The Lost Journal

by Chris Blewitt

  Seth took a swallow of his beer and thought about the President’s questions and had no idea where he was going with this. What did all this have to do with that piece of paper from two centuries ago?

  “Let’s go back a bit,” the President said. “Ever hear of the War of 1861?”

  No one answered and their brows furrowed, trying to recollect their high school history classes. Finally, Willie spoke, “The Civil War?”

  “No, that was a war within the States. I’m talking about the War of 1861. Nobody?” the President asked. “Of course not, it never existed. The reason being, this little piece of paper!” He dramatically picked up the scroll and held it over his head. “God, it feels good to finally tell people about this. But remember,” he lowered his voice, “this goes nowhere.” He picked up his own beer, took a drink and continued his story in a monotone voice. “In 1861 the Civil War broke out and President Lincoln made a tough decision. He had to finance the War and what better way to do it, than with his own people. Congress passed the first legal income tax bill in order to fund the war. Guess how much?”

  The four people sitting across from him threw out their guesses ranging from twenty percent to seventy-five percent.

  “Three percent,” the President stated. “Yep, three percent income tax if you made over eight hundred dollars a year and five percent if you made over ten thousand, which was rare at the time.”

  “So that’s why you take my money every paycheck,” Madison said.

  “Well, yes. You are lucky right now. There was a time when the maximum tax rate was ninety percent! Yes, ninety percent of your income was taken to fund the government due to a war or the Depression. That number has fluctuated along the way, and currently we sit in the mid to high thirties for your highest income bracket. Three percent seems like nothing, but if you only made eight hundred bucks a year, that was significant.”

  “Mr. President,” Arthur said, “this is all very fascinating, but what does this have to do with anything and when are you going to let us read what’s on that paper?”

  The President smiled. He took a sip of his own drink and allowed the silence in the room to fester. He took his hands off the paper and pushed it across the bar. “Go right ahead.”

  <><><><><>

  February 13th, 1778

  General George Washington was not caught off guard when the men wearing red entered the tent. He had left the warmth of his Quarters moments before when word arrived that the men were approaching fast on horseback, but without their cavalry; they were alone. He had met two of them before, but now the commander himself was inside. He and four British military men were the only ones in the tent.

  “General Washington these are the terms we agreed upon, as did the King. We will continue the war as agreed upon and slowly withdraw our troops in the coming months and years. Those British soldiers who wish to stay in America will be subject to hanging for treason.”

  The General contemplated the decision. He moved past the men and toward the open flaps blowing in the harsh winter wind. He looked at the snow covered hills, the men scurrying back and forth from the nearby forest gathering wood for the night’s fire. They were bruised and battered.

  It was cold outside.

  The General was far from defeated, but his purpose had been served. The Declaration of Independence was signed eighteen months ago and it was time for the war to end. He walked back inside and the Commander of the British Army brought out two scrolls and a quill for him to sign. He knew the offer. He’d seen it before but decided to read it over. He came to the last paragraph and read aloud:

  “In return for a complete withdrawal of troops from the American mainland and complete freedom from her Royal Kingdom of Great Britain, I set forth the following precedent to be carried out by the government of the new United States of America; Starting on January 1, 1780, and each and every year moving forward on this date, the government of the United States of America will exchange one percent of their tariffs and taxes to the British Empire in a monetary denomination to be determined each year. Signed, King George III of England, Signed, General Commander of the United States Army, George Washington.”

  General George Washington of the Continental Army signed both papers.

  CHAPTER 36

  Seth tried to sum it up for himself. “So, Washington promised Britain one percent of tariffs and taxes in exchange for them leaving the country.”

  The President shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “What’s a tariff?” Madison asked.

  Willie responded, “A tariff was a tax on all imported goods from other nations. So, Washington said that any dues collected from the import of goods from other nations, Britain would get one percent.”

  “Correct,” the President stated.

  “Wow,” Seth said. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Not really, not then,” the President replied. “They probably paid the Brits around forty thousand dollars a year in those days. It got interesting in 1861 when Lincoln made income tax a law.”

  “The war of 1861,” Willie said.

  “Yes, but it never happened,” the President said. “When Lincoln proposed the income tax law, Britain got word of it and they were licking their chops. Lincoln refused to pay Britain the one percent on the new tax. The Prime Minister of Britain then prepared to invade America, hence The War of 1861. Lincoln already had the Civil War brewing. The nation would have been destroyed completely if he had to fight two wars. So he gave in and paid the Brits one percent of the new income tax. Hence, no War of 1861.”

  Arthur looked the President in the eye. “You’re serious. And this is still…”

  Everyone took their eyes off the scroll and noticed the stare down between Arthur and the President.

  “It’s true,” the President said, “and we still pay them one percent.”

  Everyone gasped at the thought and you could see the whites of their eyes as they expanded.

