by Ken Benton
“Ultimately, though, the Treasury Department decided the design is too disparate from our existing bills, and set the entire project aside as an emergency fallback. Instead, the new bills we have today were rolled out, with increased security features—that, unfortunately, have proven to be largely ineffective against modern counterfeiters—while retaining the more classic look. May I suggest that if ever an emergency fallback was needed, it is today.”
Jill paused and watched the faces of the Senate Banking Committee contort as they gawked at the bill design before continuing.
“It’s different, I know. But don’t you like the gold colors?” Some heads tilted, but mostly there were frowns.
“Let me tell you something about these bills,” Jill said. “The ink cannot easily be washed from them to make counterfeit hundreds from the smaller notes, which the Secret Service tells us is the fastest growing form of counterfeiting in the country.”
Some murmurs of approval could now be heard. Time for Jill to reel them in.
“What I am submitting for your discussion today is not, however, a proposal of new artwork for the U.S. Dollar. What I am suggesting is the creation of a whole new currency. The printing plates can be tweaked to display the name of the new currency, which I suggest contain the world gold in it. The Secretary of the Treasury and I have discussed this matter in some depth, and have arrived at a workable conversion ratio. The United States Treasury is fully capable, and entirely prepared, to exchange one ounce of gold, in physical or certificate form, upon demand, for $1,000 of the new currency. The amount of the new currency to be printed will not exceed our country’s gold reserves. By our calculations, we will safely be able to convert American-held U.S. Dollars to the new gold reserve currency at a 42% ratio. That is, one hundred dollars of the new currency will cost $233 in USD. Or, to put it another way, existing U.S. Dollars will convert to 42% of their value in the new currency. All other goods and services will continue to float freely in all markets, of course. Digital conversions can be implemented quickly across our country’s banking system. The distribution of banknotes will take longer, but we feel it can be completed within three to four months’ time.”
Jill stopped talking and allowed the expected reaction to build. She wasn’t disappointed. It started with mumbling, but within several minutes had come to a roar. Finally, Senator Selman spoke into his microphone again to bring order back to the meeting. It only took him four attempts. This time when he spoke, his voice was full of confidence. Unfortunately, it was also full of contempt.
“To be clear, Chair Younger, are you actually proposing a currency conversion that will wipe out 58% of the wealth in this country?”
Jill leaned forward, but waited for absolute silence in the room before responding. That took about twenty seconds. It was twenty seconds in which a nation held its breath, waiting to hear its fate.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Jill said.
“What’s another way?” Senator Selman instantly responded.
“That we’re proposing a currency conversion which will increase the current wealth in this country by a factor of almost 42.”
Chapter Twenty Four
“You sure seem chipper today,” Ryan said.
“Well, why not?” Malcolm began unraveling the large coil of wire at his feet. “It’s a beautiful day. Maybe there’s more to being a country bumpkin than first meets the eye.”
“Can’t argue with you there.” Ryan stuck the post auger in the ground and dug out a scoop. “But I never figured you as one to be happy putting up a fence.”
“Things change,” Malcolm said. “Sometimes change is for the better, even when it looks bad on the surface.”
“Spoken like a man who found himself broke after making seven million dollars. Aren’t you wondering what the Senate Banking Committee is up to right about now? And by ‘wondering’ I mean sweating bullets over every last detail of. I’m surprised as hell I was physically capable of dragging you away from Spence’s TV today.”
Malcolm chuckled. “Whatever they do, they do. However I come out of it, I’m certain I’ll be better off than most people. I know you may find this hard to believe, my analyst friend, but I’m not all about money. There are more important things.”
“What if they decide to bust all the trades of any evil profiteers who made money from the crash?” Ryan said.
Malcolm froze and glared at him.
Ryan laughed. “Gotcha.”
It took some effort, but Malcolm eventually managed to laugh back before leaving to fetch a fence post from Spence’s truck, thirty yards away in the clearing. When he returned, Ryan had the hole ready.
