Biomedical Self-Engineering 2
Author: Jon Svenson
Date: 2020-11-22T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: LitRPG
Description: Carl thought his life was on track, until disaster struck. Now he looks like a 35 year-old and is out of points, so he needs to scramble to change the situation before any one finds out the truth. The question is, what should he do next? Buy more businesses, or focus on his love life? And always in the background is his family, wondering what happened to their father and grandfather and if he will ever talk to them again? Biomedical Self-Engineering is a LitRPG slice of life adventure, following Carl as he discovers new ways of living when he is nearing the end of his own. There are no explici
Publisher: Aryeh Publishing

Copyright © 2020 by Jon Svenson and Aryeh Publishing

Cover art licensed from Christopher Doll.

Editing courtesy of Kasi Alexander.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-09830-744-8

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author or the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. This novel’s story and characters are fictitious. Certain long-standing institutions, places, businesses, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Interlude 3

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Interlude 4

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Author Recommendations

About The Author

Notes

Chapter 1

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

— W. B. Yeats

Thoughts raced through Carl’s mind, possibilities considered and then discarded. He needed DNA points, but he couldn’t go to Wal-Mart, he couldn’t walk outside, he couldn’t go anywhere near where people he knew might see him. Some questions defied answers, and one of them was turning the clock back thirty-eight years.

His friends would put him in the loony bin and then they’d throw away the key, no matter how many skills he had going for him.

Carl took a deep breath, trying to think things through rationally. He needed DNA, but there had to be other ways to acquire it beyond those he already knew.

He could travel up to Seattle and get a job there. He’d be anonymous, but he doubted he could be away that long. The same applied to any city, which meant the issue wasn’t what city he traveled to. The issue was what he would do when he got there that mattered. If he could figure that out, he could solve this entire problem and wind forward the clock until he looked normal again.

Famished, he made himself a sandwich. Part of him pined to drive to the diner, but he pushed that aside. He grabbed a PBR while he was in the kitchen to go with his PB&J.

Sitting down in his recliner, he turned on the TV. He needed the distraction. Flipping through the channels, he saw that Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was just shy of being halfway over. He turned the volume up, the tension in his shoulders easing as he relaxed into his chair.

The PB&J was excellent, like most comfort foods tended to be, but the PBR was better. By the time he finished, he was feeling much more in control, even if he didn’t have a solution yet.

The pain from last night faded, and he let out a sigh of frustration. Just when things had been going so well, this had to happen.

He was drifting off to sleep when a few lines from the movie penetrated his consciousness. “You think I’m licked. You all think I’m licked. Well, I’m not licked. And I’m going to stay right here and fight for this lost cause. Even if this room gets filled with lies like these, and the Taylors and all their armies come marching…”

He tuned the rest of the line out as something resonated. He grinned when he knew the answer.

He needed to join a political campaign, one that would send him door to door to canvas for votes. It was early in the summer, but that shouldn’t matter. Weren’t politicians campaigning a year or more before the election now?

Chapter 2

“The point is that television does not reveal who the best man is. In fact, television makes impossible the determination of who is better than whom, if we mean by ‘better’ such things as more capable in negotiation, more imaginative in executive skill, more knowledgeable about international affairs, more understanding of the interrelations of economic systems, and so on. The reason has, almost entirely, to do with ‘image.’ But not because politicians are preoccupied with presenting themselves in the best possible light. After all, who isn’t? It is a rare and deeply disturbed person who does not wish to project a favorable image. But television gives image a bad name. For on television the politician does not so much offer the audience an image of himself as offer himself as an image of the audience. And therein lies one of the most powerful influences of the television commercial on political discourse.”

— Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business

Getting out his laptop, he searched for campaigns in Vancouver, Washington, just across the Columbia River, which should be far enough away that no one would recognize him.

He could only hope there was something available.

The phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Carl, this is Barbara. How are you doing?” Her voice was flirty. Despite his now too young age compared to hers, he couldn’t help but feel… something.

“How are you, Barbara? Work okay?”

She laughed. “It’s fine. I was hoping you could come over on Saturday. I’ll make dinner, and maybe we can watch movies again. Spend a night in together, just the two of us.” She gave a high-pitched giggle.

That giggle did wonderful things for his imagination. “That would be wonderful. What should I bring?”

“You bring the wine, and I’ll get dinner. I’m making meatloaf with garlic mashed potatoes. It’s my own recipe.”

Carl groaned. She knew his knees got weak when meatloaf was on the menu, especially the homemade kind.

“You got it. When should I come over?”

“How about 5pm? We can eat early to leave time for dessert afterward.”

Carl had to readjust his clothing. He knew what dessert meant.

“That sounds wonderful, Barbara. I’ll see you then.”

As soon as they hung up, Carl checked the calendar. Today was Tuesday. He had three days to get this done. If he couldn’t, he’d have to fake being sick, but not so sick that Barbara would want to come over and care for him. He didn’t know anyone who was a good enough actor to pull that off.

* * *

Carl spent the next few hours searching through the various campaigns. The races for the Oregon State Senate and House had already kicked off, but the local elections had just started. He was about to call one of them when a newer one popped up on his screen.

Vancouver School District Asks for Your Support

The Vancouver School District is looking for volunteers to get out the vote for the upcoming bond election. The district is intending to raise $83.6 million dollars to build a new middle school and renovate two of its older high schools. Says School Board President Anna Moroney, “We need your help if we’re to be successful with this bond vote. This is the last chance for two of our high schools, or they’ll shut down within five years for being out of code. Your city needs this bond. Your children need it more.”

Carl scrolled down until he found the contact information. There was a link to a sign-up page, where he entered his contact details.

He entered them in, getting a confirmation email moments later. He was to report tomorrow morning at 9am for volunteer training before hitting the pavement and getting the votes.

Carl couldn’t be happier.

Chapter 3

“I’ve noticed a fascinating phenomenon in my thirty years of teaching: schools and schooling are increasingly irrelevant to the great enterprises of the planet. No one believes anymore that scientists are trained in science classes or politicians in civics classes or poets in English classes. The truth is that schools don’t really teach anything except how to obey orders. This is a great mystery to me because thousands of humane, caring people work in schools as teachers and aides and administrators, but the abstract logic of the institution overwhelms their individual contributions. Although teachers do care and do work very, very hard, the institution is psychopathic—it has no conscience. It rings a bell and the young man in the middle of writing a poem must close his notebook and move to a different cell where he must memorize that humans and monkeys derive from a common ancestor.”

— John Taylor Gatto, Dumbing Us Down: The Hidden Curriculum of Compulsory Schooling

That done, he drove twenty miles out of his way to get groceries, just to make sure he avoided his friends while in his younger looking body. He picked up a few bottles of wine while he was there, just so he didn’t forget to buy them later.

Instead of driving straight home, he drove over the bridge to Vancouver, just to check on the address he was heading to tomorrow morning. He knew he’d have to fight rush hour traffic to get there, but he preferred to prepare in advance to avoid trouble.

Downtown Vancouver, for how small it was, was difficult to navigate due to every street being one way only. He took multiple wrong turns and almost drove on to a one-way street going the wrong direction before he arrived.

The meeting location for tomorrow was a nondescript office building on the edge of the downtown area. The buildings on either side of it stood forlorn and vacant, as were several buildings on the other side of the street.

Just for fun, he turned on his failing business sense. He didn’t sense any failing businesses in this area, but the buildings might be a worthwhile investment. Vancouver was a city that most people in Portland looked down upon, but it had a quaintness all its own. Local coffee shops, hair salons, and other businesses lined the downtown core, but just a few streets away things weren’t going so well any longer.

To his surprise, he felt something. It wasn’t the buildings on either side of where he parked, but further away.

Rather than try to drive to get there, he got out and walked around. The scent was faint, similar to when he had first found FastCycle. He walked around the block, then around another block, all the while sniffing.

Sometimes it smelled closer, and other times it smelled farther away. But it never left, and that was both odd and frustrating. This insignificant portion of Vancouver was nothing but empty buildings. There was a single jail bond business with dirty windows in the distance, but that wasn’t what he was sensing.

Frustrated and curious, he walked a wide three block square as he tried to pinpoint it. It was a delightful spring day, the breeze off the Columbia keeping the city cool. When he finished the three-block square with no success, he narrowed it to a two-block square.

When that failed, he was right back at the same one block square where he had started. All the buildings here lacked occupants. Most of them were four stories tall, while a few were five or even six stories. They had been built in the mid-20th century, sturdy if uninspired.

Not willing to give up, he tried the doors of each building. Old companies long out of business remained listed on each building, while the windows couldn’t be seen because of the blanket of ‘For Lease’ or ‘For Sale’ signs, along with a few concert flyers and lost pet notices. Once he had his age squared away, he wanted to purchase the scent for knowing if buying a building would be a financial success or not.

He was on the opposite side of the block when one the last door he tried swung open as he tugged on it. It had a brass handle, worn and dirty from age and use. Inside there was an aging elevator door off to one side, and down one hallway he saw where the stairs were. A floor of worn but unbroken marble tiles in a simple yet pleasing black-and-white pattern filled the space, a reminder of yesteryear.

Maybe it was his age, or maybe it was having something other to think about than his young age. Despite the grime on them, he liked these buildings. The challenge would be to make them profitable. He checked the doors on the ground floor, but they all had been locked.

Needing the exercise, he took the stairs, a worn green carpet runner leading the way. When he came to the first floor, the windowed door on his left was covered with paint and made it impossible to see inside. He checked the door, but it wouldn’t budge. This floor had more offices than the ground floor, but the locked doors kept him from exploring further.

Returning to the stairs, the scent he had caught got stronger. The second floor had nothing of interest, although the marble tiles here had been cleaned in recent memory. The windows had less grime, and the air wasn’t as stale.

He knew he’d found what he’d been looking for on the spotless third floor. He could see a light behind the door to his right, although he hadn’t seen it from the street. There was no name on the door or any other identifier, but he saw people moving about through the clear windows.

He knocked on the door and waited. When no one answered after waiting for a few minutes, he turned the handle and entered.

People filled the room, each working in their own small cubicle. There was no receptionist, and no one looked up when he stepped inside. Of the people he could see working, most seemed to be women. They all had a half headphone resting on their head with a speaker in front of their mouth, each of them talking and taking notes.

Except for an older man in the back. From this distance, he looked to be in his 40s, although from the quivering jowls and tired eyes it was obvious that life hadn’t been kind to him.

Not about to miss an opportunity, Carl walked over and stood in front of his desk.

The man had a sharp widow’s peak with a comb-over that did little to cover it. The man looked up from his paperwork, a nasty sneer on his lips. “Who are you?”

“I’m Carl. Carl Thompson.” Carl reached out his hand, and the man grudgingly took it. His fingers were greasy, but Carl didn’t care. He had his first DNA since the disaster, as he was coming to refer to it.

Carl looked around, seeing another set of cubicles on the other side of the divider hidden from sight when he’d first entered.

“What do you want? Customers can’t come in here.”

Carl beamed. “I’m not a customer, but I might be. I’m thinking about buying this building, so I thought I’d see who was working up here.”

It wasn’t true, but it wasn’t untrue either, Carl thought to himself. He liked the building and all the surrounding buildings. He’d have to run the idea past Charles when they next met before he took it any further.

The man gave him a face. “So? Leave.” He pointed at the door. By now, a few of the women on phone calls were listening in, their calls over.

Carl smiled at the few looking his way. Then he turned back to the man. “What business is this? Just for my own edification.”

The man grumbled, pulling the receiver from his phone. A woman behind him spoke up.

“This is Vancouver Life Insurance. We handle the call center up here.” She checked on the man Carl had first spoken with, who was now speaking quietly into his phone. “I’m Kris. Tony over there is the manager.”

Carl nodded, then reached out to shake Kris’ hand. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to share.”

Kris blushed. Carl couldn’t hide the confusion on his face until he realized he wasn’t a fake seventy-three years old anymore. He was a real thirty-five years old, and just the right age for this woman. Scanning the room, he realized that he was just the right age for almost all of these women. And the unmarried ones hadn’t let him go unnoticed, a few waving him over in their direction.

Carl grinned, moving to the next lady not on a call and shaking her hand. When he reached the fifth person, a blue dot showed in his right eye. He felt giddy.

He was close to done with this side of the office when Tony stood up and spoke. “You need to leave, whoever you are. I’ve called security and they’ll be here in a few minutes. If you’re caught on the premises, you’ll be arrested.” Tony stood there proudly, as if he’d pulled off the miraculous against his unwanted foe.

Carl smiled to the room, waving at a few of the women he’d met. They waved back at him, a few very enthusiastically, as he made his retreat.

He didn’t know if security had arrived yet, but by the time he made it down to the ground level and was outside the building, not a single car besides his could be seen. He walked with a lightness in his step back to his car. Within minutes he was back on I5 and heading south toward Portland.

Chapter 4

“You differ from a great man in only one respect: the great man was once a very little man, but he developed one important quality: he recognized the smallness and narrowness of his thoughts and actions. Under the pressure of some task that meant a great deal to him, he learned to see how his smallness, his pettiness endangered his happiness. In other words, a great man knows when and in what way he is a little man. A little man does not know he is little and is afraid to know. He hides his pettiness and narrowness behind illusions of strength and greatness, someone else’s strength and greatness. He’s proud of his great generals but not of himself. He admires an idea he has not had, not one he has had. The less he understands something, the more firmly he believes in it. And the better he understands an idea, the less he believes in it.”

— Wilhelm Reich, Listen, Little Man!

His answering machine was blinking to get his attention when he got home. Even worse, the milk he had just bought had turned warm and he could only hope it didn’t spoil.

The first message was from Randy.

“Carl, this is Randy. Just checking in if you’ve purchased the building yet. I know some owners are excited for you to get things fixed up around here. A few are already asking about what you’ll be charging for the apartments on the second floor. Call me back.”

Carl shook his head in mild disappointment. He’d asked Randy to keep his plans quiet, but something in the gold seller’s brain had gone haywire when it came to the building. He didn’t know the man’s past. Maybe he had moved around a lot or, even worse, been evicted from the family home when he was young. He hoped not, but it would explain a few things.

The next message was from Rebecca.

“Carl, I have a preliminary report from the engineers regarding the building you’re wishing to purchase. They have highlighted several areas of concern, a few serious. I’m heading out shortly, so call me tomorrow to discuss. I’ve emailed the report for you to review tonight. Bye.”

