Fortune

by Craig W. Turner

  “No, that’s okay,” he said, then set the brick back down on top of the pile. He turned to Emeka. “Look, I’m not going to bullshit you here. The Smithsonian wants this gold. We feel it is a missing piece of American history and belongs in the museum.”

  Erica looked at their faces as Pierce made his pitch. They were clearly taken aback. With Emeka’s comment to her only a few moments before, maybe this wasn’t just a money-grab for them. She was confident that if Pierce was able to get the bricks, she would get her piece for the Gold Rush Museum – even if it was branded as a shared collection. She paid close attention to how this conversation was going to go. She couldn’t imagine Shipley would be happy with being usurped. Especially in his own viewing room. Pierce hadn’t even gone so far as to buy them lunch.

  “I’m not stupid, though,” he said. “I know that you can keep the gold here, put it up for auction, and evidently come away with twenty million or more.” The two guys looked at each other – they probably hadn’t expected a number like that. “What I want to do is appeal to you as Americans. Americans who have found something wonderful that deserves to be shared with this country’s citizens, not sit in some rich guy’s private archives.”

  “Kevin,” Shipley started to make a rebuttal, but Pierce held his hand up. Erica was impressed. She’d never known him to be so forceful.

  “You’d like us to give you the gold for the Smithsonian?” Jeff asked.

  Pierce shook his head. “No,” he said, “I probably wouldn’t even do that myself with bidders out there. I’ve gotten the Secretary to authorize a payment of five million dollars to you for Wilton’s gold. Once we’ve authenticated it, of course. I know you can get more on auction, but I think it’s a win-win for you. You get a nice bankroll that will change your lives, and you can do what’s right for your country at the same time.”

  Both men looked at Erica for a moment, then over at Shipley, who shrugged. “You’ll get more at auction. I can guarantee it.”

  Emeka pulled one of the chairs lining the wall forward and slumped into it, letting out a deep sigh. Jeff still stood next to him, looking at his friend. Erica hadn’t thought about how this affected the two of them. They’d found the gold together, but on Emeka’s family’s property. Their decision probably had a lot to do with their friendship going forward. Actually, regardless of what they decided, there would be questions about whose discovery it was going forward. That would be for them to figure out.

  “Emeka, you’re a Marine,” Pierce said, taking his persuasion to the next level. “You were willing to risk your life in war for this country. This decision pales in comparison to that one.”

  “What’s to say the Smithsonian won’t bid on the gold if we do put it up for auction?” Jeff asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure we would. But I can tell you that we won’t be able to keep up.” He put his hand on the pile again. “This will go to someone richer than the U.S. government.”

  Jeff smiled. “There’s nobody richer than the U.S. government.”

  “Well, it’s beyond the Smithsonian’s budget.”

  She watched as Jeff looked down at Emeka. They had a stunted conversation through only eye contact, then Emeka looked up and asked, “Can we have moment?”

  Pierce nodded and led Shipley and Erica out of the room. Shipley closed the door behind them, not allowing it to swing all the way closed and lock, then turned to Pierce.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m doing what’s right.”

  “Well, you could’ve let me know before I went and arranged all of this.”

  “I’m sorry, Ben. This all happened very quickly.”

  Erica wanted to jump into the conversation, but held back. This was between the two of them and she could approach either of them – or Emeka, for that matter – individually afterwards to lobby for her museum’s share of the gold.

  “This doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” Shipley said. “There are 42 bars. What if we-”

  “I think that would be up to them,” Pierce said, cutting him off. Erica saw Shipley start to reply, but they were interrupted when the door opened and Jeff poked his head out. He waved them back in.

  Once they’d filed back into the viewing room, they gathered back around the table, both Emeka and Jeff standing now.

  “This is a monumental decision,” Emeka said. “I’d like to take a day or so to think about it, if you don’t mind.”

