Royal Digs

by Scott, D. D.

  “Did you know that the average morsel of food travels 1,500 miles from field to fork?”

  Gia’s captivating voice filled the stadium’s speakers as a small spotlight shown down on her and the bale of hay she was sitting on off to one side of the stage.

  “It’s true. The majority of food you see in a grocery store comes from other states,” she continued.

  “Most of what we eat can be grown close to us and can be preserved naturally for non-seasonal consumption.”

  So far, we were sticking to the script, but not for long.

  “Apples, barley, cabbage, carrots, pork, tomatoes, wheat...and the list goes on.”

  I could have sworn that Vinnie shivered at Grams’ feet. He wasn’t too keen on the locally raised pork spiel. But now that he’d gone from being my brother Roman and Zoey’s sidekick to Grams’ BFF, overall, he was a very happy pot-bellied pig. Grams rubbed his back and tossed him a celery stalk. All was once again right in his world.

  “Just like you can’t have a viable local food system without the commitment of community leaders...”

  “That’s my cue,” Grams said, hitting a button on her control board.

  I had to hand it to her, it was super savvy of her to go ahead with the scripted video as planned so as not to alert anyone to the fact that things were about to go dramatically off script.

  “You can’t have a viable economy, whether on the local, state or national level without your elected officials’ commitment and full support,” Gia continued, playing the part of the well-practiced narrator to Broadway standards.

  That got a huge shout-out from the convention floor, where the delegates quickly transitioned from being concerned about farming to the dollars no longer in their pockets.

  Suddenly, a screen slid down behind the compost piles and spotlights came up over the drag persona heads of Clito and Star Fish.

  Clito was over-the-top magnificent and raring to go in a sequined headpiece that looked like a gigantic bowl of glittering fruit and vegetables. Star Fish, on the other hand, looked like a deer in headlights – okay a mermaid, actually - instead of an attention-loving Queen in the spotlights.

  Clito made a huge show of her shovel hitting some kind of metal object beneath the dirt.

  “What is this? What have we here?” She asked.

  The music changed to a much more sinister tone, and the filled to capacity stadium went totally still.

  For added drama, Clito once more tapped her shovel against whatever piece of metal had yet to be dug up.

  Gia left her hay bale and helped Clito unearth the surprise as a new bank of huge monitors surrounding the top of the stadium whirred to life and captured all the action, making it so that each delegate had an IMAX-like view and total immersion experience.

  With great care and thespian theatrics, Clito raised a large metal box high into the air.

  Seeing her next cue on the screen, Grams fingers flew across her control board so that every delegate had a live shot of the front of the box.

  The stamped metal label on the box filled the screen.

  Box 438

  A murmur began in the crowd, and continued to gain steam as a live stream video was played about the significance of what was inside that box and what it meant to the opposing party’s presidential nominee.

  With each new fact displayed on the screen highlighting the depth of the corruption, the crowd’s anxiety and outrage reached higher and higher levels.

  I notified my agents to be on alert. This was bound to get ugly quick.

  After a few seconds, the spotlights of every TV station covering the event lit up and their reporters stepped in front of cameras to announce the Breaking News.

  As fast as Grams’ fingers could copy and paste, she linked the world to our stage and took the message viral.

  I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket. Every alert I’d set for incoming Twitter, Facebook, and You Tube entries caused the device to vibrate over and over again. The entries came from the three-page list of facts I’d gathered for Grams to use.

  Terrific gems like:

  There have not been, and likely won’t be, any federal criminal convictions for crisis-era bank fraud if The Governor is elected.

  Wall Street still paid out $200 billion in bonuses from 2003 to 2011.

  In the three years leading up to the financial crisis of 2008, JPMorgan made $38 billion in after-tax profit. Over the three years that followed, they made $48 billion.

  Wall Street has spent over $164 million on the current election, most of it going to Governor Crumley who has pledged to repeal President Ruvama’s Dodd-Frank backed bill.

  The screen rolled up, and the spotlights shown back on the hay bale, where R now sat.

  “A mixture of accounting moves, clearly in the grey of legality, but definitely in the black of dirty money and the red of spilled blood for personal gain is what we’re dealing with here,” R’s steel-edged voice took over and filled the speakers in the stadium and then all the hand-held devices around the world.

  “If you take a look at The Governor’s records, those that he’s allowed us to see, of course you see nothing. No one was ever supposed to find out where all of these numbers lead. But we did,” he continued.

  During the surprise expose, Star Fish attempted to leave the stage, but Clito stopped him with a quick jab of his pitchfork into the tip of his mermaid tail. In doing so, he made good on Bunny’s comment that they needed to harpoon the whale that was even bigger than the London Whale.

  “Like the food we buy in our grocery stores...if you knew how it was made and what it was made of, you’d never eat it. This is the situation we face today. As a voter, if you knew the truth behind what made The Governor the wealthy man that he is and what that has done and will do to all of you and your financial futures, you’d never give him your vote. Instead, you’d have him prosecuted.”