He put two frozen burritos in the oven and set the timer to twenty-five minutes so he wouldn’t forget about them. Then he sat down, turned on the TV, and scanned the channels.

It was all news at the moment, and the old movies weren’t showing anything that interested him. The Wild Bunch was too violent for his tastes.

Before he did anything else, he wanted to check his points.

New DNA acquired: 12

Points for new DNA acquired: 200

Unused DNA Remaining: 2

He closed the notification. It was a start, but two hundred points would only increase his imputed age by two years, which wasn’t close to enough. He needed around five thousand points to get his imputed age up to forty-nine. There was nothing to do about it except hope that tomorrow worked out the way he thought it would.

While he waited for his burritos to warm-up, he opened his laptop, finding the email from Rebecca moments later. The report was in a PDF file, which he opened and started scanning.

She had broken the problems into different groupings, from structural, electrical, and plumbing to an estimated maximum occupancy after redesign and some sketches of ways to enhance the current layout. While it would be difficult to change anything on the street level, on the second floor it seemed a lot was possible, from having four extensive suites to five small apartments. Estimates on revenue from both the existing leases or the renovated apartments still needed to be calculated, which meant he would need Rebecca or Charles to reach out to a realtor to gather those.

Before he forgot, he forwarded the email to Charles. The simple act warmed him on the inside, as he wouldn’t have been capable of doing so less than six months ago. He added a brief note about forecasting revenue streams depending on the apartment configurations and added a comment about Vancouver Life Insurance and the buildings in Vancouver.

No sooner had the email gone out than a reply came back, promising that he would look into it.

Carl smiled to himself. He liked people who took action.

The buzzer went off on the oven, and he got his burritos out. He’d never been one for working at night, but given his condition and lacking anything else to do, it appeared he’d be pulling the swing shift this evening.

* * *

He closed his laptop at 9:30pm, having read through the report three times. He had myriad follow-up questions to ask the engineers, but overall, he liked the building. The price was right, and if the revenue projections worked out, he thought it was a financially sound investment. And it would help Randy feel better about things. He didn’t know what price to assign to that, but it had to be greater than zero.

Not feeling tired, he changed clothes and put on some sweats to go for a run. It was dark out, and as long as he kept the hood over his head, he would go unseen. He grabbed the spade before locking the door and heading out.

The night was cool, the stars twinkling above as he warmed up. He started out at a fast walk before jogging. He started sniffing for coins when he was seven blocks away, just in case he stumbled into something.

He passed a few people, not recognizing a single one. The exercise felt wonderful, stretching his muscles after the disaster of earlier this morning. Along the way he picked up small scents of silver coins, but he didn’t feel like stopping to dig them up. Better to leave them for the next person to find.

He didn’t get home until after 11pm, the front of his sweatshirt soaked and his hair damp. He felt good, so to finish the workout, he did some stretches.

“Carl, is that you over there?”

He fell into a crouch, his neighbor calling from her porch. The light above her made her features stark as she peered around the hedge to find him.

“If you’re a thief, I’m calling 911 right now!” The words screeched out of her mouth, her voice escalating.

Carl had two choices: fess up or continue to hide and hope she didn’t call the police. He fessed up.

He stood up, walking until he was in clear view. “Hi, Martha, it’s me. Carl Thompson. I thought I heard a raccoon in the backyard, so I checked it out.”

There was no response for a split second. “Without a flashlight?”

He stayed put, because showing himself without a flashlight would put paid to his lie. “The batteries died. Anyway, I don’t think it was a raccoon. Everything’s fine, Martha. I’m heading to bed right now.”

Martha wasn’t ready to let it go, however. “How do I know it’s you, Carl?”

Carl sighed. He’d been having such a good night. “You know my voice, Martha. And I knew your name. Who do you think I might be?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances. Bob Andrews just two blocks over had his house broken into. They stole his stereo and his old watches. Is that what you’re planning to do to me, thief?”

Carl could only shake his head. Instead of responding, he went into his house and dialed Martha’s number. His ex-wife had been friends with her, so she’d left the number written next to the phone in his ex’s fluid cursive.

“Hello?”

“Martha, this is Carl.”

“Carl! There’s a thief outside. Lock your doors and call the police.”

He did his best to explain. “That was me, Martha. Now I’m inside the house, so you know it’s me. Would a thief call you on the phone?”

She paused. “Well, no.”

Carl couldn’t hold back a smile. This was progress. “That’s right. Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe and I’m safe. I’m going to bed now, and I hope you will too, Martha.”

“Okay. Bye.” Martha hung up the phone.

Carl took a quick shower before hitting the sack. Tomorrow would be a big day.

Chapter 5

“To fill the young of the species with knowledge and awaken their intelligence... Nothing could be further from the truth. The aim... is simply to reduce as many individuals as possible to the same level, to breed and train a standardized citizenry, to put down dissent and originality. That is its aim in the United States... and that is its aim everywhere else.”

— H. L. Mencken (writing of public education in the April 1924 The American Mercury)

“Please write your name on this sticker, then place it where it is visible.” The volunteer handed him a sticker along with a three-page foldout pamphlet filled with talking points about the bond issue. He glanced through them. They made sense, although some of them lacked facts to substantiate the claims. Still, this wasn’t his fight. He’d help the cause to get the DNA he needed, then escape. Bing-bang-boom.

An amplifier squealed as he filed into the same nondescript building he’d scouted yesterday. The turnout so far was decent, with roughly forty or fifty people here to help support the cause. Most of the volunteers were women, with a few men scattered in the crowd. Nearly everyone had a cup of coffee in their hand.

“Sorry about that. Okay, listen up, people. My name is Tamara Gollard, and I’m the assistant to the school superintendent for Vancouver public schools. We’re genuinely happy that you’re here today to help us get the vote out.”

A mild cheer went up, and Tamara smiled. “Great. Before we get started, we need to cover a few things. First, we have restroom facilities in the back if you need them. Volunteers will provide light refreshments at noon, and you’re free to go after that. We’ll do this again on Sunday for those of you who want to volunteer a second time. Once you’ve volunteered three times, you’ll get these nifty bond vote T-shirts.” She modeled the one she was wearing for a moment. “Or you can buy them for only twenty-five dollars, and all the proceeds go to the cause.”

The room was quiet, but Tamara remained unfazed. “Good. Now, how we will do this is pair up with another person and then you’ll be assigned anywhere from ten to twenty blocks to canvas for support. The areas are sizeable because we expect a number of people will be at work, but that’s okay! We’ll get them this weekend.”

Carl was itching to get going. Before he could turn around to look for a partner, two women approached him from different vectors. He took a step back, but it was too late. They had too much momentum on him.

He missed being old.

The woman on his right stepped in front of the brunette, cutting off her approach. The other woman tried to come around the other way, but it was no use: her attack had failed.

The blonde asked, “Are you looking for a partner?” She gave him a smile full of overly white teeth, and her blouse seemed to have lost the top button during the race to him. The other woman chummed the surrounding waters, but it was no use. She’d lost.

Carl nodded. “I would.”

The blond woman took his arm. “Wonderful. My name is Jenny. I have a son in fourth grade.”

It was at that moment Carl realized his mistake. All these people either were or had been parents of children attending Vancouver School District schools, with one exception: him.

He swallowed. “My name’s Carl. My son just graduated and was accepted at Georgetown University.” Some of that was true. His younger son really had gone to Georgetown, but he was obviously much older now.

The woman’s grip tightened around his arm. “That’s wonderful. You must be so proud.”

Tamara broke in with an announcement, but Carl didn’t hear it. The only thing he could say was that he now had new DNA, a clingy woman on his arm, and twenty more points toward changing his situation.

Extricating his arm, he headed to the front to get his assignment. Over half the group were already heading to the door, but he missed the announcement on what to do because of Jenny. He didn’t hold it against her, but it was an aggravation he didn’t need.

Thankfully, an older woman was still handing out locations. He approached and was handed a laminated map, outlining an area on the other side of I5. It looked to be a pleasant location with a golf course based on what he was seeing, but it also meant something else: Jenny was sure to want to ride with him on the way over.

Jenny pulled the map from his grasp, immediately recognizing the location. “Thank God. We got a good one, and not downtown. Let’s go.”

She dragged him to her car, a newer model Lexus. It seemed he wouldn’t be driving even if he wanted to.

As soon as he was inside and strapped in, the Lexus was moving faster than he remembered driving in a very, very long time.

She flipped her hair behind her as she leaned in his direction. “So, Carl. Where do you live?”

Carl almost said Portland. It was such an innocuous question that he almost gave himself away. And he could admit to himself that he was off his game. “Camas.”

Camas was a compact town east of Vancouver, and he knew part of it was still in Vancouver School District territory. Jenny glanced at him, her eyes narrowing, and he quickly amended, “Not on the river. I live in a small three bedroom built in the 1930s.” Which was all true.

She rubbed her hand along Carl’s forearm. “Ooh, I always loved Camas. I think small towns have more charm.” She moved forward, resting her hand on his now, and he resisted pulling away. He only had three hours to go before this fiasco was over. Hopefully, forever.

Some dreams just weren’t meant to be.

* * *

The next three hours passed quicker than he would have believed, especially after he convinced her they needed to split up to cover more territory. He could tell she didn’t like it, but it was a tough argument to refute.

He was less than ten minutes in when he saw a blue dot in his eye. Not opening it, he continued on, not breaking to get a drink of water or a bite to eat or just to sit and talk, all of which Jenny proposed on multiple occasions. He powered onward, knocking on doors as he collected points.

Although he was here for ulterior reasons, about halfway through he decided he was in favor of the bond issue. Whether he talked to people who had kids or grandkids, most of the people he spoke with were in favor. A few closed the door on him, but rarely before he shook their hand.

Noon came and went, and Jenny was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t seen her in over an hour, when the road they solicited on split into different cul-de-sacs. He was so focused on the bond issue and gaining points that he’d forgotten all about her for a wonderful hour or so.

Backtracking, he went down the road he’d last seen her on. When he didn’t find her there, he tried each of the neighboring cul-de-sacs with no luck.

Tired of being on his feet in the heat, and more than a little hungry and thirsty, he walked back to where she’d parked her car.

Despite checking all around, and walking down a handful of streets, it was gone.

He’d left his flip phone at home and had no way to get back to the downtown area. He walked out to the main drive, hoping to see a taxi drive by, but after waiting for fifteen minutes he could admit it was unlikely to happen.

With no options left, he walked across the street and started canvassing for votes again. He was waiting until he stumbled upon a single man, but that took just shy of an hour before a man in his 60s answered the door. A glimpse through the open door and seeing the mess beyond made it obvious the man was single.

Carl went through his spiel, and the man agreed once he understood why Carl was at his door. Once the explanation was over, Carl said, “This is embarrassing, and I apologize for the imposition, but the woman I was working with drove off without me. Could I trouble you for a drive to the downtown area where I left my car?” Before the man would answer, he added, “I’d be more than happy to compensate you for your gas and time.”

At the sound of that, the old man smiled. “Forty bucks and we can leave right now.”

It was steep, but Carl didn’t care. He wanted to get back home to check his notifications. The nightmare of being young was close to being over.

He paid the man, who promptly pulled an old AMC Eagle out of his garage. Within minutes, he was on his way back.

* * *

After being dropped off and saying goodbye, he walked back into the building to hand in his materials and report back on his success. He hadn’t kept track of how many people said yes or no, but he had marked off which streets he’d gone down so the next person didn’t repeat it.

Jenny wasn’t in the building, but a few other people remained as they mingled and talked. He dutifully handed everything in, grabbing a few Hydrox cookies until he could eat a proper meal. He washed them down with a paper cup filled with lukewarm water.

His job done, he walked back to his car and drove south on I5 into Portland. It was time to get to work.

Chapter 6

“The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society. Those who manipulate this unseen mechanism of society constitute an invisible government, which is the true ruling power of our country. ...We are governed, our minds are molded, our tastes formed, our ideas suggested, largely by men we have never heard of. This is a logical result of the way in which our democratic society is organized. Vast numbers of human beings must cooperate in this manner if they are to live together as a smoothly functioning society. ...In almost every act of our daily lives, whether in the sphere of politics or business, in our social conduct or our ethical thinking, we are dominated by the relatively small number of persons...who understand the mental processes and social patterns of the masses. It is they who pull the wires which control the public mind.”

— Edward Bernays, Propaganda

He turned off I5, catching sight of a silver Lexus just a car behind him. A car that looked too similar to Jenny’s Lexus to be an accident.

Although he didn’t have a sense to confirm it, he felt a shiver go down his spine. He’d seen movies where women like this stalked their prey, getting crazier and crazier the longer the chase went on.

Talking a quick left, he dashed down an alley, only to take another left that took him away from his house. He needed to build up a lead so he could get his garage door open and the car inside before she spotted him.

He was driving parallel to McLoughlin when he spotted his favorite coffee stand. Pulling up, he waited in line until it was his turn. Moments later, a silver Lexus pulled into the line.

“Hey, Carl. You having the usual?” Thankfully, Dan wasn’t really paying attention to him as he cleaned the equipment between orders. Carl kept his head down so it would harder for Dan to see him. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he pulled in.

Carl kept glancing at his rearview mirror, unable to see the driver from the sun reflecting off her front windshield.

“Hi, Dan. I’ll take a small cup of coffee, and I’d like to pay for every car in line right now. Whatever they order, they get two of them. Whatever money is left over after that, you can keep as a tip.” Dan goggled as Carl passed him a hundred-dollar bill. If this was what his freedom cost him, it was money well spent.

Dan held up the bill as if he had trouble believing it. “Wow! You got it.”

His basic drip coffee with no sugar or cream was ready in moments. He took a sip despite it being too hot. He needed the caffeine to fortify him for what was coming next.

Although he’d never noticed it before, there was no way to get out of line, as a five-inch concrete berm kept everyone in line. He glanced over at the Lexus as he drove away, catching sight of Jenny through the driver’s side window.

She gave him a flirty wave. He didn’t wave back.

He was home in less than seven minutes, pulling the garage door open before closing it. He stayed just inside the garage door until he was sure no cars had been following him, then raced for the back door to let himself in.

He closed the back door so hard that the glass rattled, leaning against it before racing to the windows in the living room. He liked to keep them open, but not today. He closed them tight, not seeing a single Lexus while doing so.

A knock came at the door, and Carl nearly jumped out of his socks.

Dropping to the floor, Carl crawled to the door before standing up and peering through the peephole. With a sigh, he relaxed. It was Martha from next door.

