Legend of the Gilded Saber

by Sigmund Brouwer

  "Where did you get those?"

  "That matters far less than whether they are true and accurate." Reah had nearly begun to shout. "Stang, you recommended that I go short on the very same stocks you told all your other clients to go long on! It's as if you deliberately tried to drive me into bankruptcy!"

  Chapter 23

  This was what Ralphy had been able to finally figure out and what we'd brought to Ted Emmett. What the client list meant and why it was so important.

  Most of the time, people enter the stock market by actually buying stocks. They pay their money at the beginning, then wait to see if their stocks go up or down in value, hopefully up. At the very worst, if a stock goes down to zero, they will lose all they have invested in that stock. But at least they'll never lose more than what they've already put into it.

  There is another way of buying stocks, however. Much more risky. Basically, it's like gambling. You commit to buying shares at a certain price at a specific time in the future. If they are worth more than the agreed price at that time, you get a profit. But if they are worth less, you lose money because you have to make up the difference.

  The most important thing is to guess right. Bet that the stock shares go "long," or up in value, and hope they go long. Or bet that they go "short," or down in value, and hope they go short.

  The difference is very simple. When you buy shares outright, you can't lose any more money than what you put into them. When you gamble on whether a stock will go "long" and be worth more in the future, and it does the opposite and goes "short," then you can lose money you didn't have in the first place.

  Which is exactly what happened to George Reah. To the tune of three hundred thousand dollars.

  Which was why Reah had just accused Stang of deliberately trying to bankrupt him.

  Money isn't the root of evil, as my dad once explained to me. Most people think that's what the Bible says. But the verse about money actually says that "the love of money" is the root of evil.

  Dad had gone on to discuss it with me.

  He said that the love of money leads some people to eighty-hour workweeks, constant and exhausting business trips, ulcers, and heart problems from stress as they sacrifice families and health for huge salaries. The love of money, he said, leads others to lie or cheat or betray friend- ships and integrity and, in the darker shadows of the criminal world, even to murder. He also pointed out that the love of money leads some of the fortunate and already wealthy to hoard their money when it is capable of doing so much good when shared.

  Why is it so easy to love money?

  I think it's because from the first time someone puts a quarter or a dollar into your hand when you're a kid and you get to choose your own candy at the store counter, you suddenly understand how much power money has. And it only gets worse as you grow older. Money gives you bicycles, then motorcycles, then cars.

  In our world, everything has a price tag on it, and we learn very early to ask how much things cost.

  I thought of what Thomas Stang had done to George Reah. I thought of George Reah's greed as he allowed Thomas Stang to talk him into going short and losing all that money.

  It showed me that Dad was so right.

  Instead of asking how much money something will cost us, we should ask a much more important question.

  What price do we have to pay for money?

  What price had George Reah paid for his?

  Chapter 24

  "Now, George, don't jump to conclusions," Tom Stang was saying. "Client reports are very tricky to read."

  "I notice you didn't deny the charges. Look at this. Twenty of your clients made money by going short on the same stock where I went long. And, I might add, I went long on your advice. Are you telling me that the other twenty ignored your advice? Or did you give them different advice?"

  "George, this is not the place to—"

  "And look again. Fifteen of your clients made money by going long on the same stock where I went short. Again, it was your advice that I trusted. So did you give those fifteen clients the same advice but they ignored it? Or did you perhaps tell them to go long, while I was the only client you told to go short?"

  "George—"

  "Three hundred thousand dollars! You promised me I'd make money without spending money. That all I had to do was take your advice, and in a few months, I'd be rich. Instead, I wake up one morning to discover I'm going to lose everything if I don't come up with money I don't have. That I'm going to lose my house. My retirement funds. Even my car."

  This was going far better than I could have hoped.

  "You didn't lose anything, did you?" Tom said.

  "No. Because you bailed me out. And at the time, I thought you were doing it because you were worried about me. But I know better now, don't I."

  "George—"

  "Simple, you said. Just make sure you can get into the museum. All you wanted was time alone at night for some historical research. Except all those pieces went missing. And by then I couldn't tell the police I was the one who'd let the thief into the museum, could I?"

  "George, that problem is taken care of, too, isn't it? The thief was caught. In fact, he confessed."

  "Are you telling me that you invited Ted Emmett into the museum that night?"

  "I'm just saying," Tom Stang said smoothly, "that Emmett has confessed to the theft, the stolen pieces have been recovered, and you didn't lose any money in the stock market."

  Stang paused. "So the big question is, how did you get those papers and why did you leave a message with my secretary to meet here of all places?"

  "Me?" George Reah said, his anger now mixed with confusion. "I didn't leave a message with your secretary."

  George wasn't lying. Ted Emmett had left the message.

  George continued. "I only came here because somebody told me to come to the church and I'd find these papers."

  "Who?" Stang demanded.

  "Don't know."

  "Someone sent you here," Stang said after a pause of only a second. "And someone sent me here. In other words, we were set up."

  It became very quiet in the church sanctuary.

  Then I saw Stang's feet move. And his hands and knees hit the floor.

  He began to look around.