  R’s play-by-play continued to feed the crowd, until nothing more could be heard except chants of Dodd-Frank. Dodd-Frank. Dodd-Frank.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Christmas came early this year for financial regulators and also for the newly re-elected President Ruvama.

  It came in the form of claw-backs consisting of up to two years pay for banks whose financial officers had played risky derivatives games. And it included even closer criminal looks at the main traders running those games with Star Fish – aka Giotto Bernini – at the top of the hit list.

  “We’re talking litigation in two separate ways though, right?” I asked Bunny as she perused the morning papers on her iPad.

  “Yep. Against the banks involved as well as against the traders who controlled it all, like Uncle Giotto.”

  “But how are all of the different agencies and their prosecutors, along with the foreign governments involved, going to sort out who goes after what?” I asked, seriously worried that after the prime time talking heads finished with what we’d started, nothing would get done.

  “That’s a great question, my dear. It’s possible that Giotto could get off the hook on some stupid technicality. But, that fact aside, the damage has been done on the world stage at a peoples’ level.”

  “I suppose you’re right. In this case, thanks to social media, in the world court of public opinion, the verdict has already been reached.”

  “Exactly. And the people always get it right.”

  “If they know the truth,” I added.

  For the first time, I understood why it was so important for us to continue to fight against the cozy cash criminals of the world. This wasn’t about just righting the wrongs done through generations of Bellesconi and Bernini operations. This was about restoring the ability of everyday people to be able to make decisions based on truth and facts, not on what the top one percent wanted you to believe.

  “And the truth is that many of these transactions originated through subsidiaries of foreign banks, like those revealed in Box 438 by the likes of big fish players like The Governor, who could
care less if he’s dealing in blood money,” Bunny said, sipping on her morning Bloody Mary.

  “There are sure to be plenty of prosecution complications. Everyone involved will be facing years if not decades of attempts at civil and criminal enforcement.”

  “They’ll be reviewing emails and voice recordings for years, I suspect,” Bunny said.

  “You got that right.”

  “But I don’t think they’ll have much trouble proving The Governor and his traders, like Uncle Giotto, willfully violated the law.”

  “Hell, they made a sport out of it,” I said, the reality of which still made me almost physically sick.

  “But do you honestly think kingpins like Giotto and The Governor are going to cooperate? Let alone plead guilty?” I asked.

  “In Uncle Giotto’s case, the wild card is that he’s a European. So, he can fight extradition and never even face the charges.”

  Bunny closed the cover of her iPad case and finished off her cocktail.

  “But The Governor? Well...the first person to cut a deal usually gets the best deal. But I don’t think his ego and money will allow him to deal, period. He’ll be long gone before then. There are too many powerful people who will be willing to hide and protect him, for a cut,” she said.

  “Hell, he won’t even have to hide.”

  “Probably not from the governments of the countries involved, anyway,” she said, a mischievous although dead serious twinkle lighting up her eyes.

  “He’s flaunted his wealth for years, knowing he’d never get caught. But also figuring, if he did, so what?”

  “Exactly. You’ve got it figured out, Zoey, my dear. He’ll pay the claw-backs and be on his way to collecting his hundreds of millions on foreign soil with a posse of Uncle Giotto’s men right beside him.”

  “Whether or not the United States decides to launch a global rabbit hunt for the big fish like Giotto Bernini and Governor Crumley isn’t the heart of the matter. What’s vital is that we may finally be on our way to overhauling Wall Street and replacing the people who actually own and run it,” I said, hoping it would turn out to be true.

  “And we certainly couldn’t have done that with one of the big fish benefactors residing in the White House.”

  “Cheers to that,” I said, taking the next round of Bloody Marys off the tray that Bunny’s butler had just delivered.

  “Cheers to that indeed and cheers to Clitopatra, who saved the day,” Bunny toasted.

  “Who would have ever thought a Drag Queen would save the United States Presidency?” I asked, holding my glass once again high in the air.

  Queens rock!

  THE END

  NOTE FROM D. D. SCOTT

  Welcome Back to my Cozy Cash Mystery World! I so hope you enjoyed Book Four in this Series.

  Writing this book got me to thinking a lot about the social commentary elements that make up a big part of this series and my writing in general.

  For example, THE ROYAL DIGS asks several story questions that have huge social impacts such as:

  1. What if a Drag Queen determined the United States Presidential Election?

  (discussing alternative lifestyles and the issues faced by people living those lifestyles)

  2. Does it matter that we’ve got a presidential nominee who keeps a majority of his money offshore to avoid paying taxes on it?

  3. Does it matter that said nominee has earned his massive wealth, thanks to the money of cartel kings - whether coffee, cocoa, casinos, or cocaine (and other drugs too) - who make their living via the death squads they employ and the people whose rights they corrupt or snuff out?

  Tough questions, right? With answers that have huge effects on our lives.

  I love to write these kinds of “ripped from the headlines” stories because they engage all of us and instantly feed on topics that are easily recognizable, emotion-packed and quite possibly figure into our daily lives. In other words, we relate to them.