“Carl, I saw you drive in. I just wanted to check if it was you I saw last night.”

He coughed loudly a few times. “It was, Martha. I’d open the door, but I’m afraid I’ve caught a cold from being out so late last night. I don’t want you to catch it.” If there was one thing people over seventy were afraid of, it was catching the common cold.

Martha backed away from the door. “Oh, I see.” She paused, not leaving the porch. “Then why did I see you driving around?”

He couldn’t believe how many lies he was telling. It was driving him crazy. “Oh, I went out to get some medicine through the drive-through pharmacy. That’s all.”

Martha nodded, backing farther away. Everyone over seventy knew that catching the cold could be fatal. It might not be this time, or the next time, but it was better to not take any chances with things like that.

Martha waved at him. “Okay, Carl. Get better soon. If you need a bowl of chicken noodle soup or some cough drops, call me and I’ll drop it by your door.”

“Thank you, Martha. I will.” With that, she turned and walked back to her house.

Turning away from the door, Carl wanted to sit in his recliner like he always did, but he couldn’t take the chance that someone might see him through the curtains. Instead, he went into his bedroom, grabbing his laptop along the way.

He lay down in bed, opening his waiting notifications first.

New DNA acquired: 103

Points for new DNA acquired: 2100

Unused DNA remaining: 0

For the first time since waking up yesterday, Carl felt like he was in control of his life again. He weighed whether to use all twenty-two hundred points he had, which would take him up to age 57, or to save some of them for something better down the line. He knew he wanted to buy other skills, but right now might not be the best time. Better to focus on the task at hand.

Deciding, he chose an imputed age of forty-nine. It would give him a few lines around his eyes and his skin wouldn’t look as tight and young as it did at this moment, but he didn’t feel like taking chances. He wanted to get this done and get back to his normal life.

Would you like to change your imputed age?

Current imputed age: 35

Current actual age: 35

Cost for changing a year of imputed age: 100 points

He said out loud, “Yes.”

New imputed age?

Note: changes to imputed age can take longer when healing broken DNA strands, removing smoking damage from lungs, healing broken neuron connections, healing micro-tears in muscle and ligaments, and repairing any physical damage due to age.

He didn’t think the note applied to him any longer, but if it did, that was fine. He just wanted this to be over. He focused his thoughts, repeating over and over that he wanted to add fourteen years of imputed age to what he had right now.

Something flashed in his eye just before he passed out.

* * *

When he woke up, it was still light out. He couldn’t be sure if it was the next day or the same day, so he checked his laptop. After it came up, he smiled. It was the same day.

Getting out of bed, he walked into the bathroom. Right away he could tell that his face looked older, but not as much as he’d been hoping. He would guess he looked like he was in his early to mid-forties—older, but not old enough.

Taking off his shirt, he saw that his muscles looked almost the same. The beginnings of the six-pack he’d had this morning weren’t there any longer, but his stomach was taut, and his biceps felt firm. He might chalk some of it to exercise, but Barbara and others might still raise questions.

Looking at his point balance, which sat at all of seven hundred points, there was little he could do about it now. Hungry from missing lunch, he took a chance and got into his car to drive down to the diner.

Chloe greeted him at the door, giving him a hug before directing him to the counter. It was that odd time between lunch and dinner, which meant the diner wasn’t even a quarter full.

Chloe waved to him from behind the counter. “You having the usual?”

Carl grinned. “Absolutely. With pie for dessert.”

Chloe put a cup of coffee before him, and minutes later a meatloaf sandwich followed. He read the paper while he ate, scanning through news articles for anything interesting. He was in the back of the finance section when he found one.

Vancouver Life Insurance Announces Layoffs

‘Neils Thomas, CEO and chairman, announced at a press conference that the beleaguered long-time insurance company would begin the layoff process soon. Said Thomas, “The company has been through extensive belt tightening for the last three years, and the board reluctantly voted in favor of beginning the layoff process. Vancouver Life has been a pillar of success in the Vancouver community for close to eighty years now, and this is the last thing we want to do.” No timeline has been given, and actual layoff numbers are still being considered.’

Carl remembered the women working on the top floor of that building. He’d liked the building, and the people inside looked to be hardworking. It would be an arduous time for everyone at the company, but he didn’t know if there was anything he could do about it. He had already allocated funds for Randy’s building, for purchasing the ad agency, for building up the law practice, and for drilling for gold and silver mines outside Medford. He didn’t think there would be much left over after that.

Still, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He finished his pie without even tasting it, all the while thinking about the insurance company. So far, every business they had purchased was small, but Vancouver Insurance was anything but. It was a large but local company which employed hundreds of people, and the layoffs would affect the economy in countless ways.

He paid his tab and left a nice tip before driving home. Even better, Martha didn’t bother him, thinking he must have gone out for more drugs again.

He called up the law firm after taking his shoes off.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello. This is Carl Thompson. Can you please ask Rebecca to set up a meeting next Monday or Wednesday with me? We need to discuss the building purchase and a few other opportunities.”

He could hear typing on the other end, so he knew she’d heard him. “I’ll pass the message along as soon as she’s out of her meeting. Once I have a date set, I’ll call you and let you know.”

Carl was about to thank her and hang up when she continued. “And just let me say, sir, that I’m very thankful that I still have a job. Rebecca and Robert have explained everything, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Carl blinked. “Oh. Yes, you’re very welcome. It worked out well for everybody, I think.”

They said goodbye moments later. If he’d ever needed a sign that buying an insurance company was the right thing to do, he’d just received it.

* * *

The next morning Carl was up and ready for work. He couldn’t deny he was still nervous that someone might call him out for looking too young, but he couldn’t pick up new points by working on political campaigns for the rest of his life. He needed points, and he needed them now.

The more rational part of his mind could admit that people would probably be paying him a compliment if they said anything, assuming he’d gotten plastic surgery or been exercising vigorously. As much as he knew that was true, it didn’t calm his nervousness.

He stopped by the diner for breakfast, enjoying a Denver omelet with hash browns and endless refills on coffee. Chloe was too busy to notice him beyond a quick wave, so he was on his way out after giving her a nod of gratitude and a healthy tip. Then he was off to work.

He set up in his usual location—the grocery entrance—after buying two packages of lollipops and a huge plastic container of wipes. He was ready for the day.

Work caused time to pass quickly, and he skipped his first break because he was having so much fun. Only a handful of people questioned his newfound youth, all of them women, and not a single one was complaining. Neither Bryn nor Terry stopped by, and all of his other greeters did their best to follow his rules. Before he knew it, the day was over, and it was time to head home.

He checked his points as soon as he had his shoes off, sitting down in his recliner and pulling it up. The little blue dot had blinked a few times during the day, but he’d gotten in the habit of ignoring it.

New DNA acquired: 386

Points for new DNA acquired: 7700

Unused DNA remaining: 1

He’d felt good today, and the numbers showed it. He’d taken a shorter lunch, skipped both breaks, and was still full of energy when he got home. He couldn’t remember feeling like this, having worked a full day and still ready to go out and have a few beers or stay up late watching movies. Not in a very, very long time.

Looking at the numbers, he smiled. It felt good to have points again, even if it was a relatively small number. He was about to close things out when he noticed another light flashing.

For a moment he worried that he’d killed another user accidentally, but he knew he hadn’t. Instead of worrying, he opened it up.

Mental attack resisted.

You have been afflicted with a thought-based attack. Current resistance vs. thought-based attacks: 7%.

Outcome: Resistance exceeded thought-form attack strength. +1% to thought-based attack resistance. Your mental attack capabilities have increased to 19%. All mental and thought-based attack and defense DNA previously acquired have been activated.

Carl hadn’t finished reading the notification before he passed out.

Chapter 7

“I can’t give you a sure-fire formula for success, but I can give you a formula for failure: try to please everybody all the time.”

— Herbert Bayard Swope

When Carl woke up, he was woozier than normal. He usually woke up refreshed after the blue boxes did something, but not this time.

Taking a deep breath before he stood up, he went into the kitchen to get something to eat. As good as he’d been feeling just moments ago, he didn’t feel up to going to the diner tonight.

Seeing as how the weather had been warming up, he pulled out a pork chop he’d purchased yesterday and cooked it on the grill. It was the old-fashioned type that used charcoal instead of propane, and Carl preferred it that way. There was something about charcoal that propane couldn’t replicate, and he knew that to be true after eating at Gene’s house. He used propane to cook everything, and it always tasted bland to Carl. The meat was still fine, but the taste of smoke was missing.

Not that he would ever tell Gene that.

The pork chop cooked in just a few minutes, and after he plated it, the phone rang. Shutting all the air vents on the barbeque, he got to the phone just before it went to the answering machine.

“Carl here.”

Speak of the devil. “Hi, Carl, it’s Gene. Wondered if I could stop by in a bit to go over a few things. I’ve got ideas for the security systems you might need for the building you want to buy.”

Carl smiled. He could use some company tonight. “Sure, Gene. Come on over. I’ll get some beers out of the fridge.”

He unlocked the front door before sitting down in his recliner, eating his pork chop and applesauce while watching the TV. With nothing worth watching on, he settled for the news, which was depressing as ever.

He heard a knock on the door before Gene stepped inside. They shook hands, then went over to the kitchen table. Before he even asked, he knew that Gene had brought a design layout with him.

Gene pulled a tube from behind his back, unfurling the paper onto the table while Carl brought a few glasses over to hold down the corners.

Carl handed him a beer before opening one himself. They both drank, then Gene started pointing at spots marked on the blueprints.

Gene grinned, altogether in his element now. “I’ve been thinking about the building you want to buy, and I have a few ideas. All the shops lack adequate security, but I don’t think that’s your problem. What I focused on is the coin shop and the upstairs apartments.” He took a sip of beer. “The upstairs has nothing in the way of security, not even locking windows in some areas.”

Carl held his hand up. “Wait a second, Gene. You’ve been inside? I haven’t been inside yet, except for the coin shop.”

Gene shook his head, a knowing look on his face. “No, I haven’t been inside. I took out my high-spec binoculars and surveyed it from across the street.” Then he grinned. “Although I would love to get inside. I can see stuff stacked up in there, but I can’t make out what it is. The windows are too dirty to get a clear look.”

They talked for another forty-five minutes while Gene laid out his dream security system. It included security cameras in each corner of the building, with the four exposed corners having cameras facing both ways. He also had plans to upgrade the locks on all the doors and windows, along with a central hub where a security person could monitor everything going on within and without the building.

Carl thought that last point was going overboard, but he had to give it to Gene. He had thought this through, and it looked good.

Gene pulled another piece of paper out of the tube. “Wait until you see this.”

When he had it unfolded, Carl saw that it was a picture of a large safe with a massive security door. To Carl’s eye, it looked like the size just below walk in. Inside it had rows of shelves for storing goods, along with an area to place cash boxes after work. Even if he didn’t understand all of what he was looking at, Carl knew it was better than what Randy had right now. Anything was better than that old safe.

Carl looked up, meeting Gene’s eyes. “How much?”

Gene smiled wide, an eager look in his eyes. “Twenty thousand, including installation.”

Carl nodded. That’s wasn’t bad at all for some peace of mind. “Does that include embedding it into cement, or at least attaching it to something secure in the building? You know, so the thieves can’t just haul it away?”

Gene’s smile faltered before fading away. “I… didn’t think of that. I’d guess a conservative ten thousand for that on top of the twenty.”

Carl smiled. His job here wasn’t to tear Gene’s plans to pieces, but to build him up and give him confidence that what he was doing was the right thing.

“It looks good.” Carl took one last gulp of beer before tossing the can into the recycling bin. “Look, Gene. I’m having a meeting with the lawyers and my business manager sometime next week. Why don’t you come along so you can provide security input? And, before you get too excited, this is only the first job of many.”

Gene’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “What’s next?”

Carl leaned closer, like they’d done many times when talking about conspiracy theories in public. Those had been more desperate days for both of them. “I need you to figure out how to keep a gold mine safe from thieves. That includes people from outside, but also those doing the digging on the inside who might want to toss a few nuggets in their pockets before leaving.”

Both men smiled, each lost in their thoughts. Now that Carl was past the worst of the points debacle, he wanted to get back to business.

* * *

Gene left after two more beers, the talk turning to conspiracies mixed with business mixed with old movies they both wanted to see again. It felt right.

After he left, Carl shut the house down for the night and got ready for bed. He wanted to do one last upgrade before he fell asleep.

This time, he increased his imputed age to 65, spending sixteen hundred points to do so. Even with his meager points reserves, he thought it was worth doing so before his date tomorrow with Barbara.

When he woke up the next morning, he did a fast walk into the bathroom to see his face in the mirror.

He had much more pronounced lines around his eyes, mouth, and forehead, and looking at his arm, he saw that his bicep definition wasn’t anywhere near as pronounced as it had been before. He even had a few wisps of white hair around his temples.

He couldn’t be happier.

That done, he went to the diner for breakfast. It was just after 6am, so the crowd was still light. This time Chloe gave him a hug before directing him to the counter. The police officer he sometimes met around this time of the morning wasn’t here, so he ate in silence, enjoying his eggs over easy and hash browns with a few slices of bacon on top. He took his time, and when the paper became available, he grabbed it and started reading.

That done, he drove to the law offices. He hadn’t heard a response on what day their meeting was, but he had other matters to attend to now. It was just after 8:30am.

The receptionist hadn’t arrived yet, but Rebecca waved him inside once she saw him through the windows. She had a pile of paper on her desk, but she looked happy despite this.

Rebecca looked at the calendar on her laptop before looking up at him. “Carl! What are you doing here? Do we have a meeting I forgot about?”

He smiled, sitting down across from her. “No, nothing like that. I wanted to go over a few things with you, but only if you have time. If you’re busy, I’ll leave.”

Rebecca leaned back in her chair. She’d been through the scariest time of her life when she thought they would lose the business, only to have the man across from her come in and give them a much-needed cash infusion. If that wasn’t enough, the advertising he’d paid for was doing wonders for their business and doubling the number of clients they had.

“How much time do you need? I have to get some of these cases finished today.”

Carl grinned. He’d deposited a retainer of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars of advertising with the agency he planned to buy, which was one of his topics. It seemed the advertising was working.

“Fifteen minutes?”

Rebecca smiled, relaxing back in her chair. “I can do fifteen minutes. What’s up?”

Carl laid out his plans now that he’d sold the gold coins. It was time to get some things moving.