Malcolm held the post as Ryan hit it with the sledgehammer. His aim was good, but it still made Malcolm nervous. Ryan seemed to realize this, judging by his sly smile.
“I’m pounding the next one,” Malcolm said. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
Ryan laid the hammer down and picked up the spade. “Well, I’m in a good mood, too.” He began packing dirt around the post. “And not just because I enjoy fence building. You’re right. There are more important things than money.”
“Like friends and family,” Malcolm said.
“Exactly.” Ryan tilted his head. “I heard Hannah leaving again this morning. She’s a stubborn one, eh? Won’t give up chasing counterfeiters even after they’ve been put out of business.”
“She’s stubborn, yes—but not made of stone. I’m …working on her.”
“I can tell.”
Malcolm eyed Ryan curiously.
“It’s kind of funny,” Ryan said, “what you were saying about change being good even when it first looks bad. I’m working on Jean, too. Talked to both my boys last night. First time in four months, can you believe it?”
“Last night?” Malcolm asked.
“Yep. After you two went to bed, Spence let me use his phone. Jean was downright civil, for once. As civil as she gets, anyway. I think this whole financial crisis has softened her up. Or maybe it’s broken her confidence in her ability to take care of the kids by herself. Good thing for me. Think I almost have her talked into coming.”
“Coming here?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t that be something? To have my family back, all of us living on our own West Virginia homestead.”
“Do you really want her back, after everything she’s said and done?” Malcolm immediately regretted voicing his thoughts.
Fortunately, Ryan didn’t take offense. But he did strike a thoughtful pose before responding.
“You have a valid point. The answer is yes, though I’m aware of the challenges. I’ll do it for my boys. Hell, I’d do anything for them. You know that. Even stick it out in a loveless marriage. For their sake. And who knows? Maybe Jean’s heart can be melted again. Be thankful Hannah isn’t as far gone as her.”
“Believe me, I am.” Malcolm bent down to help Ryan pack the soil around the base of the fence post.
“The problem is,” Ryan continued, “she’s not keen on a family of four living in a small trailer. Can’t blame her for that. And getting an actual house built on this land is going to be a long project, especially if it’s just you and me doing it. Personally, I think she’s running out of options. What I have going on down here might start to look more attractive than toughing it out in the city and living on paltry government handouts. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”
“Ryan, my offer stands. If the government figures out some way to fix everything, however painful the solution may be, I’m still willing to finance your construction project—assuming, of course, the solution doesn’t include reversing the trades of evil speculators who bet against the dollar.”
“Thanks, man.” Ryan nodded in such a way that Malcolm knew he would take him up on the offer, if possible. “Thanks a lot. All right, let’s get the next post in.”
Malcolm followed as Ryan moved to the next marker. They were deep in the trees here. The creek gurgled a
short distance away.
Malcolm felt his mood drop a few notches as they walked, though he realized his feelings were unjustifiable. Ryan getting his family back would be a dream come true for him. And Malcolm would be happy for him, too. But he couldn’t ignore the selfish voice inside him that wondered where that would leave him and Hannah. Something told him returning to Manhattan—the scene of their separation—would cause them to go down the same route all over again.
A gunshot fired in the distance.
Then two more.
Malcolm looked at Ryan. “The noisy neighbors shooting again?”
“Could be.” Ryan stuck the spade in the ground. “I thought it sounded a little closer, though.”
“I thought so too,” Malcolm said. “Maybe one of us should run back and check on Spence. And by one of us I mean—”
Malcolm didn’t get to finish his sentence. Another gunshot sounded—but this one exploded from the bushes directly behind Malcolm. He watched Ryan’s torso fling to the left before Ryan hit the dirt.
Malcolm turned and sprinted through the trees as more gunfire burst behind him. He had suddenly been thrust into a living nightmare. What did it feel like to be shot? Ryan just found out. Malcolm expected to follow. With every ensuing gunshot he imagined a deep pain entering his body through his back, throwing him to the ground and constricting his breathing. Not this. Not now! Not when he had just gotten Hannah back. Please, God.