  Shipley seemed fine with that, but Pierce obviously wanted to take one more shot, probably knowing that the more they thought about it, the better $20 million would sound. “You have a guaranteed offer from the Smithsonian,” he said. “I can have a check in your hands by tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Emeka, nodding. “All the same, Mr. Pierce, I’d like some time to think about it.”

  “How long can we keep the gold locked up here?” Jeff asked.

  “I can give you another 48 hours,” Shipley said, “until you make your decision”.

  They agreed to reconnect within that time and exited the room, Shipley double-locking it behind them. They walked back down the stairs and out the lobby, and bid each other goodbye. Emeka and Jeff left, heading back toward Rockefeller Plaza, and Shipley, not hiding the fact that he was annoyed, went back through the auction house’s front doors.

  “Do you think they’ll go for it?” Erica asked when they were all clear.

  Pierce nodded. “I think they will, yes.”

  “What makes you so sure?” She couldn’t help but people-watch the throng as it went by, everyone with their own things on their mind. Probably few, if any, were similarly trying to link 150 years of history together as she was. She wondered how many of them would be interested in the conversation at all.

  “Like I said, he’s a Marine. God and country.”

  “That’s a lot of money to leave on the table. Marines aren’t traditionally the richest bunch.”

  Pierce was nodding, also looking out at the people. Though she got the sense he wasn’t paying any attention to them. “I’ve got to get that gold.”

  She smiled. He probably sounded like the thieves themselves back in 1849. “Hey – I’m not leaving until tomorrow. Would you like to grab dinner tonight?”

  Finally, he looked at her. “I can’t,” he said. “I’ve been charged with making this happen and need to do everything I can to see that it does. Phone calls and what-not, contingency plans. The Secretary does not want the Wilton gold lost to some private collector. Can you imagine it disappearing forever into some rich man’s locked vault, where nobody else will see it for God knows how long?” Pierce shook his head, despondent at the idea. “If you want to postpone a day and be here tomorrow, though, I’d love to catch up.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, cringing at the picture her friend had painted. “What about a piece of the collection for the Gold Rush Museum? Have you given that any thought?”

  “First things first,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me know about dinner tomorrow.” He gave her a hug and then disappeared into the crowd. She knew he hadn’t been putting her off, but just taking things one step at a time. Still, she needed to make sure he knew what she wanted from the outset.

  Alone in New York, where she hadn’t been in a while, Erica decided she’d use the opportunity to take the subway down to the World Trade Center site and work her way back to midtown – a little personalized historical tour to get her mind off of Wilton’s gold.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Not content to wait until later in the day, Jeff parted ways with Emeka and took the red line up to Morningside Heights and Columbia University, where he’d find Dexter in his home away from home. He’d only visited him a few times at his office – always upon invitation, though, so his unannounced appearance would infer the magnitude of the conversation. He thought about calling, but decided against it, using a “friend finder” app on his smart phone to see that he was actually there before getting on the subway. This was too good.<
br />
  Of course, his anticipation of sharing the most recently-unveiled nuggets with his friend had him antsy as he listened intently for the announcement of each stop along the way. With each jolt of the train stopping or starting he wanted to leap out of his skin. He thought about the girl, Dr. Danforth. Strangely, he felt a sense of pride. While he didn’t want to allow his mind to venture into the idea of “playing God,” it was unbelievable to him that this woman would not have existed had he not invented his process for traveling through time. He laughed, thinking of it. He’d actually done a pretty good job. She was sharp, cute and accomplished. Between him and Lucius Fitzsimmons, they made a pretty fine girl.

  The whole concept was going to blow Dexter’s mind.