“So that’s it in a nutshell. I’d like to buy the mineral rights down in Medford that we spoke about, and I still owe you half of a partner’s share. We have a meeting sometime next week to discuss buying the building just over there,”—Carl pointed behind him — “and I’d like you to look into Vancouver Life Insurance. The company is undergoing layoffs and isn’t doing well financially. I doubt I can afford to buy out all the stock, but I’d like to have options along with your opinion.”

Rebecca was taking copious notes while he spoke, but looked up when he mentioned buying a life insurance company. “Really? A life insurance company?”

He shrugged. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. I don’t want to invest in it as that would be throwing good money away into a failing company, unless investing gets me a majority share. The stock isn’t publicly traded, so all of this would be new to me.”

She had to hand it to him. The man had aspirations. “All I can promise you is that I’ll look into it. Insurance companies are heavily regulated, just like banks are. It would be a challenge, but I have a feeling you’re up for a challenge.”

Carl looked at the clock on Rebecca’s wall and saw that his fifteen minutes were up. He stood but didn’t leave just yet. “You might also think about hiring on some junior associates to help with the paperwork and anything else you need done. Just a thought.”

Rebecca gave him a soft smile. “I’ll think about it.” When she saw his expression, she said, “I really will, Carl. But I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t afraid of overspending, especially after we just got back on our feet.”

He nodded. “I understand. Do what you think is best.”

With that, Carl took his leave, leaving the law office to walk down the street to the coin shop.

It was a true spring day out, with a slight breeze keeping it from being too hot while clouds threatened rain from the west. As he pushed through the door, Randy waved him in from behind the counter.

He was counting out what looked like new coins that had just arrived, a mixture of old and new. Carl reached out his hand to shake out of habit.

Randy gave him a wide grin. “Good to see you, Carl. What brings you my way?”

Carl motioned back toward the law office. “I just came from seeing Rebecca and decided to walk over and see my favorite gold bug. How’re you doing?”

Randy gave a broad smile. “The advertising has worked out amazingly well. This is all stuff I ordered just to back fill what people have already purchased, and I expect more to show up tomorrow. It’s only been two weeks, and I’m doing more business than I usually do in a month.”

Carl smiled in return, but his was more muted. He found that he couldn’t help thinking ahead these days, to the next roadblock or problem. Instead of enjoying the moment, his mind was always somewhere between a week to a month or more in time ahead of the present day.

“Have you talked to Gene about buying the new safe?”

Randy stopped counting coins, his eyes narrowing as they met Carl’s. “Not yet. Why, what’s wrong with my dad’s old safe?”

Carl sighed. Better to break the news now, to allow Randy time to absorb it. “That safe isn’t… well, safe, anymore. Not for the amount of money you’re keeping in it. It probably never was. It’s too old, and while I think you should keep it as a display up front, I’ve already agreed to fund the purchase of a new safe once the electrical system is sorted out.”

Randy had a forlorn look for a few long moments. Then he brightened. “I like it! We’ll keep the safe up front for everyone to look at, while I have a brand new one to play with?” It was tough to keep Randy down. “That’s outstanding!”

Carl was looking at coins, for no other reason than they looked interesting. So many countries had used gold in the past until a banker came along and replaced it with paper. It was the ultimate Ponzi scheme.

“You’ve seen the engineer’s report, haven’t you?”

Carl stilled. Of all his business partners, none had as high a need for security as Randy did. His other ventures needed money, and maybe a few words of business advice sprinkled in to get them by. But not Randy. He would only feel secure once Carl had purchased the building outright. Which, he could admit, he was very close to doing.

Turning around, Carl was all business because he had a feeling that was what Randy needed right now. “I’ve read it. A few times, in fact. Some of it is good, while other parts aren’t. But I don’t think that will stop me from buying it.”

Randy opened his mouth, but Carl forestalled it by speaking first. “But I want you to promise me you’ll give Gene your full attention when he talks to you about a security system for the coin shop. Your business is about to get a lot bigger than you ever thought it would, and so in return for buying the building, I’d like two things.”

Randy closed his eyes, letting the information absorb into him. He’d been down on his luck for most of his life, and now someone was standing up for him. With him. It was a heady feeling.

“What are they? I’ll promise I’ll do my best, but you know I have strong feelings about owning the building.”

Carl knew he was telling the truth. Carl ticked them off, finger by finger. “First, you won’t argue about any necessary upgrades to your shop. That might include closing it for a few days while the contractors get everything done, but that shouldn’t affect things too much. Isn’t most of your business online now?”

Randy knew that was true, but it also wasn’t true at the same time. “For most of my sales, yes, you’re right. But we’ve picked up a steady clientele coming in now that word is out about the shop. One lady drove up from Salem the other day because she saw my ad on some survivalist channel on YouTube. Pretty cool, right?”

Carl could only agree. That was pretty cool. But that didn’t mean what he said wasn’t true. “How about this, then? When the shop is closed for upgrades, you offer free shipping for orders over a minimum purchase. Say two hundred bucks. Or whatever you think is best. A special offer to keep the money coming in while the shop is being repaired.”

Randy thought it over. “I like it. I’ve never done something like that, so I might need your help. And I’ll need Sue’s help to get the ad made. She did a brilliant job on the last one. Have you seen it?”

Carl knew she’d been working hard for all the businesses and he’d found a flyer for FastCycle on his windshield after a date with Barbara in Portland city center. They had both laughed about it, and Carl had kept it as a memento. He’d also seen the ad for the law firm late at night during a commercial. It was well done, professional through and through. It showed Rebecca, although she said nothing except one line at the end: ‘If you need help with a divorce, a separation, or with child custody, call us. We’re here to help.’

But he hadn’t seen the ad for the coin shop, primarily because he had never used YouTube. He had a vague idea what it was all about, but it wasn’t something that interested him enough to spend valuable time on it.

He told his friend the truth. “I’m sorry, Randy, but I haven’t.”

Randy waved it away. “Just a sec and I’ll find it.” Randy pulled out a rectangular, flat computer from under the counter. He’d seen them in the same shop when he’d purchased his laptop, but he’d never looked at them very closely.

The ad came up seconds later, loud music blaring with explosions and gunfire in the background before a gravelly man’s voice spoke that wasn’t Randy’s. ‘If you’re serious about being a survivalist, I can guarantee you’ve forgotten one thing. Gold. When the end of the world as we know it comes, you won’t be able to find it anywhere, because smarter people than you will already have hoarded it all. For those of you who don’t remember what our country was like before the bankers took over, we used gold and silver as our exclusive currency. You couldn’t buy anything with paper money.’ The voice paused as images of destruction passed by, almost too fast to see even with his improved eyesight. ‘After TEOTWAWKI, those that survive won’t be bartering beads. They’ll be bartering lives and food. Or buying it with the only currency that truly matters: GOLD!’ The voice paused again, then came back much louder. ‘Be prepared! Buy gold now before the government steals all of it out from under us. Only then can you be truly prepared for the end of times.’

A nuclear bomb went off, which looked like it was an archived movie clip from the early nuclear tests in the late ‘40s and ‘50s. Carl was both horrified and impressed, and he didn’t doubt that it worked well on Randy’s target audience. Not that he was a survivalist, but if he saw it, it might sway him to pick up a few thousand dollars’ worth just in case.

He looked up from the computer to Randy. “Sue made this?” He remembered Sue, and she didn’t seem like the kind of woman to create something like this. Not even a little.

Randy laughed. “She did. The first version wasn’t as loud and didn’t have the nuclear bomb at the end. I added them, and I think they really helped.”

Carl could only nod. His role wasn’t to judge, even though a part of him very much wanted to. Then he looked back at Randy, who was waiting for him to say something.

Clearing his throat, he spoke as honestly as he could muster. The shock still hadn’t worn off yet. “It’s… impressive. Really well done.”

Randy beamed. “I know. Some of my friends came in just to talk about the ad. I kind of wish I had a TV on the wall so I could play it over and over for when people come in.”

Carl didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

An awkward silence descended, and Carl beat a hasty retreat. As he was heading toward the door, he said, “I’m meeting with Rebecca next week to discuss the building. We should have a decision then.”

Randy waved back and forth. “Thanks, Carl. I’ll let you know if I get the TV installed.”

Carl sighed. He liked Randy, but that was an asinine idea. He thought about it all the way down the street to where his car was parked until he remembered how much gold and silver Randy had sold. He didn’t know the exact amount, but it was large. Maybe it wasn’t as asinine as he’d first thought.

Chapter 8

“Corruption is worse than prostitution. The latter might endanger the morals of an individual, the former invariably endangers the morals of an entire country.”

—Karl Kraus

Carl went home after that, having nothing left to do with himself. When he got there, a message was blinking on his answering machine.

“Hi Carl, this is Rebecca. I’ve got a preliminary report prepared on Vancouver Life Insurance. It’s brief but should be enough detail for right now. I can tell you that the company was last valued at eight million dollars, although that valuation is over two years old. The company’s stock is privately held by people in the company and a few outside investors. Sorry I don’t have more, but I sent it to your email to read. Hope you have a great weekend, Carl. Talk to you later.”

Carl saved the report before deleting the message from his laptop. He would read it, but it might be better if he read it while eating. It was close to lunchtime, and his stomach was rumbling.

He pulled out a variety of leftovers, including fried chicken that Barbara had given him before his… episode, a pre-washed bag of lettuce, half an onion, and a few other things. He cut it up and mixed it all together before pouring an unhealthy amount of ranch dressing over the entire thing. Mixing the bowl a few times with a large spoon, he took his meal out to the living room and grabbed his laptop along the way.

He ate while reading through the report. Just as Rebecca had promised, it was short but concise. Included were several articles in the local papers going back a year, including one that mentioned an enormous claims loss on a mis-priced disability policy they’d sold in the nineties up until 2009, when they fixed it. That policy, along with a few poor business decisions, had cut into profits and was a big reason why he had sensed it failing.

She had also circled an article citing the valuation, which mentioned that the largest shareholder wasn’t the CEO or the chairman of the board but a retiree living in Battleground, Washington, who had picked the stock up as an investment over two decades ago.

While all of that was interesting, it didn’t really matter. Even if the price was only a little over four million to gain a majority ownership of shares, he didn’t have it. All of his money was committed to other things, and he didn’t plan to change that.

He could always go looking for more hidden stashes of gold coins, but even that probably wouldn’t get him what he needed. The problem wasn’t finding the coins. It was finding ones rare enough, and in a large enough volume, to bring in millions and not just a few hundred thousand.

Tapping his foot while he turned on the TV, he found Breakfast at Tiffany’s was on. It was the original, not the horrible remake. He could admit to his older self that he’d lusted after Audrey Hepburn more than a little back in the day.

The movie was fine, but the problem still distracted him while he watched. He needed money to see this next venture through, and he didn’t have it. Wishing and hoping wouldn’t change a thing.

As the closing credits wound down, Carl paused as his mind caught up to what he’d just thought.

He needed money, not just gold or silver. Any money was good, whether it had collectible value or was accepted as legal tender.

Responding to his thoughts, a notification popped up. Carl smiled when he read it.

To find paper money, two or more of the following DNA samples are required:

* Hawk (accipitrine)–any species

* Common Dog (Canis Lupus)

* Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos)

* Termites (Termitidae)

Carl already had dog DNA somewhere inside of him, as odd as that sounded. He knew he had no chance at finding hawk or golden eagle DNA, which left termites as the last, best option.

He almost opened his laptop again, but something was wrong; he just couldn’t put his finger on it. What wasn’t he seeing?

Then he had it. If he did somehow absorb termite DNA, he could find money, he was sure of that. But that wasn’t what he needed.

He needed to find money that had no current owner, whether paper or coins. Money that didn’t belong to anyone, that he could claim uncontested to buy Vancouver Life Insurance and other businesses after that. How long that might take him, he didn’t know, but it was preferable to find out it was impossible than to not try at all.

Changing his thought, the blue boxes responded.

To find lost money*, two or more of the following DNA samples are required:

* Hawk (accipitrine)–any species

* Common Dog (Canis Lupus)

* Beagle dog (Canis familiaris)

* Termites (Termitidae)

Note*: lost is defined as being unclaimed for a minimum of two solar years.

Carl got up and looked at the clock. It was just after 6pm on a Friday night, which he thought was too late to visit any of the animal shelters. Finding termites would mean reaching out to exterminators, which would send him skittering down a rabbit hole.

No, he needed to find a beagle. How hard could that be?

Not knowing the answer to that question, he got in his car and drove to the local dog park. He knew the location because he ran by it quite often, as families and their dogs frequented it quite often while an adult—usually male—held a plastic baggy for Spot’s inevitable accident. Carl could only shake his head at what modern society had turned into.

Getting out of his car, he walked the circumference of the park, all the while looking for a beagle. He saw every other breed of dog, although most of the dogs here seemed to be Labradors or smaller dogs that he didn’t recognize. He’d never been a dog or cat person himself, but he could admit that a lot of these dogs looked well-loved and well behaved.

Sighing, Carl got back in his car and pulled open his laptop. He didn’t have a Wi-Fi connection, so he drove until he was outside a Starbucks and pulled it open again. He’d picked that little tip up in his community college class.

He searched for dog parks, finding several in his area. One was the park he’d just visited, so he headed further north to the largest he’d found east of the Willamette.

When he arrived, the park was packed with dogs and people. He did a quick scan for a beagle, but saw nothing resembling the dog he wanted.

Getting out, he walked the much longer circumference, all the while on the hunt for a small, floppy-eared, brown, black, and white dog.

He was halfway around when he spotted a beagle playing with a schnauzer, both of them on their rear legs as they batted at each with their front paws. He picked out the beagle owner quickly and already knew what he would say.

Carl sidled up next to the beagle owner, who looked over at him with question marks in his eyes. “Yes…?”

Holding his hand out to shake, Carl introduced himself. He then explained, “I’m thinking of getting a beagle, and thought I’d come talk to an owner before I pulled the trigger. I couldn’t help but notice how playful he is, and he’s just the right size for me. I don’t want a larger dog, and the small ones are too…”

Carl trailed off. What was the problem with the small ones?

“Yappy.” The other man grinned at him. “I fully agree. I’m Mike, and that adorable little guy over there is Togo.”

Carl nodded. Instead of pronouncing it like the country, Mike had instead pronounced it as ‘to-go.’ He had the impression that dog owners differed from normal people. They were nice, but strange.

“What do you think? Does the breed have any inherent medical issues?”

Mike waved it away. “No, not really. Any dog that inbreeds too long can have problems, but Togo is fine. He’s been a great dog, and the family loves him.”