He somehow made it all the way to the truck. The passenger side door handle slipped out of his grip and sprung back against the door on his first attempt to open it. Dammit! His second attempt was successful.
There was the AR-15, between the front seats. As Malcolm grabbed it, he remembered how happy Hannah was to see him stash her spare service pistol away in Spence’s closet this morning. She wouldn’t be happy about that now.
Ryan. Ryan was down. Was he dead? Or only hit? How badly? Did he have his pistol with him? Malcolm looked in the center console where he saw him put it this morning. Good, it wasn’t there.
The back of Spence’s 4-Runner was still wide open. On an impulse, Malcolm decided to crawl through the back rather than exit the vehicle out one of the side doors. If whoever was shooting at him had seen him get in the car, which was likely, they could be waiting for him to come back out—and would have the advantage of first sight.
Into the back seat. Over the top of the rear seat and into the truck bed. Tools scattered. Malcolm couldn’t see out the back yet; too many fence posts in the way. That might be a good thing. He inched his way forward, moved several of the posts aside so he could see, and scanned the ground between the trees and the truck.
Nothing.
More gunshots now—only these were from the neighboring property again, either Spence’s or the one beyond it. Hopefully the one beyond it.
Wait, something moved. Malcolm lay on the bed of the SUV surrounded by fence posts and stretched the assault rifle forward, easing the safety latch up with his thumb. Whatever just moved was behind the first tree on Malcolm’s left. That made sense. If someone followed him and watched him climb in the truck on the passenger side, they may be expecting him to come back out the same door.
But now too much time had passed. If Malcolm wasn’t coming back out the passenger door, the next thing they probably expected him to do was start the car and drive off. But enough time had passed where that was becoming unlikely as well.
If Malcolm were the one waiting behind that tree, right about now he’d be getting concerned about his foe coming out the driver-side door and taking a position on the safe side of the vehicle. There was another group of trees ten yards to Malcolm’s right that would provide good cover for ambushing the driver’s side. But ten open yards to get to them. Whoever was back there figured to make the dash soon, if they were seriously committed. The driver’s side of the truck being out of sight couldn’t be a comfortable prospect as more seconds ticked off the clock. Malcolm aimed four feet to the right of the attacker’s suspected position and waited.
He didn’t have to wait much longer. A figure appeared, darting for the opposite trees. Malcolm quickly popped off half a dozen rounds.
It was a man, hunched over. He came right through Malcolm’s line of fire and kept going, but stumbled some.
Malcolm moved the gun with him and kept firing.
The attacker didn’t make it to the other trees. By the way he hit the ground, Malcolm was pretty sure he’d been hit. But he may have simply thrown himself down in an unnatural way. Even if he was hit, Malcolm didn’t know how badly. The enemy was definitely still dangerous.
Malcolm knew he had to fight him. Ryan was back there, hopefully in need of help. Malcolm’s position was now known. He’d need to take the fight to the enemy.
Malcolm crawled to the edge of the truck bed. There he fired a steady barrage at the half-brown tall grass where his adversary had gone down. He then rolled out of the truck and ran hunched over towards the tree on the left—the one the attacker had been behind.
No return fire. Good. Nevertheless, twice Malcolm stopped and fired at the attacker’s last known spot.
He made it to the tree. From here he could see a leg in the grass. It wasn’t moving. Malcolm took careful aim and put two quick slugs in the thigh. No movement, no sound.
Malcolm left his cover and slowly made his way to the body, keeping the rifle at his shoulder. He came upon a gun before he reached the body. A lever-action rifle of some sort.
Malcolm lowered his weapon when he reached the body. It lay face down and was clearly lifeless, with a hole in the right side of the head, among others. He looked familiar, but Malcolm had neither the time nor inclination to study the corpse any further. He turned to go back through the woods and find Ryan.