  Jeff disembarked from the train and made his way up to 116th Street, where he headed toward Dexter’s building. He hadn’t memorized its name – he just remembered it from the last time he was there. A brick building near the library at campus center. He jumped up a handful of steps and into the building. Dexter was not officially part of the faculty at Columbia, but he did enough work with them that they provided him office space. He was probably there three days a week, and would drop in on various history classes to offer lectures. His specialty was America at war, and he was well-published on the topic, with frequent invitations to speak around the country, which was why he didn’t need to hold a full-time teaching job. It amused Jeff to think that Dexter’s next publication could center around one of their own exploits. The lovely Erica might have cornered the market on the Wilton gold, but there was a much bigger story to be told, he was sure.

  Besides that, Dexter was due a share of whatever they received for Wilton’s gold. While Dexter wasn’t hurting for cash, his piece would certainly help him cut his commitment to Columbia down to two days a week, or even one. So he could focus on more important things, like Jeff’s experiments.

  Jeff hoped he wasn’t in the middle of a lecture because then he’d be forced to wait even longer. However, Dexter was right where he expected him to be, in his office, sitting at his cluttered desk and making notes in a journal.

  The office very much resembled his friend’s living room at home, with artifacts from American history and volumes of books lining the numerous dark wood shelves. The sun shone through the window brightly, giving the “Old New York” feel of the room a burst of energy. Jeff could see himself holed up in a room like this – he thought it was pretty cozy. Of course, next to his lab, the food court of the Garden State Plaza mall felt cozy.

  Dexter didn’t notice Jeff slip through the door until his door was closed with a solid click, blocking out the outside corridor. “I hope you’re not documenting our experiment,” Jeff said, causing Dexter to turn his head and close the book quickly. Jeff could see it was one of those black and white composition books that third graders use for their “What I did this summer” journals.

  “Actually, I am,” he said. “What kind of historian would I be if I didn’t?”

  “What if someone finds it?” He really didn’t want records of their work sitting around, and his enthusiasm ebbed for a moment.

  “They won’t,” Dexter said in a “drop-it” tone. “What are you doing here? How’d the lunch go?”

  “Swimmingly,” he said, back on topic, temporarily dismissing the journaling he’d walked in on. “Better than swimmingly, in fact. What do you think about this? As true American patriots, Emeka and I offer to sell the gold to the Smithsonian, even though we’ll get far less for it than we might on the open market. Great story, huh?”

  “Now why would you want to do that? And why would you think that’s even an option?”

  “Couple reasons,” Jeff said, sitting down in a hefty wooden chair across from Dexter. “First, none of us got into this for the money...”

  “Speak for yourself,” Dexter said, laughing. “I’m kidding. Go on.”

  “None of us got into this for the money, and let’s face it, that gold belongs at the Smithsonian. It’s an American treasure.”

  “You can argue that in this reality it belongs in the Smithsonian. In the original reality, the gold belongs lost forever.”

  Jeff paused and held up a finger, almost jumping out of his seat. “Oh... I’ll get to the alternate reality discussion in a moment. Just stay with me... It’s an American treasure. Not that we’re looking to be heroes, but it would make for nice press in this country if someone wasn’t money-grubbing and looking to take an advantage.”

  “Then why not just give it to the Smithsonian?”

  “Well, we’re not stupid either,” Jeff said. “I’ve still got research to fund. Plus, the director of the Museum of American history met us at Christie’s and offered us five million for the gold. Before we even mentioned anything about money.”

  “Five million?”

  Jeff noticed that Dexter was sliding his notebook into one of his desk drawers.

  “No, leave that out – I’d like to see it.”

  Defiantly, Dexter followed through with putting it into the drawer, then locked it up with a small key. He turned and set the key under a lavish stein sitting on the shelf behind him. “It’s my journal,” he said. “It’s not polite to ask to look at people’s journals.”

  “Whose cup is that?”

  “Oh, you’ll like this,” Dexter said, picking up the stein and inspecting it. “This cup belonged to General Abner Doubleday.”

  “Isn’t he the guy that invented basketball?”

  “No, that’s James Naismith. General Doubleday is credited with inventing baseball. This stein was a gift to him from a relative, I believe his uncle, and was passed down through several generations. I purchased it at auction about three years ago.”