  And in our Epublishing World, where we can publish our books at a much faster rate than via Traditional Publishing avenues, we’ve got our stories out to you when these themes and questions are still very much a part of our social collective minds.

  I’ve found that even those critics who don’t like my writing style still appreciate and are moved by the social commentary in my stories. And that’s what it’s all about for me...writing stories that connect with you, as readers and as human beings.

  For my Cozy Cash Mysteries, I’ve explored the following topics:

  1. Ponzi schemes (Madoff-style) – THUG GUARD

  2. Fashion sweatshops in Naples (controlled by the local mobs and making many a pages in today’s best fashion magazines and red carpets) – LIP GLOCK

  3. The gem trade (as in blood diamonds and stones) – CARATS AND COCONUTS

  4. The money trail of our current Republican nominee for U. S. President – THE ROYAL DIGS

  5. The real owners of Wall Street - coffee, cocoa, casino and cocaine (and other drugs too) cartels – THE ROYAL DIGS

  6. Banking, hedge funds and derivative trading – THE ROYAL DIGS

  I use these topics to write Ebooks that are along the lines of what New York Times Bestselling Author Bob Mayer calls “factual fiction” in which many of the plot elements I use are factually based. (For example, all of the Tweets Ross created for Grams in THE ROYAL DIGS are facts). But then, true to my own sense of humor, I give my books my own quirky-crazy fictional twists and cast of characters.

  Thanks so very much for being a part of D. D. Scott-ville and for exploring these topics with me while having some LOL fun too.

  The Best of D. D. Scot-ville Humor with Heart Wishes —-

  D. D. Scott

  WHAT’S COMING SOON FROM D. D. SCOTT

  I’m over the moon to treat you to a Sneak Peek at where you’ll next be able to catch-up with my Cozy Cash Mystery Cast and Crew!

  Coming this holiday season, you’ll get Ross Bellesconi and Giavani Rancic’s story in a fabulous new Holiday Romance...

  THE BILLIONAIRES’ CHRISTMAS CLUB

  What’s so exciting about this book is that I’m co-writing it with one of today’s Superstar Authors...

  The A-mazing Theresa Ragan

  I’ll be writing Ross and Gia’s story, and Theresa will be treating you to a story featuring her billionaire Grayson Hawk.

  Ross and Grayson have made an interesting bet this holiday season...but can there be two winners instead of just one?

  Here’s the first chapter...Enjoy!!!

  THE BILLIONAIRES’ CHRISTMAS CLUB

  THERESA RAGAN and D. D. SCOTT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fashionably late. Perfect.

  As if this crowd cared when the biggest names on their guest list arrived. All they wanted was the money those guests brought with them or sent in their places. And before the night was through, they’d get it. Billions of pretty pennies and then some.

  Roswell “Ross” Bellesconi and his buddy Grayson Hawk had more cash than everyone else invited to this gala put together. If the organizers had to wait on both of them to arrive before starting the soiree, so be it.

  Always preferring to go it alone, Ross avoided the hostess set-up and headed toward the front row of tables, knowing he’d find some fancy place card with his name on it.

  Sure enough, there it was. Front and center. Roswel “Ross” Bellesconi. To be seated next to Grayson Hawk

  What if these charitable groups took the money they shelled out on these galas to instead actually do something for the people they were created to help? There was a novel idea, he harrumphed.

  He took his seat then checked his Tag Heuer to see exactly how much longer he’d have to sit here. Noticing a small smudge on the dial, he used the corner of the table linens to swipe at the surface.

  “Doesn’t your butler see to those kinds of things?”

  Ross heard Grayson’s good-natured tease before he saw him.

  “I gave him the night off,” he said, s
tanding up to shake hands with his childhood friend. “Wish we had the night off.”

  Grayson disliked these events as much as he did, although they shared differing opinions as to why.

  “Look at it this way, my friend. At least it’s the last one for the year,” Grayson said, taking two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and handing one to Ross.

  “Cheers to that,” Ross said, toasting him.

  “So what’s this one for anyway?” Grayson asked, reaching for the program on top of their place settings.

  Ross chuckled to himself while shaking his head. Typical Grayson.

  “What? Don’t tell me you actually pay attention to this stuff instead of just having your accountant write the check?”

  Ross laughed again. This time out loud.

  “C’mon, Grayson. You know that’s your style, but definitely not mine. I’m the guy who’s hands on, remember?”

  “All I know, Roswell, is that if you’d be a little more hands on with all these fine ladies around here, you wouldn’t be a billionaire bachelor with no prospects in site,” Grayson remarked, taking time away from their conversation to dazzle the women at the next table with his I’m-all-yours, for-the-night, smile.

  “Whatever. I don’t have time for women. Besides, some of these groups are doing very important work. And you know I like to see how my money is used,” Ross said, wishing he could do more than just read each group’s brochures and websites before figuring out how much to write his check for.

  Not only did he have a tendency to be a goody two-shoes, in Grayson’s opinion, Ross was a little too particular when it came to women. Grayson could count on one hand the number of relationships Roswell had in his lifetime. Not that Grayson was keeping track. It’s just that he worried about his friend sometimes.