But another person now stood fifteen yards behind him.
A woman.
It was Carly.
She apparently spotted Malcolm at the same time Malcolm saw her. She held a pistol in her right hand, but it was lowered at the moment.
Malcolm tilted his head. Did she really come back to avenge her lover? What was his name again? Luke? Yes, that was it. She swore she was coming back to kill them. A woman of her word. The dead man on the ground behind Malcolm was obviously Luke’s would-be replacement—the same guy who promised Ryan and Malcolm they would never see the two of them again. Easy to see who wore the pants in this relationship.
Carly scowled at Malcolm and took two steps sideways, limping. Then she raised her pistol.
Malcolm reacted slowly. He instantly knew that was a mistake. His body wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. Dammit! Malcolm knew why. This piece of trash was female, and Malcolm wasn’t mentally prepared to shoot a woman. Carly appeared to understand this, as her scowl turned to an insidious smile while she took aim. Carly had gotten the drop on him. But how good of a shot was she?
Two pistol rounds fired before Malcolm’s arms finally cooperated and raised the assault rifle. The shots, thankfully, didn’t come from Carly’s gun. Carly fell into the weeds.
Malcolm looked in the direction of the gunfire. Ryan emerged from a tight clump of trees. His eyes stayed on Carly and his gun hand remained straight, until he eventually became satisfied and lowered it.
“An armed attacker has no gender,” Ryan shouted. But he winced as he spoke, and moved his gun hand to press against his left shoulder.
Malcolm hurried to Ryan’s side.
“How bad?”
“Feels like the inside of my shoulder is on fire.”
“It’s bleeding,” Malcolm said.
“Yeah.” Ryan motioned towards the trailer with his head. “Better get some bandages for me out of the first aid kit.”
Fifteen minutes later, Malcolm hovered over Ryan at the picnic table and tried to assess his work. “I think the bleeding is under control now,” he said, “but you better keep pressure on it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Malcolm looked out to the road. “Well, i
t’s going to be a bumpy ride. Is there even an emergency room in this town?”
“There’s a medical center,” Ryan replied. “With doctors.”
“That’s what we need. A doctor. Fast.”
“We gotta stop by Spence’s,” Ryan said.
Malcolm shook his head. “We better not.”
“There was gunfire over there, too. He might need help.”
“That probably came from his neighbor’s.”
“Sounded closer.”
“Ryan, we need to get you to a doctor quickly. You’re not thinking straight. You know his noisy neighbors like to shoot. The squatters came back because they were after us, remember? There’s no real reason to suspect trouble at Spence’s. I’ll bet he’s on his way here right now, anyway.”
But they didn’t see Spence on the road as they drove out. Malcolm passed by Spence’s driveway despite Ryan’s severe protests.
“I’ll come back and check on him after dropping you at the doctor’s office, all right?”
“Right away!” Ryan said.
“Fine. Right away. Damn the unreliable cell phone service. Sure wish I could call Hannah.”
At that moment, a black SUV parked on a pullout came into view. Malcolm slowed as they approached it.
Yes, it was a Chevy Tahoe.
Malcolm pulled off the road in front of the Tahoe and stopped, keeping the 4-Runner in gear.
“Is that hers?” Ryan asked in obvious pain.
Malcolm looked at the license plate. “Yeah! Pretty sure. What the hell?”
“Better turn back.”
But Malcolm was already swinging the steering wheel in a U-turn.
Chapter Twenty Five
Life has its moments. Not many, but some. Perhaps their infrequency is what makes them so good. As Joseph lay in the dirt behind the potato patch mound, he remembered Ricky Bernhardt, the sole guest at his 6-year old birthday party. The two of them also went to their first day of kindergarten together. Years later, in fifth grade, they became close friends again. That’s all Joseph could remember of Ricky. He later heard from someone that Ricky had gone kind of weird in high school.