They talked for a while, Carl coming up with questions and Mike answering them with a smile. The back and forth went on for a good while until Mike checked his watch.

He turned to Carl. “I’m sorry, but we must be going. It’s been a pleasure talking to you.”

Carl smiled. “It most certainly has been. Would you mind very much if I gave him a quick pat on the head?”

Mike laughed. “Not at all! He loves scratches under the chin.” Mike picked up Togo and handed him to Carl.

Holding him in his arms, Carl scratched under the beagle’s chin, the dog’s tail wagging becoming stronger and faster in response. Togo somehow managed to roll over in Carl’s arms without Carl dropping him, so Carl scratched his belly.

Realizing that he was holding up Mike, he returned the dog to his care. Mike gave him a knowing look. “I think you’ll be a fine beagle owner. Make sure you join the beagle owners’ club. We meet here every Saturday and take them on walks through the neighborhood. The kids love it.”

Carl nodded, ignoring the blue dot in the corner of his eye. He’d never been one to consider owning a dog, but he really liked Togo. Maybe it was his advanced age, but having a companion would be nice.

When he got home, Carl did his best to ignore the blue box waiting for him while he had a snack before turning on the TV and searching for movies. He found one he’d watched multiple times over the years, and it had never failed to impress: The Dirty Dozen. Every time he saw it, he loved it a little more than the time before.

Tired from a long day of work, he turned off the lights in the house before getting ready for bed as soon as the movie was over. Only when he was tucked in did he focus on the blue box he knew was waiting for him.

Lupus Specialis DNA acquired.

DNA integration will be completed in 4 hours, 19 minutes.

To his surprise, he didn’t pass out. Instead, he felt a warmth spread through him that made him pull the blankets off because he was too hot. He stayed like that for ten minutes, giving the clock on his bedside table one last glance before dozing off to sleep.

* * *

When he awoke, he felt great. The beagle DNA had integrated with his body, although from his reflection in the mirror he didn’t look any different.

Getting dressed, he drove down to the diner for an early breakfast. It wasn’t yet 5:30am, and only a few people woke that early on a Saturday.

Chloe was refilling coffee for an older man sitting at the counter. “What’re you having, Carl?”

He gave Chloe a warm smile. “Any specials this morning?”

She shook her head while pouring him a cup. “No, but we have a special tonight. Barbecue short ribs with our home-made barbecue sauce. It’s spicy without being too hot.” She gave him a knowing grin. “Should I save a booth for you and Barbara?”

He shook his head. He loved good barbecue, but he wouldn’t miss out on seeing Barbara for it. “No, we’re staying in tonight. She’s making me dinner.”

Chloe grinned, and Carl shook his head. He knew Chloe would say nothing out of turn, but he felt bad about giving out gossip like that.

He knew the menu by heart and felt like trying something different today. “I’ll take a Greek omelet with a side of bacon and hash browns. Plus, toast and a banana muffin to go.”

Chloe wrote it all down faster than he had said it, then placed it on the counter for her husband. She placed a jar of ketchup down in front of him, because she knew he liked ketchup on his hash browns. And his omelets, too.

Picking up a newspaper someone had left behind, he started reading while eating. He didn’t pick up anything noteworthy until he reached the last page of the financial section.

Layoffs Confirmed: Vancouver Life Announces Plans

Feb 28th: A spokeswoman for the beleaguered life insurance company released a statement late last night, citing economic conditions as the reason they planned to release 225 people from across the company’s operations. Quoted was Neils Thomas, the CEO and chairman of the life insurance company. “We feel this action is a necessary part of Vancouver Life’s rehabilitation, and the board agrees. We are offering enhanced packages to those affected by this action and have high hopes that we can bring them back into our family once our bottom line is stronger.”

Carl read it twice to make sure he didn’t miss anything pertinent. His first thought was that this Neils Thomas was a liar, and he doubted the man felt bad about letting people go. This was confirmed in his mind when he saw that there was no mention of the CEO taking a pay cut to help the insurance company get back on its feet.

Putting the paper down, Carl felt sick. He’d liked the people he’d met a few days ago, even if he didn’t know all their names. They appeared to be honest people doing an honest day’s work, and he wanted to help them.

Checking the time, he saw it was 6:15am. Swallowing the dregs of his third cup of coffee, he left a nice tip for Chloe before heading out. He had until 3:30pm before he needed to get back and get ready to go over to Barbara’s. That gave him roughly seven hours to see how much money he could find.

He turned on his newest sense as soon as he left the diner, immediately picking up the scent. It smelled of dusty paper, and after a bit of searching, he found a crumpled one-dollar bill under a pile of trash.

Carl shook his head, although he placed the dollar bill in his wallet. He’d found it, after all. Still, he knew finding dollar bills one at a time wouldn’t do it. He kept the sense active as he got into his car, driving the back roads because he could drive slower on his way home. He picked up similar scents along the way, but he ignored them. Whether it was one dollar or five dollars, he needed more. He needed the equivalent of his gold finds, a scent so strong that he couldn’t ignore it.

Once he was home, the scent went off again, and after a bit of searching in his small bookcase, he found twenty dollars he had used as a bookmark in a hardback novel he’d been reading decades ago. Instead of taking it, he left it where it was.

Getting on his laptop, he searched for bank robberies in Portland. He found quite a few, although almost all of them old, from a time when Randy’s safe was still modern. That led him to searching for shipwrecks, and he found several, most of them where the Columbia river and the Pacific Ocean met. That area had a reputation for being dangerous, and it had taken many ships and lives before the numerous sandbars there had been marked.

Scratching that idea off the ideas list, he kept searching. He discovered that the problem wasn’t finding where money had been stolen; it was finding where it might be right now. No matter which bank robbery had occurred where the stolen money hadn’t resurfaced, there appeared to be dozens of theories of what had happened to that money when it wasn’t found later.

The articles stated the bank robbers had fled to Mexico, but he doubted that was true. Oh, maybe for an adventurous few, but others would prefer to lie low, biding their time until the police stopped looking. He knew that was what he would do.

Then a thought occurred to him: would bank robbery money be lost money, if the bank robber no longer had ownership? Or would the bank still own it, no matter how many years had passed since it was stolen?

Too confused to know the answer, he got in his car and drove the back roads toward the Columbia. He didn’t have a location in mind, but he had a full tank of gas and the hope that he would stumble on to something positive.

Chapter 9

“With the exception only of the period of the gold standard, practically all governments in history have used their exclusive power to issue money to defraud and plunder the people.”

— Friedrich A. Hayek

The scent of lost money was nearly continuous, like background noise that his mind learned to ignore. It was rare for him to go more than a minute or two before it returned, but it never varied much in strength. To his mind that meant a single bill, no matter what the denomination.

He was almost to Jantzen Beach, not yet having crossed the bridge, when a powerful scent hit him. The scent filled his nostrils, a mustiness mixed with the same paper smell. It was near, and strong enough to keep him from smelling anything else.

Parking his car, he followed his nose. The area was too industrial to have any other people walking by, so no one noticed that he was sniffing his way along as he followed the scent. The sidewalk he was on had a chain-link fence next to it, one that he could see through. Inside the fence was an old building, long abandoned by whoever owned it. Still, the fence had innumerable ‘No Trespassing’ signs on it.

Peering around the corner, the scent became stronger. He was close. All he had to do was pinpoint it and come back later like he had for the gold coins he’d found a while ago, his first big find.

Leaving the sidewalk, he walked a zigzag in the street, going back and forth. The scent was hard to pin down, and he walked a few circles until he homed in on it.

Looking down, he was standing on a round sewer grate. The forging company name had rubbed off from so many cars driving over it for decades. As he scanned around him, he realized the grate was in the middle of the east facing lane, not off to the side where water would drain into it.

Which meant it was an access grate.

Noting his location, he walked back to his car and wrote the cross street down on a pad of paper. Before he came back to claim whatever was down there, he would need gear.

Then he felt a twinge of insecurity. Was he willing to violate an unknown number of laws just to get at whatever money might be down there? He knew himself well enough to know that he had never been one for breaking laws. It was a slippery slope he wanted no part of and had always avoided for that very reason.

Still, whatever was down there remained unclaimed. It could be millions or something less, but it was still a lot of money. He could go to whoever was responsible for the sewer system here, but they wouldn’t listen. He could already hear himself trying to talk sense to a bureaucrat on the other end of the line.

“Yes, there is money down there. Millions, maybe more. I don’t want to go down because I’d be breaking the law, but you could head down and get it and give half to me. No, I’m not drunk…”

Carl shook his head. It wouldn’t work. He’d dealt with the city bureaucracy long enough to know that they wouldn’t listen, even with the enticement of free money. The only question was whether he would ignore this one and try to find a different one, or break the law and try to get this one out. There wasn’t another choice.

Instead of choosing, he kept driving. It wasn’t even 11am yet, so he drove along the Columbia river more or less, following back roads as he headed east.

Chapter 10

“Paper money eventually returns to its intrinsic value: zero.”

— Voltaire

While driving, Carl did his best to ignore the part of his mind that told him it was okay to get the money. It was an insidious thought, one that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he told it no. He didn’t regret acquiring the skill, but he regretted the situation it had placed him in.

Doing his best to enjoy the drive, he didn’t even register that he was smelling another large scent until it smacked him in the face. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was, other than that he was near the Columbia. To his surprise, he found that he was past the airport and I205, on his way through a mixed residential neighborhood on the way towards Mt. Hood.

How in the devil had he come so far without realizing it?

Quickly checking the time, he saw that it was 1:12pm. He let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he had time to focus on what he’d just scented before heading back to get ready for his date with Barbara.

The road he was on was busy with road traffic taking advantage of a nice weekend in the mountains, so at the next intersection he turned off and parked a ways down the street. He could tell the scent was behind him; he only needed to find it.

He unbuttoned the top button of his short-sleeve shirt, enjoying the warmth from the sun high overhead. The breeze off the Columbia was stronger here, throwing his hair around a bit as he walked. It felt good.

He walked back several streets, noticing that a good number of the homes on this street had paint peeling from the siding and the ground level windows blocked off with sheets of plywood. This was a working-class neighborhood down on its luck, but he didn’t feel unsafe. Enjoying the walk, he came upon an open field, and he knew without a doubt that this was the source of the scent he had caught. He didn’t know how far down it was or its precise location, and he had the distinct feeling that exploring it right now wasn’t safe. Better to wait until the middle of the night and try then.

Walking back to his car, he noted a few younger men on their porches watching him behind cheap sunglasses. They said nothing and didn’t attempt to stop him, but he felt their eyes on him as he walked. Not wanting to react, he kept his pace steady, enjoying the day as he walked back to his car.

Once he was inside, he jotted down where the money was and turned around back to Portland. Less than forty minutes later, he parked out front of the diner and walked inside to order lunch.

The diner was full to capacity, so he waited for twenty minutes until a seat opened up at the counter. Instead of ordering the meatloaf sandwich, he changed things up and ordered the Caesar salad because he knew Barbara was cooking him dinner, and he wanted to be hungry for more than just her tonight.

The Caesar was creamy and lemony, with a healthy amount of roasted chicken on top. It was delicious.

Once he had paid the check, he headed to the hardware store. He doubted he’d be able to visit either location tonight, but he hoped he would have time the following night. It would make work at Wal-Mart Monday morning that much harder, but worth it if he came home with the money.

Walking in, he shook hands with every salesman he could find, his questions varying from where to find shovels to how to remove sod without showing it had been dug up and what was the best way to hold the dirt that he dug up when he didn’t have access to a wheelbarrow. The blue light in the corner of his eye told him he was doing something right.

After perusing different aisles of tools, he purchased a light canvas tarp to put the dirt he dug up on, a large backpack to hold whatever he found, and a shorter length shovel to dig. He was already going over things in his mind, starting with how to approach the problem. He couldn’t bring a light or it would give him away, and it would be better if he tried when it was raining. That would drown out any noise.

He shook the cashier’s hand for good measure, the woman behind the counter giving him a saucy look. Grabbing his bags, he walked at a brisk pace back to the car. He was back home in fifteen minutes.

Getting everything out and stowed away in the trunk for later, he got ready for his date. They had both agreed to keep things casual, so he didn’t need to dress formally, but he did need to shower and shave. He already had a light stubble from not shaving for a day and a half.

Once he was clean, he put on a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, then pulled on a sports jacket to complete the ensemble. He would need a haircut in a few days, but otherwise he looked fine. And last but not least, his actual age.

Barbara greeted him at the door with a warm kiss, and he handed her a fragrant bouquet he’d picked up along the way. He didn’t know which the flowers the florist had used, but they had pretty pinks and greens with a few blues thrown in.

Barbara took them graciously, already moving toward the kitchen to put them in a vase. “Why don’t you sit down, Carl? Dinner will be ready in a half hour or so.”

He set the bottle of wine he’d brought on the counter before sitting down. They made chit chat about the past few days, enjoying being in each other’s company.

Barbara popped out to the kitchen when the buzzer went off, bringing the main course back to the table. It wasn’t meatloaf like he’d expected, but something almost as good: a three-layer lasagna, with the cheese on top bubbling into little pools of oil. It looked and smelled divine.

Then she brought out aluminum foil wrapped garlic bread, and he could tell just from the odor that she had used real garlic on top, not the dried stuff.

By the time he had finished eating, he’d had three pieces of lasagna and over half of the garlic bread. And he didn’t regret a single bite. Barbara promised she would send him home with most of what was left over, as she doubted she would have time to eat it at work.

It sounded like a lie, but not the kind of lie you called a woman friend on. Carl, being a gracious guest, accepted it all, rubbing his stomach like he’d just found out he was pregnant. Just the thought made him chuckle.

They sat down on the sofa to watch a movie, and Barbara brought out freshly made brownies. They had a crispy top with slightly gooey insides, all made with real chocolate.

The chocolate lessened the smell of garlic, and they weren’t even fifteen minutes into the movie when Carl leaned over and kissed her. His 73-year-old self could barely remember getting into the sort of activities they got up to that night, much less imagine doing them with a woman as lovely as Barbara.

* * *

They went to breakfast together at the diner, enjoying the comfort of a booth. Chloe made sure they got excellent service, and he made sure she received an excellent tip.

Saying goodbye for the next few days was difficult, as Barbara was working the evening shift while Carl worked the morning to early afternoon shifts. They kissed for a while in his car, only breaking apart so he could drive her home. They talked about ways to make their schedules work somehow, but it didn’t seem possible until next Friday night.

