The essence of time: at 80, Pete Verna began building his dream project--a 21-story condo tower. Was it too much too late?

• Author: Maley, Frank

I'm gonna ask you a couple of silly questions," an emergency responder tells the small, gray-haired man settled into a metal chair on a sidewalk. "Do you know what today is?"

"Today is Monday."

"Do you know who the president is?"

The old man stares blankly, then looks away, trying to remember, but 10 awkward seconds pass and the name doesn't come.

"Do you know your birthday?"

"January 22, 1926."

"Do you know what month we're in?"

"I said Jan--oh, month. December. No, September."

"All right. You don't want to go to the hospital?"

"Nothin' happened."

"OK. just making sure. I'll let you keep thinking about the president, OK?"

"Obama!"

"Oh, there you go. That just lets us know you're in your right mind. You say you don't want to go to the hospital? That's good to know."

He walks away, and Pete Verna waits, a bit impatiently, for police to come and ask their questions. Earlier, he had arrived at his office 30 minutes late for an appointment, dressed in a flannel shirt, dark slacks and tattered brown slippers. Heading home in his red Explorer, he had tried to cross five lanes of traffic on East Boulevard, just south of downtown Charlotte, and clipped a car, causing it to spin out. Stopping in the middle of the side street, he had gotten out and shuffled slowly, leaning on his beat-up brown cane, to a corner where the owner of a nearby restaurant had brought him a chair. A bystander had hustled over to turn on the vehicle's hazard lights.

Before long, a police car pulls up. A cop gets out and approaches. "How you doin' there, young man?"

"I'm fine."

"Tell me what happened."

"Well, I didn't see her."

"Where were you coming from?"

"I was coming down Cleveland, crossing the street."

"Is your car capable of being driven?"

"Oh, yeah. There's nothing wrong with it."

The officer goes to check it out. He finds cosmetic damage to the grill and bumper and estimates it will cost $1,000 to fix. As Verna waits for the police to finish, two men come out of the restaurant. One sticks out his hand. "Pete, I'm Reitzel Snider." The CEO of First LandMark U.S.A. Inc., a real-estate investment company, has met Verna on several occasions but doesn't want to embarrass the older man if Verna doesn't remember him.

"Hey, Reitzel."

"I hope you're not shook up too badly."

"Nothing at all. I'm so mad at myself that I did it."

The other man extends his hand. "I'm Hugh McColl. How are you doing?"

"Hugh, how are you?"

"Fine."

Suddenly, a voice calls out. "There's a snake up in the bird cage, right here up in this tree!" The retired CEO of Bank of America Corp., now the largest U.S. bank, says, "Oh, my lord, is it a real one? I think I'll go look."

"I'm glad you're OK, Pete," Snider says. He and McColl, having just finished their lunch, walk around the corner to watch a black snake finish its meal, gray feathers sticking out of its mouth.

Just an hour earlier, the old man had waxed on about how he has led a lucky life, full of fortunate timing and happy coincidence. Over six decades, Peter J. Verna Jr., who as a poor boy in New Jersey never thought he would make it to college, built a name as one of the South's top structural engineers--a guy people called for tough jobs, an expert witness lawyers wanted on their side. He developed a lighter concrete used around the world. He had a hand in designing or building 40 million square feet of structures, including such Queen City landmarks as the old convention center and the main branch of the public library. "I've built probably more buildings than anybody else in Charlotte."

But the last few years, Verna has been anything but lucky, and his timing has been terrible. His dream project--the one that would have been his crowning achievement, the one that took him more than 15 years to get going--was stopped by its lender in early 2008 only 70% complete. As he waits for police to clear the accident scene, The Park Condominiums tower sits a mile away, exposed to the elements and rusting--a 21-story eyesore that is in the...