  This time Arthur summed it up for them. “So Great Britain gets one percent of our income taxes every year.”

  The President nodded. “As well as one percent of all imported goods taxes, or tariffs, if you will. In exchange, we get their approval and support for every global war, every time we invade a country, every time we require any support whatsoever, no matter what the circumstances, the economy, crime, drug wars, oil spills, stock market plunges, the recession, housing costs, education, everything, the Brits are there for us.”

  “Wow,” Seth said.

  “Wow is right,” Madison agreed.

  A thought came to Arthur, “How much is one percent?”

  This time the President picked up his drink and moved from behind the bar. He took a long swallow and kept his back to them before he said, “Last year we collected two point seven trillion dollars in personal income tax.”

  “That’s trillion with a T?” a shocked Seth asked.

  “Correct.”

  “So one percent is…?” Seth wondered aloud.

  “Twenty-seven billion dollars,” Willie responded.

  Arthur whistled and started to chuckle. “Holy shit, that’s a lot of money to give away. What about the tariffs collected?”

  “Much smaller,” the President responded, “we pay them only about two-hundred and fifty million each year.”

  Arthur cursed again.

  “No wonder you want us to keep silent,” Seth said. “Word gets out that the government is paying the Brits billions of dollars each year while the deficit is in the trillions, we’re in a recession, people are losing their homes, unemployment rate is incredibly high, there’s corporate fraud, Ponzi schemes, Freddie Mac, Fannie Mae, Jesus!’

  “When you think about it, it’s not that much money in the grand scheme of things,” the President said, trying to calm the storm.

  “The hell it’s not,” Arthur said. “You know what I made in my lifetime? I maxed out at forty-two thousand dollars a year. Now I’m in an old folk’s home because I can’t aff
ord in-home care. Don’t tell me twenty-seven billion dollars a year isn’t a lot of money.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean that we give all kinds of money to other nations across the globe. We have to or they won’t survive.”

  “Okay, enough already,” Madison said, temporarily stopping the bitter argument. “I do have a question for you. Who were the men who have been following us? And who were the ones from England? And how did you find us?”

  The President smiled and said, “Actually, that’s three questions. The first one, those were secret service agents on the vice president’s detail.”

  A hush came over the others as they contemplated the ramifications that lay ahead.

  “The second group from England I assume is the deputy prime minister of England’s men.”

  “What did they want with Washington’s scroll?” Seth asked.

  “Think about it. If they got their hands on this, I can kiss the presidency goodbye. I’d either be forced to resign for lying to the American public, or I would have no chance at re-election. I assume that’s the same reason the Brits wanted it. There would be a public outcry if the British people found out that they were going to war for money. That they allowed the US to do anything they please for a kickback every year.”

  “Couldn’t they just expose it anyway?” Madison asked.

  “They could, but it would be denied. They’d have no proof. I hear they found the other copy in England. Without this one, we’ll deny everything and call it a forgery. Also, folks, remember that if this got out, think about what it would do to our country’s morale.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Madison.

  “Our country was built by men who sacrificed their lives in the Revolutionary War. George Washington, our Founding Father, basically bribed his way out of the war. Washington was a great man and an even greater president. Let’s not tarnish his name for trying to do what was right and getting us out of the war.”

  Willie and Arthur moved over to the couch along the side wall and collapsed heavily into its supple leather. It had been a long couple of days and it was taking its effect on the old men. Seth and Madison stayed in their stools and followed the President’s gaze as he stared upward, looking for answers.

  “What are you going to do?” Seth asked.

  “And how did you find us?” Madison asked.

  Bowe interlaced his fingers and placed them behind his head, not looking at them. “First, you guys need to get some sleep. I’ll arrange for a couple of spare bedrooms. There’s no need for you to drive all the way back to wherever you were staying.”

  “We’re going to sleep in the White House?” Arthur asked.

  He nodded. “There are one hundred and thirty-two rooms here, I’m sure I can find a few bedrooms.” He smiled and walked over to the couple on the barstools. “Thank you for everything.” He shook their hands and picked up the scroll. “If this would’ve been found by the others, there would’ve been an uproar in the streets.” He shook their hands and moved over to the men on the couch.

  Willie stood up and shook the President’s hand. Arthur stayed seated and spoke. “I think there should be some type of reward, don’t you think?”

  “Granddad!” Seth said from across the room.

  “What? He wants us to keep our mouths shut, right? I could go to any news station and sell this information for fifty grand, maybe even a hundred.”

  The President looked down at the old man and said simply, “Listen, as an American, do this for your country. I’m asking this as a favor, please keep this quiet. I’ll see what I can do about a reward. Thanks again.”

  Seth had a thought pop in his head and asked the President for a moment alone. They walked over to the corner and Seth whispered something into the President’s ear. The President said something back and they shook hands.

