nice for woodworking.”

“Nice to have it,” said Tom. “If we stay around here, we could convert that old warehouse on Sixth into a veneer plant. Go high value secondary, right? Do some cross-laminated timber and mass panel plywood?”

“We could,” said his mother, smiling.

Tom continued, “There are wood-based skyscrapers and limited wood structures 20 stories tall, and Michael Braungart and William McDonough wrote the book on cradle to cradle—I could connect with ’em, see if they can tie us in with architects interested in true sustainability in building.” Tom smiled and his mother though how nice it was to see him smiling again.

“If we accept Trinity’s offer and don’t add a veneer plant to the mix,” said Frank, “we’d have to accept that the town is history. A few hundred people might survive on Masters Logging contracts and tourism, but it won’t be Silvercreek anymore, a working timber town. Without enough loggers doubling as fire crew, everything here will go up in smoke.”

“That is a fact,” said Jackson.

“I really like Tom’s idea of a veneer plant,” said Steven. “And using Trinity’s own money to shut down his dreams of world domination, this character financing his own destruction. Phillip could cause him some real legal conniptions.”

Slightly embarrassed by the praise, Phillip said, “With what Grace and Jack have, plus a little more digging, yes, we could do some damage. There are some public interest law firms that would love to get their hands on this.”

“Can justice work this way?” asked Monica.

“Maybe this is the only way justice works anymore,” said Vivian.

“We owe Ginnie,” said Sara quietly. “We owe her memory. She gave her life in this battle. Her father was taken, too, and Tommy…” she paused, continued “…and then there’s Erica, and others. All of us have lost so much. The cost is high, it’s goin’ higher. This is not our money to blow on some warm island. This money is for the cause, for the fight, to help build a real future for Billy and all the grandkids, for as many as we can!”

“I agree,” said Vivian. “Sara’s right. This money should be used to fight and build a new life someplace. Unfortunately, it just might not be here. Frankly, boys, I think America has lost the thread.”

“Glad we did that paperwork years ago,” said Steven, “and got those EU passports. Gives us more options.”

“My broker found that sweet little mill in the Lot Valley,” said Frank.

“C’est la vie?” asked Sara. Tom laughed. He sang a song by Weathers.

I'm the kid in the rain / Celebrate the insane / Yeah, never goes my way / Take a shot and fall short / I don't get the support / But I guess that's just life

Someone go get me some more confetti / I think I might have hit my peak already

Rebecca and Sara joined in and the others laughed and clapped.

I don't know euphoria / Would like to meet her someday / C'est la vie / I don't feel hysteria / She leaves me lonely /C'est la, c'est la vie

Outside the conference room, a sales assistant raised an eyebrow. One of the other workers mouthed, What’s going on in there? His colleague shrugged her shoulders, shook her head. No idea, she mouthed back.

Tom continued singing.

We don't get what we need / We're all wrapped up in greed / There's an ego to feed / Wish I could press restart / I don't mean to get dark / But I guess that's just life

Someone go get me some more confetti / I think I might have hit bottom already

The others sang along.

I don't know euphoria / Would like to meet her someday / C'est la vie / I don't feel hysteria / She leaves me lonely / C'est la, c'est la vie / C'est la vie / C'est la vie

The family laughed hard. Tom’s smile was back.

“But really, Jackson, how strange was that?” asked Sara. “That little place in France was called Moulin à Libellule, Dragonfly Mill?”

Rebecca nodded. “I know, right? Really strange.”

“It threw me,” said Jackson. “A sweet little ray of hope. I wouldn’t mind starting over someplace like that. But look, we don’t have to decide today. Think on it.”

“If we take Trinity’s offer,” said Frank, “it has to be cash; escrow opens upon receipt of a $25 million earnest money, nonrefundable deposit. Any luck, he won’t perform and that’ll be ours.”

Everyone laughed. “Make it $40 mil upfront,” said Sara to more laughter.

“Get what you can, Phil,” said Frank.

“Can do,” said Phillip.

“You know he’ll want us to sign a non-compete,” said Jackson, “so we’ll have to figure a way ’round that. Work in compensation for any workers laid off.”

“Once we’re settled, we can hire the best of them back,” said Vivian. Everyone nodded.

“I say we talk it over, sleep on it, vote this week if possible,” said Steven. “But I agree with your mother. Home is where the heart is. If we stay in the US, we use a shiny new company as bait in DC, pull out some incentives and build something again. If we leave the country, well, so be it. Our family’s been immigrants before—can be again. Think long term and play to win.”

The family closed the meeting. The next day they returned to the conference room, stacks of paper in their hands. More discussion.

Another day passed and they met again. Frank asked if there was any further discussion. No one said anything. Steven Armstrong said, “All in favor of countering Frédéric Trinité’s offer based on the parameters presented by Phillip, say ‘aye’.”

One by one, the ‘ayes’ were heard. Vivian and Steven Armstrong, Rebecca and Frank, Sara and Tom, Monica and Phillip, and finally Jackson.

It was done.

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Jackson stared out the living room window. The light from the fireplace reflected on his face. He’d aged in the last few months.

“They what?” Grace’s voice rose angrily on the cellphone. “You can’t be serious! You can’t sell out to that bastard, can you?”

“Yes, Grace, we’re serious,” he said.

“You don’t need to sell, Jackson. We can get the truth out like we planned!”

“No, Grace,” he said. “Trinity has enough money to lock you up in court forever.”

“But the mill, Jack. Your trees! How can you sell your land? Your homes?”

“We can’t keep fighting like this, Grace. Look where it’s gotten us. Ginnie’s dead and without her the Alliance is dead, too. Tom’s maimed for life, Erica’s gone. Phillip can’t keep giving us legal help at a discount. We’re going broke, Grace. A few years from now, it’s all going to burn and we’re not excited about being drafted as fire fighters for the Big One.”

“So, he wins then?” she asked. “Is that the way it all ends?”

“No, Grace,” said Jackson, his voice shaking with anger. “I will bring this man to justice, topple his empire. I will make him pay for all the suffering he’s inflicted, but, Grace, we’ve been fighting for decades. This will be a long war and we have to cut our losses, regroup and come back. We can’t do that trying to keep the mill running, fighting fires, the courts, each other.”

She was silent. He sighed. “We’re livin’ in a tinderbox in hostile territory. Phil has thoughts on legal options. Frank and Tom want to build a new mill someplace. Our parents want time with the grandkids. I’m mulling over my options. In a way, it’s only fitting that Trinity supply us with the means to survive. We’re closing the deal.”

Grace started to cry.

“No, no, don’t,” said Jackson, wishing they were together so he could pull her into his arms. “We’ll survive, make new lives, thrive. I promise you, Grace. I promise you.”