  I was afraid he would see us. But his eyes were first attracted by the nearby teddy bear. The teddy bear that I had used to muffle any whirring sounds of the voice- activated tape recorder.

  Stang snarled and ripped it loose.

  He stood again.

  "What's inside here?" he asked. "It looks like a tape recorder."

  That's when I rolled over and stood and darted out of my pew toward him.

  Chapter 25

  My intent was to make a diving tackle, knock the teddy bear loose, grab it, and run. The only hope of proving Ted Emmett's innocence was on that tape. Ralphy had come up with the plan of putting the two of them together once we figured out the same thing about the client list that George Reah had just realized.

  If we lost this tape now, however, there was no way they would fall for the same trick again. And since Ted Emmett had already confessed, there seemed no other way of proving that Stang had stolen the pieces and framed Emmett.

  So I ran and dived.

  Stang simply raised a fist and timed a perfect rabbit punch into the side of my head. He didn't have to swing hard. My momentum carried me into the punch and I hit the floor, flat on my back, just like he had dropped a piano on me.

  I didn't even have a chance to groan before he stepped on my throat.

  "You," he said. "I've seen you before."

  I tried shifting sideways. He put pressure on my throat with his foot.

  "Won't take much pressure to crush your windpipe," he said. "I'd stay put. And I'd tell me what's going on."

  His eyes widened in recognition. "You're one of the kids that Ted Emmett invited for the golf tournament. A friend of his nephew."

  He put a little more weight on his foot. It felt l
ike my eyeballs were being squeezed from my head.

  "Tell me," he said. "You're one of them, right?"

  I said I was, but it came out as a gargle.

  He eased off.

  "Yes," I said.

  "And this whole setup? You made it happen?"

  I gargled again, as if the pressure of his foot was too much for me to speak.

  He stepped on my hand with his other foot. He remained there, balanced with most of his weight on my hand and just enough on my throat that I couldn't move.

  "You set this up," he repeated. "Right?"

  Stang tossed the teddy bear to George Reah. "See what this is about while I make this kid talk."

  My hand was in agony. My throat felt as if a boa constrictor was choking the life out of me. I couldn't think, couldn't come up with a way to keep Reah from turning the teddy bear over and finding a hole cut in the bear's belly where I'd hidden the tape recorder.

  "Aarrggh," I said.

  "A tape recorder," Reah said. He'd turned over the teddy bear and saw the plastic back of the recorder.

  As he reached to pull it out, I was rescued by a book of hymns.

  More accurately, a book of hymns thrown by Lisa.

  With their attention on me, they must not have noticed her get into position. She'd taken one of the heavy books and thrown it sideways, like a Frisbee. The first one caught George Reah in the side of the head, and he dropped the teddy bear to clutch at his skull.

  The front edge of the second one hit Tom Stang in the ear. He yelped and fell sideways, lifting his foot from my throat. I yanked my hand out from under his other foot, and that knocked him over completely. His head bonked the side of the pew, and he moaned as he staggered.

  A third hymnal hit George Reah in the belly. He doubled over.

  I flipped on my stomach and crawled forward, and a fourth hymnal bounced off my back.

  I didn't care. The incoming hymnals were a great distraction.

  I closed my hand over the teddy bear and bolted forward.

  Hymnals kept crashing.

  "Run," I shouted to Lisa. "Run!"

  I dared to stand.

  But as I turned, Tom Stang managed to block the aisle. I couldn't run past him to the safety of the outside of the church.

  I turned toward a side door. Lisa slid out of the pew and headed in the same direction. We reached the door at the same time.

  I pulled it open, expecting to see lawn and trees and sky.

  Instead, there were stairs.

  But it was too late to turn back. Tom Stang and George Reah had both recovered and were running toward us. They were too big for us to fight. So Lisa and I stepped inside and shut the door.

  Just before Stang arrived, I managed to slide a bolt into place. But he hit the door hard and nearly popped the bolt loose. The door wasn't built to stop a determined pile driver.

  Stang hit it again, probably with a shoulder. The door nearly broke off its hinges.

  That meant we'd have to take the stairs. "Up!" Lisa shouted. Up it was.

  Two steps at a time.

  The door below us crashed open.

  Lisa and I pounded upward. And then reached a dead end.

  We'd climbed the steeple, and there was no place to go. Heavy panting reached us as Stang and Reah pursued

  us.

  "They've got no place to go," I heard Stang say. "Unless they want to jump."

  He was right. I briefly wondered about trying to climb over, but the view from the top of the steeple made me dizzy.

  At any other time, it would have been breathtaking. With the dark thunderclouds as a backdrop, all of old

  Charleston was spread below us. The ancient buildings. The gardens and courtyards. The beautiful old houses. And the cemeteries. Cemeteries.

  That was where Lisa and I would be next if we tried to climb over or jump.

  Chapter 26

  Seconds later, Stang and Reah reached the top of the steps. They stopped just short of the platform where Lisa and I were trapped.

  Both of them were puffing. Reah had a red welt on his cheekbone where the first hymnal had hit. Stang's hair was messed up, and he had a welt below his ear. George grabbed Lisa and twisted her arm behind her back so that she couldn't move.