Along the way, she asked, “Carl, where do you see us going in the next few years?”

The light turned red, and Carl hit the brakes a little too hard. Embarrassed, and a little off balance, he replied, “I see us together. I want what we have to last, whether it’s doing what we’re doing right now or something else.” He didn’t explain the something else, as they both knew what he meant.

She nodded, her eyes on what was outside the car and not on him. “And if we moved in together?”

He paused, thinking. It would take a few adjustments for both of them, but he imagined it would take more from him. Not because of his business ventures or working at Wal-Mart, but the reason behind why he was doing those things. That wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have with anyone yet.

“Well?” Barbara interrupted his thoughts, and he realized he’d been silent too long.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I think it would require changes from both of us. Both in how our lives would fit together, but also for our housing. You already know that I want to expand my home so my children and their grandkids can visit, so I would want that done if we moved into my place.” He steered the car onto her street. “And if it were your house, I think that would be difficult. Not because I don’t love you or your home, but because I’d be in the same position with my children as I am right now.”

He could barely hold back the sadness when he finished speaking. He wasn’t crying, but he very much missed his family.

Barbara scooted over and gave him a hug, then a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t we compromise then? While you have the work done on your house, you can move in with me. We’ll test it out and see if we like it. And depending on how it goes, we can move on with whatever feels right to the both of us.”

Based on the way Barbara said it, he knew how she wanted to progress their relationship. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want that too. It was just that… well, his life had become complicated over the last three months. He didn’t see that changing until he had a lot of points in reserve, and more cash in his bank accounts, to be comfortable enough to get married.

He kissed her back, this time on the lips. “I like that. I don’t have a contractor scheduled yet, but let me get on that and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

She mumbled into his neck, “You better. You have enough money for it.”

To that, he didn’t respond.

Chapter 11

“By this means (fractional reserve banking) government may secretly and unobserved, confiscate the wealth of the people, and not one man in a million will detect the theft.”

- John Maynard Keynes

After dropping Barbara off, he stopped at home before deciding to head south, following the Willamette river while he sniffed for lost money. For a fleeting moment he debated researching Vancouver Life further, but figured he could do that when he got home. No matter how much research he did, it wouldn’t matter one bit if he didn’t have the money to purchase it.

It was cooler today, so he turned on the heat while driving with the window down. As before, he kept to the back roads, keeping his speed down so he could sniff for any scents. If a car got on his tail, he pulled over to let it pass.

He went through West Linn and Oregon City, finding nothing all the way to Wilsonville. Some of these roads he hadn’t been down in ages, and a few he’d never been on. Life had a tendency to force him to take the interstates, which he found fast but boring.

Past Wilsonville the area became more rural, the suburbs of Portland falling away in the rearview mirror. He passed orchards and small cattle ranches and saw signs for a few wineries. Maybe he’d stop by to pick up a few bottles on the way home.

He was just outside Unionvale when he first sniffed it. Instead of smelling like old and musty paper, this find smelled fresher, if only a little. Seeing as how he hadn’t dug up his last two finds, he had no way to compare the strength of the scent to an actual value. It could be a thousand dollars, it could a million. There was no way of measuring the fractions in between.

Pulling off the road before he passed it completely, he walked back along the side of the empty road, storm clouds threatening overhead. The first drops landed on his nose, but he didn’t care. Getting a little wet seemed insignificant right now.

He crossed the road a few times just to get an idea of where the scent originated. He was west of the Willamette now, with a wheat field to his left and a muddy stretch of land and the river beyond to his right.

Walking into the mud, he knew he’d gone the right direction within seconds. Leaving the area, the mud sucked at his shoes until one almost came off, his toes doing their best to keep it on his foot. Then he jogged back to his car, getting the shovel out of the trunk where he’d stowed it.

After backing up and parking on the firm edge of the rural road, he walked toward the find with a shovel in hand. At that moment, the rain began to bucket down, drenching him in mere seconds. Still, he pressed on.

The rain didn’t affect his scent, but it made the mud that much soggier, with pools of water forming in the indentations. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go more than a few steps before he knew he’d found it.

The area was nondescript in every way. The muddy river meandered by in the distance, and the road was just as lifeless as before.

Sinking his shovel into the mud, it made a sucking sound as he pulled the first glob out. A pile of watery mud formed the further he dug, the mud from the edges seeping into the low ground he formed.

Lightning flashed in the distance, and he picked up the pace. There was no thinking, just digging. Shovel in, dirt out. Shovel in, dirt out.

The headlights of a car appeared ahead of him, and he dashed back to his car, losing both shoes in the process. Back when he was younger, a stranded motorist would always receive help, but he lived in the modern world now. Which meant the car passed him by without even slowing down to check that he was okay.

Trudging shoeless back to his hole, he saw water had filled it in partway up the muddy, tenuous walls. Unable to do anything about that, he kept digging until the edge of his shovel struck something hard. His first thought was that he had struck a rock, but as he dug around the obstruction, he knew it wasn’t. Whatever he had found was too rectangular to be natural.

Darkness fell, yet he kept digging, creating a large mound of dirt as the hole got bigger. Only when he could move the box with his shovel did he jump down into the hole and try to drag the box out.

By the time the filthy box was in the trunk of his car, spread out on the newly purchased canvas, it was well past 10pm. He was hungry, and instead of getting into his car in the state he was in, he stripped down to his boxers, throwing everything else in the trunk on top of the large canvas tarp he had spread out.

He must have yawned at least fifty times on the way home. The problem with taking back roads was that sometimes, like at this very moment, it took a long time to get back to a major road. He could have taken I5, but he didn’t need the stress or other drivers looking at him and seeing him mostly naked.

Driving the car into the garage, he left everything where it was until tomorrow. What he needed now was food, a shower, and to hit the sack.

Chapter 12

“The American motion picture is the greatest unconscious carrier of propaganda in the world today. It is a great distributor for ideas and opinions. The motion picture can standardize the ideas and habits of a nation. Because pictures are made to meet market demands, they reflect, emphasize and even exaggerate broad popular tendencies, rather than stimulate new ideas and opinions. The motion picture avails itself only of ideas and facts which are in vogue. As the newspaper seeks to purvey news, it seeks to purvey entertainment.”

— Edward Bernays

When he woke up Monday morning, Carl took a second shower for good measure, finding a few spots he’d missed last night. Then he changed the bedsheets, not wanting to know what kind of condition he’d left them in.

Hungry but not yet ready to head to the diner, he walked out to the garage with a plastic garbage bag to collect his clothes. As a rule, he’d been taught by his mother that nothing was uncleanable, but his shirt might be close to that line.

When he opened the trunk, the smell was horrendous. The mud had a funk to it he hadn’t recognized yesterday, but in the clear light of morning he gagged a bit before tossing everything in. He tossed the garbage bag filled with his clothes outside, then closed and locked the door to the garage to keep prying eyes like his neighbors from peeking in.

It was time to see what was inside the box.

The smell still lingered, but with his clothes gone it wasn’t quite as bad. Using the tarp to pull out the box and set it on the ground, he searched for a way to open it. Only after washing away an unknown number of years of grime and mud away did he find a rusted padlock on the front.

A pair of bolt cutters proved to be the end of the padlock. When he pulled at the top, it gave a little, so he used a thin screwdriver to get through the rusty areas and open it fully.

Inside was a heavy, industrial strength plastic bag, which he cut through with a box knife. Peeling the sides away, dozens of crisp, hundred-dollar bills with the original wrapping lay before him. Each stack held one hundred bills, or ten thousand dollars each. Counting the width, depth and length of the stacks, he got 8 x 8 x 6.

Or three million, eight hundred and forty thousand dollars by his calculations.

Fear ran down Carl’s spine, and he knew this wasn’t just a cache of lost bills. No, someone had left them there, and whether that person was in prison or somewhere else, there was no doubt in his mind that they would come looking to retrieve them in the future.

Only to find them missing.

For the first time Carl disliked having a skill. It had been such an imaginative idea to begin with, but he was now seeing the fruits of his labor. It scared him very much.

Putting everything back in the trunk, he took his clothes into the house and washed them. He saw a message on his answering machine as he walked by, but now wasn’t the time to deal with it. He needed to get the clothes into the washer, then call Rebecca for help. He could only imagine what she would think.

His hands shook for the first time in a long time as he shoved everything into the machine, then poured the detergent into the dispenser until it was full. His hunger was long forgotten.

He couldn’t just throw the bills somewhere where the police might find them because his fingerprints were on them now. He knew he might find a skill to erase them, but that wouldn’t stop the driver who had passed him by last night from coming forward. Or anyone else who might have seen him working in the mud by the river, late at night, while he dug up a box filled with millions of dollars.

Carl felt sick. Running to the bathroom, he heaved up the little he had in his stomach, then dry heaved for a long time.

Exhausted yet still scared, he washed his mouth out with water before stumbling back into the living room. He now had two messages on his answering machine.

With nothing else to do, he played them back.

“Hi Carl, this is Rebecca. Sorry for the late notice, but can we meet today at 10:30am instead of what we originally agreed? I’ve already called Charles and he can make it too.”

Deleting that message, he played the second one which was a repeat of the first one, with just a hint of urgency added for him to respond.

He called the law offices, and the receptionist answered. He had trouble remembering her name and thought it was Sue or Susan or something like that. Not willing to guess and offend her if he got it wrong, he said, “Hi. I’m calling back about the messages Rebecca left. Tell her 10:30am is fine, and that I’d like to meet with her fifteen minutes before or after the meeting if possible.”

“Just a moment, Carl, and I’ll check.” A terrible pop version of the Righteous Brothers’ Unchained Melody came on, and he pulled his ear away from the phone until the receptionist picked up.

“Hi Carl, she says before the meeting is fine. She’ll see you then.”

Setting the phone down in its cradle, Carl collapsed into his recliner. It was just after 9am, so he set his alarm to take a short nap of only twenty minutes before the meeting. He thought it might help.

* * *

It did. He was groggier than he should have been after such a short nap, but then again, today was getting away from him in all sorts of different ways.

He was getting his shoes on when he heard the ding of the washing machine finishing its cycle. Opening the door and peering inside at the clean clothes, he noticed a few still held on to stubborn spots. He shut the door and set it to run the ‘tough dirt’ cycle.

Driving into the law office, all he could think of was the millions he had stashed in his trunk. He had little doubt they had been stolen, with the slight possibility of them being counterfeited. Neither answer made him feel better.

Rebecca welcomed him with a warm hug as he walked through the door, motioning him toward the conference room.

“Can I get you water or coffee before we begin?”

Coffee sounded wonderful, and he said so. Rebecca motioned for the receptionist to get two cups of coffee before shutting the door.

Sitting down, she opened her legal pad. She grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone ahead and purchased another company, Carl?”

He shook his head, his eyes downcast. “No, it’s worse.” He cleared his throat before meeting Rebecca’s eyes. She’d been nothing but helpful to him, and now he was going to lay a pile of… stuff… at her feet.

There was no other way to say than just to say it. “Last night, I found a box on the Willamette riverbank near Unionvale. When I opened it this morning, it had almost four million dollars inside. I don’t know what to do.”

The door opened, and coffee was set before each of them. Although nothing was said, Rebecca’s eyes spoke volumes. He saw disbelief, fear, greed, and a few other feelings pass over her face before the door closed again.

She ignored her coffee as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. “You what?”

Carl could only nod, his face a picture of remorse at the mess he’d gotten himself into. “It’s the truth.” Well, not the complete truth, he amended. “I found three point eight four million dollars last night. I think it’s stolen, and I’m afraid some kind of drug kingpin will come looking for it and kill me.” He might as well lay it all out for her.

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m shocked. And dumbfounded. How is it possible to find that much money just lying around?”

She held up her hand, not wanting the answer.

Looking at her watch, she saw they had less than ten minutes left before everyone else arrived. That was not near enough time to sort this mess out for Carl. She loved the man for everything he’d done, but this?

This was unique. And something she had no experience with.

A thought occurred to her. “Where’s the money right now? At your home?”

He twisted his head and grimaced in a way that reflected what he was feeling. “In the trunk of my car.”

She laughed. “Of course, it’s in the trunk of your car. Why didn’t I think of that?” Rebecca took a deep breath, held it in for five seconds, and released it. “Here’s what I want you to do. Put the money in a safe deposit box until we know what to do with it. No one will get to it, and the bank won’t know what you’re depositing.” She furiously scribbled notes down on her pad.

“Next, I’ll explore what the process is for reporting lost money. I believe the state owns the tide lands of the Willamette, so they may have a claim to the money. We should prepare you for that. I’ll carve out some time to research case law and see if I can find anything pertinent.”

A knock came to the window, and Carl saw Gene and Charles waiting outside. Rebecca waved her arms for the receptionist to go away.

Turning back to him, she felt the stress she’d had before Carl had bought a partnership in the firm returning to her. She had thought it would take longer for that to happen, but with a client like Carl, all bets were off. “Also, did anyone see you last night? Either with the money, or when you found it? That will determine how much time I have to file this.”

Carl frowned, remembering the car that drove by. “A car drove by while I parked on the side of the road. It was dark out, but they would have seen the car. It’s a deserted stretch of road down there, but I can’t tell you that no one else did.”

Rebecca leaned forward so that only he could hear her. “How in the world do you find four million dollars in the dark?” She gave him a look that said she knew there was more to the story, but now wasn’t the time. At least, that’s how he interpreted it.

Tearing out a page from her notepad, she said, “We’ll discuss all this later. Get the money in a safe deposit, and I’ll schedule another meeting for us on Wednesday. Right now, we have a meeting to get to.”

Rebecca handed him a piece of paper with instructions on it, and Carl stuffed it into his pocket. He felt better having spoken to someone about it, but he wouldn’t feel safe until the money was somewhere else but in the trunk of his car.

Rebecca opened the door, inviting Charles and Gene into the room, while the receptionist brought in refreshments for everyone, including a plate of small cookies. Having missed breakfast, Carl took three as soon as she set the plate down, and Rebecca gave him an annoyed look.

Then she folded her hands in front of her, turning to face Carl. “Carl, I believe you called this meeting. Would you like to start?”

Carl was mid-chew, his right hand holding a cup of hot coffee. His left held a second cookie on its way to his mouth, and he had to halt it mid flight and set it down on a napkin. After a second sip of coffee to clear his palate, he nodded.