  “Oh yeah, Naismith. The peach baskets. That’s right. Well, it’s in great shape.”

  “I will admit that it’s been restored,” Dexter said, placing the stein back on the shelf. “To be honest, I’m fine with the plan to let the Smithsonian have the gold. I’m fine doing it for free, but I understand if we sell it to them – especially with an offer already on the table. It makes sense. Plus, we still have 18 more bars at our disposal.”

  “I thought you’d like that,” Jeff said. “Emeka seemed good with it, too. I’ll run it by Abby to see where she is, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. If anything, I think it’ll mitigate any negative attention that we don’t want. Nobody wants to trash heroes, right?” Dexter was nodding. “Now the second piece...”

  “This would be the alternate reality part that you said we’d get to in a moment...”

  “Yes, that,” he said, getting up from his chair.

  “Oh, this has got to be good,” Dexter said. Jeff noticed that he said it suspiciously, however, and it suddenly occurred to him that despite his own excitement, his friend might not be thrilled with this news. The enthusiasm he’d felt on the subway drained from him, and he abruptly couldn’t remember what had possessed him to rush over here. “What is it?”

  “To tell you the truth, I was just hit by the enormity of what I’m about to tell you,” he said, then took a deep breath. “This woman, this Dr. Erica Danforth that we met with today.”

  “Yes...”

  “There’s a very good reason why we didn’t come across her name when we were researching for the Wilton job.”

  “I’m glad you have a reason, because it was baffling the hell out of me. She’s supposed to be the top expert on the California Gold Rush, and she doesn’t cross our radar at all until now?”

  “That’s because she didn’t exist.” He said it as dryly as possible, then purposefully left a dramatic pause. He didn’t want Dexter to think this was, as he’d called it, a game to him, even if only moments before, it had seemed that way. In fact, had Dexter not been sarcastic with him a moment before, he might’ve delivered the news with the zeal of telling him the cute girl on the other side of the classroom “liked” him.

  Dexter sat forward with an accusatory scowl on his face. “What do you
mean, ‘she didn’t exist’?”

  “Exactly that. There was no such person on planet Earth named Dr. Erica Danforth until we went back in time and did what we did.”

  “How is that-” he stammered before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh, man. The ambush the following morning.”

  “Or, rather, the ambush that never happened.”

  “So, who-”

  “Fitzsimmons. The driver. She told us that she was his direct descendant, hence her long-time fascination with the gold and that whole episode of history. Had we not interrupted that gold, her ancestor would have been killed the next morning and her entire family line would never have existed.”

  Dexter stood and walked to the window, deep in thought. It was pretty much the reaction Jeff would have expected. There really were no words to be said. It was something the mind had to process, certainly.

  “I guess it would make sense, then, that she’s so fascinated with the Wilton heist,” he said, squinting into the sun. “I thought it was so strange. I read in one of the articles that she’d said she’d dedicated her life to it. That struck me as odd – such a singular event.”

  “Yeah, she’s the one that got the sign put there.”

  He turned back to Jeff, nodding excitedly. Now, he had a goofy smile on his face.

  “What is it?”

  Dexter threw his hands up. “It’s just unbelievable. This is really unbelievable, Jeff.” Not the reaction he’d been expecting. He considered that Dexter might be punch-drunk.

  “You bet it is.”

  “You didn’t say anything to her, did you? No, of course you didn’t. Man, if it blows my mind, imagine what it would do to her.”

  “I know. But there’s no proof of any of this anywhere. The only place that there’s a world where she doesn’t exist is in your, mine, Abby’s and Emeka’s minds. In this reality, she’s always existed.”

  “That’s an interesting point,” Dexter said. “I wonder if – from a scientific standpoint – there was a way to have some kind of memento with us that would prove what we’re saying. But then, if it had anything to do with history, it would probably change along with the reality. Wow.”