  "Give it to me, kid," Tom Stang snarled, pointing at the teddy bear.

  I leaned over, holding the teddy bear above the ground far below. I waved as hard as I could.

  "Help!" I managed to shout once.

  Then Stang had me by the shoulder.

  "Now!" Stang's voice was raspy with rage and heavy breathing from his run up the steps. "Or I throw you over with it."

  Still I didn't let go.

  "I'm not joking, kid," he continued. "All I'd have to do is lift you by the legs and shove you over."

  "You'd kill me to protect your secret?"

  "Give it to me."

  "Why?" I asked. "Why frame Ted Emmett?"

  "No games." He squeezed my shoulder hard. "Give it to me."

  "I know you wanted to trigger the shotgun clause and buy out his half of the business. But why? It's almost bankrupt. All you would end up owning are debts."

  He frowned, surprised. "How did you know that?"

  I shrugged. "So it's true?"

  "Whatever you think you know won't matter." An unpleasant smile crossed his face. "There's nothing you can prove."

  "You've thought all of this through." The tape recorder was still active, and I wanted him to talk as much as possible. "You had easy access to the Mercedes. All you'd have to do is borrow Emmett's keys and get them copied. Reah here lets you into the museum, you take the pieces, put them in the Mercedes, then tip off the police to arrest Emmett in a highly public place to ruin his reputation even more."

  "This is tiresome, kid. If you've got this taped, it won't matter, because I'll have the tape right away. Unless you want me to throw you from the top of this steeple along with it. I promise you, you'll be as broken as the tape recorder."

  "What about the fire at Emmett's place? That was you. Devon wrestled with you and grabbed one of your cuff links. So he knew it was you starting the fire. Had you returned to the Mercedes to make sure nothing was in it?

  And once he knew it was you, he decided to break into your office and look for evidence."

  Irritation crossed Stang's face.

  "Please shut your mouth. I'm going to count to five. If you don't give me the tape recorder by then, you're dead."

  He moved beside me and reached for it. Briefly both our faces were over the edge. That was all I needed. His face. In plain sight to anyone down below.

  I let go of the teddy bear.

  He watched it fall with a smile of satisfaction.

  "George, make sure these kids stay here while I go and retrieve the tape," he said.

  "You got it," George answered. "But that's the last thing I'll ever do to help you."

  "Except keep your mouth shut," Stang said. "You're in this as deep as I am. It will be their word against ours, and no one will believe them against the two of us."

  Stang paused before heading down the steps. He grinned an evil grin at me.

  "You lose, kid," he said.

  This wasn't the moment to tell him he was wrong.

  Because down below, waiting for him to step outside, were the redheaded reporter and her cameraman.

  That was part of our deal with her. That she would be the first to get the story. With the tape recorder, with Lisa and me as witnesses, and with her cameraman hidden in a place to film Stang and Reah going in and coming out of the church, there would be no denying they had had the conversation recorded on the tape.

  The tape recorder and the tape?

  They were tucked in my waistband, beneath my shirt. Where I'd hidden them as Lisa and I ran up the stairs of the steeple. Where every word1—including Stang's threats to kill me to protect his secret—was safely waiting for a judge and jury to hear.

  Chapter 27

  "You had confessed
because you thought Devon was the thief, right? You thought he was driving the Mercedes the night the stuff was taken from the museum."

  Mike was speaking to his uncle Ted. The three of us were in the courtyard behind the mansion while Lisa and Ralphy were getting doughnuts from a coffee shop on Broad Street. Ted had been released from jail the previous evening, shortly after Mike and I had brought the tape recording to the police station. Although he'd gone to bed really early, Ted's face was puffy and seemed as gray as ashes. As if he hadn't slept well.

  "Yes, Mike," he answered. He stared at the ruins of the garage. It had finally stopped smoking. "With Devon's past, I knew he'd be the one they blamed. Especially since he worked there. And I didn't want the rest of his life ruined."

  "But Devon broke into Stang's office to try to prove Stang was up to something," Mike said. "Because Devon knew your confession was going to ruin the rest of your life."

  "Yes," Ted answered. He spoke with a sad tone. "All of the rest of my life."

  "Wow," Mike said. "That's cool, actually. That you would be willing to do that for him."

  "It would have been the least I could have done as a father, Michael. Because of how little I had done for him when it really mattered."

  Ted took a deep breath. "I live in a big fancy house. I've made millions. But I paid a price for it. Eighty- or ninety-hour workweeks. I missed Devon's ball games. I missed his school plays. When he was a little boy, I wasn't there when he woke up in the morning. I wasn't there to say prayers with him when he went to sleep. And when my wife died ..."

  He closed his eyes briefly, as if the sadness was hitting him all over again. "When she died, I hired a nanny. I threw myself into work to forget about how sad I was. I started putting in even longer workweeks. For all practical purposes, Devon didn't have a father while he grew up. If I'd been there, I doubt he would have gotten into the serious trouble that he did."

  "Samantha said about a year ago you guys started going to church together," I said. "He knew you cared then."

  "Yup. About a year ago. We became friends. I slowed down at work. I realized what was important about life. And I wish I had longer to enjoy it."