Turning to face the group, he started. “I want to thank everyone for being here today. The primary topic is the purchase of the building at the corner of Rhine and SE 13th Street. The tenants of the building include Randy’s coin shop, a coffee shop, and a café that I believe will soon be out of business based on the signs I saw outside. It could be a marketing ploy, but I think only furniture and mattress stores do something like that.”

He gave everyone a warm smile before continuing.

“What I’d like to discuss, in particular, are the issues surrounding the purchase of the building. The seller has set a price, and according to Rebecca, that price isn’t likely to change no matter what we find. I believe each of you have received the engineer’s report, which lists the deficiencies of the plumbing and electrical systems, along with some structural problems. What it does not mention is any kind of projected revenue based on how the building looks right now with its current tenants, and what the building might look like after we fix those systems and possibly rehabilitate the upstairs and rent them as apartments or use them for other purposes.”

He turned to Charles, who was following along in his copy of the engineer’s report. “I’d like to hear everyone’s thoughts on the matter before we turn to other business. I should add before we continue that Randy has a deep-rooted need for the building to be in my ownership. For him, it’s a security concern, but not in the traditional way of thinking. Instead, he believes he will feel an additional level of comfort should I own the building, and to him that has a tangible value.”

Carl nodded, passing the fictional baton to Charles to continue.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was fuming. He’d come in here fifteen minutes before the meeting and laid a pile of crap at her feet, then carried on with the meeting as if nothing had happened. She might admire his professionalism and be thankful of his investment, but right now she had a simmering anger flowing through her.

Charles passed around projections of the revenue streams Carl had mentioned, along with the value of possible tax breaks depending on how the space was utilized. The report was well put together, Carl thought, and a reminder of the coup he’d made by hiring Charles away from the accounting firm.

Gene started in on security, quickly getting into the weeds of actual security systems. Carl was about to say something, but Charles beat him to it.

“Gene, before you go any further, you should keep in mind that this is an exploratory meeting. We don’t need the details of the exact security systems yet, just your biggest concerns and any problems you foresee.”

Gene nodded, slightly embarrassed but willing to change direction. “The building is old, plain, and simple. Even with the most modern security system, if someone felt compelled to break into Randy’s shop it wouldn’t be much trouble. Forget about the security systems, they could cut a hole in the wall and get in that way. That’s how bad it is.” He took a sip of coffee to wet his whistle, unused to formal meetings like this. “Security is less important for the other businesses, as their capital invested isn’t in hard goods like gold, and they take their cash drawers home with them. I checked and not a single store besides Randy’s has a safe to keep money overnight. As for the upstairs, until I have access, I have no hard suggestions, but I think your biggest security concerns there would be tenant liability. I could only gain access to the stairs going up and they are old, poorly lit, and lack handrails. I imagine the upstairs rooms lack emergency egress since they have old style windows that don’t open very wide, and they might need an external fire escape should a fire occur. I don’t have costs for any of this, but could pull rough estimates together in a few days, if needed.”

Carl thought that was the longest he had ever heard Gene talk at one time without mentioning UFOs, Bigfoot, or some other conspiracy. He was beyond impressed.

Rebecca quickly got over her anger as she took copious notes. She finished up on what Gene had said before speaking.

She avoided looking at Carl, instead looking between Gene and Charles. Maybe she wasn’t over it entirely. “I can’t comment on the engineer’s report beyond a layman’s view, and I’ll leave the finances to Charles and Carl. What I will say is that this investment needs to be looked at not just as a favor to Randy, which it sounds like Carl is leaning toward, but as a part of the overall portfolio. I believe Carl is planning to purchase the mineral rights to upward of twenty or more plats outside of Medford and has designs on the advertising agency that’s garnered a significant amount of new business for the law firm.” She paused, a slightly malicious smile on her face. “Oh, and I understand he’s interested in purchasing Vancouver Life Insurance, which is having financial troubles.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Rebecca felt a jolt of fear tear through her. She’d just violated lawyer/client confidentiality, all because of how annoyed she was about Carl’s cash find. The two of them kept their conversations light and natural, and she thought that might be a problem. For her, not for him. She planned to rectify it at their next meeting.

Charles and Gene turned to him, mouths agape. Charles spoke first. “You know that VLI is a privately held company, and the majority owner is a recluse up by Mt. St. Helens, don’t you? Given all your other commitments, I don’t see how you could afford a majority stake in the company.”

Carl nodded. He knew Rebecca had overstepped, but he wouldn’t hold it against her. “It’s just a thought, and any action depends on how well the other businesses do. The coin shop and the building it’s in won’t bring in much revenue right away, but over time I expect a good return from it. Randy’s sales are already up just from a single ad campaign. And the plats have a high probability of having gold and silver in them. All we need to do is pull the trigger and get digging, to simplify the issue.”

Charles knew Carl was ambitious, but this was… well, extraordinary. And having spent two months with him now, he wouldn’t discount it from happening. He needed the money if he wanted some of his bigger dreams to come true, but if there truly was gold and silver down there and they could prove it, they could easily sell either the futures or the mines themselves to bigger mining companies and have the cash to buy VLI. As it played through his mind, he turned and gave Carl a solid nod of the head.

As the fear wound down in Rebecca’s mind, she was shocked that his business manager didn’t seem to think it was an outlandish idea. He seemed to have thought it through and concluded that it was viable, and that was without revealing that Carl had four million dollars in the trunk of his car.

Gene didn’t know what to think, except that his friend had a lot of money. A hell of a lot of money. Not yet able to keep up with the conversation about buying and selling companies, he envisioned installing high-tech micro cameras and retina scanning security systems to prevent unauthorized access into buildings, and building a high voltage fence around the mines. A bit of drool left his mouth, and he wiped it away before anyone noticed.

Carl turned to Rebecca. “Thank you for that summary, Rebecca. Let’s not forget the advertising agency, along with buying one or two more law firms in the next few years to add to yours. I think we can all agree that a lot is going on, and between the four of us we need to agree on the order things should happen in order to maximize the investment of the cash I have on hand.” He swung his head back and forth, slow enough that it shouldn’t be noticeable. He was trying to get across the message that she not bring up the cash in his trunk. That wasn’t what he wanted to talk about at all.

Charles agreed one hundred percent, and said so. “If you agree, Carl, I’d like to prepare a forecast of the next twelve months and map out the cash flow, investments, and revenue for everything you’re considering.” He turned to Rebecca. “If you and I could set up a time to meet, that would be helpful. I just want to go over a few points to make sure I have the right information.” Charles was smart enough to know that Rebecca had slipped up in mentioning Vancouver Life, but didn’t want to say that in front of Carl, who likely knew that already. It was his role as manager to deal with these problems while Carl found new investments and made the ones he already had pay off.

Rebecca simply nodded. She’d screwed up, and after Gene left, she’d admit it. There was no point hiding it any longer. She liked to pride herself on her professionalism, but that hadn’t been true today. She’d made a rookie mistake, and if Carl decided to sue her on it, he’d win. She wouldn’t even fight back.

Carl looked around the room. Gene appeared lost in his thoughts, the result of a man being alone for an unhealthy percentage of his life. Charles had cottoned on to Rebecca’s slipup but wouldn’t say a word about it. He was a professional through and through, and he couldn’t be happier that he was onboard Team Carl. Rebecca had looked angry, but now appeared resigned to her fate.

He turned to his best friend. “Gene, I think we’re done with the security portion of our meeting. If you don’t mind too much, why don’t you head out? We just need to wrap up with the financials and then we’ll be done.”

Gene startled at hearing his name. He knew he was being dismissed so the grown-ups could talk, but he didn’t mind in the least. Financials reports were boring. “Meet you at the diner?”

Carl grinned. “That sounds good. See you there.”

As Gene left, the receptionist refilled the carafe of coffee. Charles and Rebecca checked their phones while Carl enjoyed the simple pleasure of a well-brewed cup of joe.

Once the door closed, Charles opened his mouth to speak. Rebecca beat him to it.

She stared at the ceiling as if she were seeing something that the two men in the room couldn’t. Meeting his eyes, she said, “I’m sorry, Carl. I shouldn’t have mentioned Vancouver Life, and if you want to sue me for breach of confidentiality, you have every right to. I’m so sorry.”

Carl patted Charles’ shoulder, getting his attention, then motioned for him to keep quiet. Carl turned back to Rebecca. “It’s fine. We both know why you did it, and at some point, I’ll explain it to Charles after the situation’s resolved.”

He turned to face Charles. “It’s not an issue that affects the business. Not yet, at least.” Seeing the look on Charles’ face, he amended, “And no, I’m not dying. Give me some credit here.”

That broke the tension, and everyone had a chuckle, just as he’d intended. Once it died down, he continued.

“I would like to buy the mineral rights before someone else snatches them up. I’m not trying to mess with Charles’ plans, and you’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m doing here, but we need them if we’re going to make our future plans happen. At the same time, we’re going to need to research who we want to mine the plats, and what we want to do after they find gold or silver. Do we sell the mine, sell the futures, or do it all ourselves and incorporate as a mining company? I need both of you to provide input on this.”

Rebecca nodded. “I’ll start the purchase process. I’ll need you to wire the funds to an escrow account at some point, but I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

Charles fidgeted in his seat. He was chewing on his pen, and with 100 percent emotional understanding, Carl knew the man was having trouble with some part of what Carl had just stated.

Carl gave Charles a warm smile. “Spit out whatever you’re thinking before you chew that pen to a nub, Charles. We’re all friends here, so speak your mind.”

Charles pulled the pen from his mouth, a little embarrassed. His body language settled down as he spoke. “Just how sure are you that you’ll find gold? That’s the problem I’m having. I’m no expert, but neither are you.” Intense eyes focused on him. “Mining is a risky business, and mines go bust all the times. What I need to know is how certain of this are you? My job isn’t to decide, but to be a devil’s advocate. Is this whimsy? Or something you truly believe in?”

Carl nodded, as he had listed solid points that deserved discussion. He looked at Charles, then Rebecca. “I can’t tell you how I know this, but trust me when I say that every single one of the original plat numbers I gave to Rebecca will strike a vein of gold or silver. I don’t know how far down they’ll find it, but they’ll find it before the mine plays out. A few have multiple veins. It will take time to get a mining crew out there digging, and we’ll probably have to jump through some environmental impact hoops, but it’s all down there.” He knew about the environmental impact from Google. It was fast becoming his favorite way to search for everything and anything, even though he didn’t trust them any more than he trusted any other big company.

He said it with such conviction that the group fell silent for a moment. Then Rebecca added, “You should know that I recommended to Carl that he buy additional mineral rights to hide the ones he really wanted. It will look like he’s buying a large swath of mineral rights, as people do when they’re hoping to get lucky.”

Charles nodded slowly as he took his own notes. He cracked a crooked smile. “That’s what I needed to hear. I don’t know if you’re right, but then again, I don’t need to know.” He paused, taking a sip of coffee. “But if you’re correct that every single plat hits a gold or silver vein, I will take both of you out to Castagna to celebrate. After all, we’ll have the money to pay for it.” The group chuckled.

Charles thought about what he’d just said, and another thought occurred to him. “It probably won’t work for this list of mineral plats, but if you hit gold or silver even on a majority of them, you might consider opening up any further mining activity to outside investors. It’s up to you, but it can alleviate the hit to your cash flow. Just a thought.”

Carl hadn’t ever thought about that. “That’s a good idea. Like you said, it doesn’t work right now because no one knows who we are, but it could next time.” He looked around at his small group of advisors. “We’ll need to decide if we want to try again after this venture.”

As the meeting wound down, Rebecca promised to secure the mineral rights, while Charles had on his list to find a mining company. Carl said he would go talk to Sue about buying or investing in her company, and he wrote a check to Rebecca for the second half of his partner payment now that he was flush with cash. How long that would last with all the expenses rolling in, he had no idea.

Charles promised him a report would be arriving early next week, along with a financial forecast for FastCycle. Now that it was in the black and had focused advertising, he was excited to see how well it was doing.

Chapter 13

“Bank failures are caused by depositors who don’t deposit enough money to cover losses due to mismanagement.”

—Dan Quayle

After everyone said their goodbyes, Carl drove over to the bank even though it was in walking distance. The last thing he wanted to do was to be carrying millions of dollars down the street for anyone and their brother to see, even if they wouldn’t know what was inside the box. It would be too tempting.

Before he brought it inside, he waited in line for a teller. He knew Gene was waiting for him at the diner, but this needed to be dealt with first.

“How may I help you?”

The teller was an older woman, slim with high cheekbones. She would have been stunning in her younger days, he was sure of it. “Yes, hello. I need to open a safe deposit box.”

She nodded as she typed into the system. “And what size do you need? Our smallest is $79 dollars a year and includes…”

Carl cut her off. He didn’t want to be rude, but time was of the essence here. “I need something large, like four by four by three. Feet, not inches.”

The teller, Kerrie based on the name tag hanging from her blouse, pulled back. “I see. We don’t offer safe deposit boxes that large, but we can offer the bank’s safe. Before we get started, can you slide your debit card through the reader?”

Carl did as she’d asked, and the teller gasped. She did her best to hide it, but Carl didn’t miss it. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

She nodded. “I need to contact my manager. I’m sure he’s going to want to speak with you.”

Carl gave her a flat look. He knew how the game was played. “As I said, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Tell him that if he tries to sell me anything, I’ll move my money to Riverview Community Bank. I’m sure they’d welcome me with open arms.”

Kerrie the teller met his eyes and he saw the resolve lying within. She knew the bank manager could be pushy, but it was his job to be pushy. She still hadn’t picked up the phone yet, trying to find a way to make this work for the bank, and, if she was being honest, for herself as well. “Fine, but if he doesn’t then you agree to use our bank for the next year. No changing to another one.”

Carl grinned. He’d never met a bank teller who bartered like this. He liked it. “Agreed.”

And then Carl held out his hand to shake on the deal.

* * *

Carl sat with the bank manager for a good thirty minutes as he went through the process of putting his valuables into the bank’s safe. He could tell the manager wanted to sell him CDs, investment funds, and probably a dozen other items that returned a nice commission to the bank, but he resisted.

“The cost of using our safe is not nominal. As it stands, you’re looking at five thousand, four hundred and ninety-nine dollars per year based on the size you said you needed.” He looked up from the screen he’d been inputting information into. “Would you like to pay or have it charged to your account?”

Carl handed his debit card over, and the bank manager graciously took it. The transaction was quick, and less than a minute later he had his card handed back to him.

“Will you be depositing today? You should know that for security reasons, you won’t be allowed unescorted into the bank’s safe.”

