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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 membership 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 circumscribed, 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. 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 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