  CHAPTER 37

  The sun poked and prodded its way through the sheer cloth that covered the two windows in his bedroom. It had been a restless sleep for the Vice President. He debated his course of action all night long. Deniability was his first option. He knew nothing, saw nothing, did nothing. The President couldn’t prove anything. The second option was to beg forgiveness and apologize. Still deny that you wanted the presidency, but tell him you got a tip and you wanted to follow up on it.

  But Jonathon Castle was not one to beg forgiveness of anyone, even from the President of the United States of America.

  He was going to deny everything. Act just as shocked as the President appeared to be. “Oh no! That secret can’t get out!” It was the only way to get through this in one piece. As long as the Brits stayed quiet, his role would be his little secret.

  Castle got in his car and his driver was led to the White House by another SUV filled with his Secret Service detail. He made sure that Kohler and Pierce called in sick for the day. They could certainly spoil this for him, but he doubted they would; their careers would be finished. The car drove to the White House and Castle made his way inside to his office, just down the hall from the Oval Office.

  He made sure to get there early. He wanted the President to think that everything was okay just like the day before. Deniability.

  After about an hour, busying himself with paperwork and checking emails, his intercom buzzed.

  “Mr. Vice-President?” It was his secretary down the hall. “The President would like to see you in his office.”

  He knew it was coming. “Be right there,” was all he could say.

  He pulled his gray suit jacket off the coat stand in the corner, put it on and opened his door. Castle walked down the hall and tapped on the door to the Oval Office where a Secret Service agent was standing outside. The agent had red hair. Castle knew exactly who he was and more importantly where he had been the night before. The agent looked at Castle and curled his lips into a tiny grin as he opened the door.

  Castle walked in and shut the door behind him.

  Deniability.

  The President was behind his desk and did not look up as the second-in-command walked into the room. “Sit down, Jon.”

  Castle came forward and sat on one of the couches in the center of the room. He wanted to talk, to shoot the shit, so to speak, and that was all. “Warming up out there,” Castle said, trying to break the ice. “Summer will be here in no time. Nationals still suck though,” he commented, referring to the city’s baseball team.

  The President ignored his small talk and got up from his chair and sat on the edge of his desk, facing the Vice-President. He crossed his arms and stared at him. “I want you to resign, effective immediately.”

  Castle was flabbergasted, and he stood up to defend himself. “What the hell are you talking about Richard!”

  “Sit, down, Jon.”

  Castle sat back down on the couch and looked up at the President. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Let’s not beat around the bush. You deliberately tried to run me out of office.”

  “And you have proof of this?”

  The President simply nodded.

  “Kohler and Pierce? Ha, they are loyal to me ‘til the day I die.”

  “I’ve already had my speechwriter take care of your resignation speech. You’ll deliver it at noon today in the briefing room. I will be by your side and support the decision.”

  “There’s no way, Richard. I will do nothing of the kind.”

  The president ignored him and continued. “Health reasons, you’ll say. Your doctor told you the stress on your heart is too much and you’ve asked me if you could step down. I agreed. It won’t hurt my re-election chances and it won’t hurt the party or the country. That is what’s most important here, Jon.”

  “You’re being irrational,” Castle stated.

  “Am I? Or am I just protecting this country from a scandal? I know you went after the document, Jon. You were so close you could taste it. You were in bed with Bannister and the Brits too. You had a whole plan to reveal this little secret to the Americ
an public and get me ousted from office. Weren’t you?”

  “You have no proof,” Castle said.

  The President pushed a button on his desk. “Come in.”

  Castle and Bowe both looked at the door to the Oval Office waiting for it to open. When it did, Castle’s eyes cringed in fear. In walked Kim Bevin, the Vice-President’s assistant. She directed her gaze away from the two men, shut the door behind her and walked into the middle of the room. In her hand, Castle could see a miniature tape recorder.

  “You still need proof?” the President asked.

  Castle leaned back in the chair and placed his hand on his forehead, rubbing the creases back and forth and trying to make sense of all this. He had been betrayed.

  “Kim,” he said.

  She didn’t reply. She simply curled her lips and gave a sarcastic “sorry” expression.

  “How could you?”

  The President spoke, “How could you, Jon?” He walked back around to his desk and sat down. “Resign. Go out with pride, some sense of dignity. Or, I play this little tape of your sexual exploits and let the media stalk you for the rest of your life.” Without getting up, he extended his hand holding a sheet of paper. “Here. Your speech. See you at noon.”

  Castle slowly got up and walked to the President’s desk and took the sheet of paper. He walked back toward the door and paused in front of Kim. He wanted to slap her, shake some sense into her. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  She didn’t reply and he walked out the door.

  “You owe me,” Kim said.

  “Believe me, I know.”

  She smiled at him and said, “How about your new Vice-President?”