Carl nodded. “I will. I need to run out to my car first, but that should only take a few minutes.”

The bank manager audibly swallowed, his hands jittery on the keyboard. Now that Carl had perfect eyesight, he could see tiny droplets of sweat on the man’s brow. A few pages came off the printer, and he passed them to Carl after marking the locations to sign in a yellow marker.

Carl scrawled out his signature, shoving the papers back in the other direction. He’d already shaken hands with the bank manager when he first entered the man’s office, so to his mind this transaction was over.

Yet the bank manager sat there, glassy eyes gazing at glossy pamphlets describing unique investment options for accounts over one million dollars sitting on the corner of his desk.

Shrugging, Carl turned to leave, only to hear a strangled shout behind him. Turning around, he saw the bank manager on his knees. He had no idea how he had gotten out of his chair so fast, but the man was begging. Literal, hand to God, begging.

“Please, we have investment options for accounts of your size. They return half a percentage under the S&P 500 average and come with a life insurance option for just $29 dollars a month. Or if you don’t like that, we offer CDs that return 1.1 percent interest if you invest one million dollars for a year.” The bank manager gasped for breath, having spoken so fast that Carl had trouble following it.

Instead of looking at the manager, he turned and stared at Kerrie, slowing shaking his head the entire time. It had been a good deal, but the man was weak, and weakness was not tolerated.

He pointed behind him. “Get him up to open the bank’s safe. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Kerrie nodded. She kept her face neutral on the outside while on the inside, she was cheering. Yes, they would be losing a keystone account, but this failure would be heard about at the regional office. She’d make sure of it, and that might give her a chance to move up a notch on the management ladder.

Going out to his car, he did his best to wrap everything back up so that the money remained hidden from view. The mud and dirt on the case had dried until it flaked off at the slightest movement, creating a mess on the bottom of his trunk. Pushing the bills down, he shoved until the lock closed, only the hinge keeping it that way. It was good enough.

Wrapping both arms around the box, he hefted it into the bank, opening the doors with his back. The few customers in the bank stared at him, unsure what was happening.

Instead of the bank manager, Kerrie was standing next to the open bank safe. He signed in as best he could with one hand. Once he was finished, she opened the metal gate and invited him to enter.

She motioned toward an empty corner of a mostly empty safe. Stacks of bills filled a waist level shelf near the back, but if Carl had to guess, he might have more money in this bank than the bank did. After he’d set the box down, he stood up. Kerrie smiled at him. “Come again soon, Carl.”

Shaking his head, too distracted by the millions of dollars he had just set down, he said nothing in return. He walked out as the metal gate closed behind him, and then the safe door itself was closed. The money was as secure as he could make it.

Despite the stress he had just been through, part of his mind couldn’t help but revisit the other two finds he’d made. He knew he wouldn’t go down into the sewers, but the other find? Maybe. Not for a while, but if push came to shove, he could admit to himself he’d be tempted, despite the danger involved.

Tired and hungry, he drove to the diner where Gene still waited for him. He was drinking coffee at the counter talking to Chloe when Carl walked in. Since it was too early for lunch and too late for breakfast, only a handful of people were eating at the counter.

Chloe saw him come through the door and said something to Gene he couldn’t hear. He walked over and sat down next to him, apologizing profusely the entire time.

“I’m so sorry, Gene. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting this long. The meeting went long, and I had an errand I had to run at the bank before I could come over.”

Gene waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’d love to hear what you decided on, but only if you want to tell me. I won’t pry.”

A hot cup of coffee was slid in front of him, and he took a large sip. “I’d be happy to.”

They both ordered, Carl getting an early lunch and Gene a late breakfast, all the while Carl telling him what they had decided on after he’d left. Carl could tell that Gene was excited about the mines, although he didn’t know why, along with the building. He didn’t seem to care either way about the advertising agency, which was the last item on Carl’s list. After he finished up here, he would drive over to see Sue.

Carl took a large bite of his meatloaf sandwich, the ketchup and meat alchemically blending and tasting fantastic. It usually came with lettuce and onions, but he omitted those. He didn’t even have to tell Chloe anymore.

He turned to Gene. “Why are you so interested in the mines?” Despite the bet with Charles, he knew he was right. They would find silver and gold down there, but that didn’t seem to be what excited Gene.

Gene brightened. “It’s because you’re talking about an open area, where people will be coming and going all the time once mining starts up. The opportunity for theft is high, and there are no natural impediments like a cliff to provide additional security.” When he saw Carl didn’t understand, he simplified. “It means I get to design the security system from the ground up.”

Carl gave an ‘aah’ of understanding. It made sense now why Gene was so interested in it.

He was taking his last bite of the meatloaf sandwich when Gene asked, “What else did you talk about?” He grinned. “I know you wanted me out of there for a reason, and I promise there are no hard feelings. But I can’t deny I’m curious.”

Carl’s eyes twinkled. “I do want to buy Vancouver Life Insurance. I was over in Vancouver a few days ago, and I stumbled on to one of their operations. They had nice people working in the office I visited, but I could tell the company wasn’t doing well. Then I read in the paper that they planned to lay people off, and… well, I want to help. See if I can save jobs by getting the business back in shape. That kind of thing.”

Gene didn’t understand business, and he probably never would. But he’d been laid off enough times to know what it felt like. With the lone exception of divorce, it was the worst feeling in the world. “I like it. And if you bought it, you could use the law firm instead of in-house lawyers and the advertising agency to improve sales.” He grinned. “That’s good thinking.”

Carl paused with his coffee cup halfway up the escalator to his mouth. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, and while he might have gotten there in time, it did make a lot of sense. The more synergies he could create, the better off every business in his portfolio would be.

The two finished up, talking about the spring UFO conference in Ocean Shores, on the Pacific Ocean in Washington State. It was a bit of a drive to get there, but it could be fun. It wasn’t for another month and a half still, but they made tentative plans to go.

Assuming Carl hadn’t been shot dead by drug dealers, the mob, or incarcerated by the police by then. Any of which were possible.

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he drove over to northwest Portland, taking the St. John’s bridge to avoid the traffic on the Burnside. From there it was a short shot down until he came to the advertising agency.

He hadn’t made an appointment, but he didn’t think that would matter too much. And if it did, he would reschedule for Wednesday, his other day off this week.

The receptionist greeted him with a welcoming smile, seeming to know who he was despite him having only visited here one other time. It seemed word got around.

He approached the receptionist’s desk. “Is Sue available for a meeting? If she’s not, that’s fine.”

The receptionist held up a single finger as she checked on her computer. “She is, actually. Give her a moment to get ready and then I’ll send you up.”

Carl sat down, perusing the different magazines in the waiting room. They weren’t as varied as at the doctor’s office, and most of them focused on advertising, but he noticed one about mountain biking. Seeing as how he owned a courier business, he picked it up and started thumbing through it.

He was engrossed in an article talking about the different models of mountain bikes for the new season when the receptionist interrupted him. “She’ll see you now. Third floor, office 3A.”

Setting the magazine down, he headed toward the elevator, all the while wondering if he should be reading the trade publications for his businesses. The only answer that made sense was yes.

Sue greeted him as soon as he stepped off the elevator, guiding him into a meeting room where coffee and tea had been placed in the middle of a long table with more of the fresh donuts he remembered just off to the side. If he hadn’t just eaten, he would reach for one right now.

Before they sat down, she shook his hand, remembering that the man liked to do that when he met people. It was lovely, if a little old-fashioned. “Carl, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She poured him coffee and herself a green tea.

Accepting the cup, he sat down. It was hot, which meant they had freshly brewed coffee just for him. He felt honored.

“I’m here to follow up on our last meeting and thank you for the outstanding advertising campaigns you’ve come up with. I saw the video you prepared for the coin shop just a few days ago, and it was… different, if effective.”

Sue belted out a warm, well-practiced laugh. “That’s wonderful. Randy was very specific about that ad and already has ideas for the follow-up. I understand his sales increased, but are they to your satisfaction?”

He had the feeling that Sue knew exactly how well the ad had done. “It’s been excellent. As was the ad for the law firm, and I’ve seen the flyers for FastCycle. I don’t know how well they’ve done as the numbers aren’t ready yet, but I’m sure it’s made a difference.”

Sue pulled out a thin, bound presentation and handed it to him. “If you turn to page four, you’ll see that they’ve grown their client base by over 50 percent in the first two weeks of the campaign. As you know, courier services are a fickle business, and pricing matters less than guaranteed service. As you saw, we guaranteed on time delivery or the package was free.”

Carl had not known that. Not that it didn’t make sense, but the ad he’d seen had been about the business, not a money-back guarantee. Still, if the numbers she had put before him were correct—and he had no reason to doubt them—then FastCycle would recoup his investment faster than he had anticipated.

Carl looked up from the color presentation, impressed by the detail and thought put into it. And he said so. “I’m impressed, I truly am, Sue. You and your team have done wonderful work, and I’m excited to see what you have in store for us in the future.”

She lifted her teacup, a red swath of lipstick coming away with it. “I can’t tell you happy it makes me to hear that kind of feedback.” Then she leaned forward, the warmth still there but hidden behind the veneer of a hard-nosed businesswoman.

She got straight to the point, giving him a focused smile that the rest of her face didn’t emulate. “I assume you’re liquid now?”

He nodded. “I am, and I’m interested in investing in your business as we discussed earlier. Assuming we can come to terms that we both agree on.”

She pulled out a much thicker bound set of papers, passing one over to him. “For a full buyout, we believe four hundred and ninety thousand dollars is a fair assessment. That includes new contracts with all employees to ensure they don’t jump ship, and a ten-year contract with me.”

He nodded his understanding, not agreeing to anything as he perused the pages inside. It was full of color graphs and charts, outlining past sales and future projected sales. He would need to hand it to Charles for his assessment, but it was a starting point.

Looking up from the report, he said, “I was hoping you would stay on, so that satisfies one issue. May I ask who the primary investors are?”

She smiled, her teeth peeking through. “If you turn to page 44, you’ll see the full list. Just under ten percent of our private shares are in a company ESOP1, while the remaining ninety percent are divided between myself, two key ad managers, and a local investor. The last has a twenty percent stake, and I haven’t yet asked him if he’ll sell. So you need to keep that in mind. He doesn’t interfere in our business or come to board meetings, but he does hold ownership.”

They talked further, each of them testing the waters with the other person. Carl had to set his coffee cup down as heartburn started building in his stomach. He was just about to stand up and excuse himself to go to the bathroom when a searing pain shot through his chest. His left arm locked up for a split second before going numb, and he toppled out of his seat and onto the ground with a clang. A flash of blue blazed in his eyes before his head hit the hardwood floor.

* * *

When he awoke, all he could see was a dull haze of blue through half open lids. The side of his head ached, and he had a dull pain in his chest. He knew something serious had happened, but that was the extent of it.

He only caught a few words from a distant voice. “… waking. You can… now.”

Warmth embraced his right hand as a much nearer voice spoke. “Carl, can you hear me?”

Opening his eyes caused him to shut them immediately, the bright lights overhead stinging badly. Someone placed a straw in his mouth, and he sucked on it without thinking, just like you were supposed to with a straw. Warm liquid filled his mouth, the taste slightly salty.

He drank the cup dry until he was sucking air. The straw was taken from him, and he opened his eyes slower this time, allowing them to adjust to the light. When they did, he saw Barbara standing next to him, dressed in her nursing scrubs, along with another nurse. A person was sitting in a chair, but it hurt his eyes too much to try to focus on whoever it might be.

Despite drinking all the liquid, his throat was dry as he croaked out, “Wha happ?” He didn’t understand why his voice sounded so strange.

He tried to lift his left arm to scratch an itch, but it was no use. It was like the nerve endings in his left arm and the nerve endings in his brain no longer spoke to each other. He knew something serious had happened, but so far no one had answered his question.

Barbara ran a hand down his cheek, a droplet of water falling on to his right arm. “You had a heart attack. They did an emergency bypass, but it wasn’t in time to prevent a stroke.” She sobbed, and the other woman in the room did her best to comfort her.

As understanding permeated his mind, he remembered meeting with Sue. They’d talked about the ad campaigns, then about him buying her business. No matter how hard he pushed, that was the last memory he had, most of it a dull fuzz of gray without details.

The blue dot appeared in his vision, and for the first time since the animal attacked him, he was afraid of reading what it might say. He had a feeling it wasn’t good.

Warning: Heart Attack Imminent. 75 unallocated points required to clear all obstructions and cholesterol-based plaque in key arteries.

Warning: Stroke Imminent. 80 unallocated points required to clear all obstructions and cholesterol-based plaque in the brain.

Notice: You have suffered a severe heart attack. Mobility in left arm reduced to zero. Heart surgery has removed 41.3% of the cholesterol blockage, but further heart attacks likely due to poor diet, lack of exercise, high cholesterol, and high imputed age.

Notice: You have suffered a major stroke event. Brain cells that died due to oxygen starvation: 4.62 million. Memory loss calculated at: 26.7%. Further strokes possible due to poor diet, lack of exercise, high cholesterol, and high imputed age.

Current medical assessment:

- Loss of mobility in left arm (100%) due to severe heart attack

- High cholesterol count of 373

- Likelihood of secondary heart attacks due to continued high levels of cholesterol in body 56.6%

- High imputed age (73) provides reduced resistance to death and medical emergencies as the body continues to fail

- Damage to arteries due to emergency heart surgery. Arterial integrity reduced to 74.13%

- Loss of memories (26.7%) due to stroke

- Reduced neural function, including speech, eyesight (left eye), and smells

- Imminent erectile dysfunction due to high cholesterol and continued ingestion of fatty foods

Carl felt a tear leak out of his right eye. He thought he’d been so clever when he changed his imputed age, but he’d forgotten the danger it represented. Foolish, foolish Carl.

Barbara interrupted his internal musings. Her voice was calm but brittle. “You’re going to be just fine. The hospital has some excellent rehabilitation facilities, and most patients recover close to 50 percent mobility in their left arm. So it’s possible you can return to normal. You just need to work at it.” She sobbed, unable to keep her emotions under control. She’d lost count of how many times she’d broken down, but the worst had been when he’d been wheeled in on a gurney. She didn’t assist for heart surgeries, but her friend Rhonda did. She’d told her what was happening before they took him in for surgery.

Carl didn’t want to hear it. Not about the rehabilitation, not about regaining 50 percent of his lost mobility in his right arm. He would fix this the same way he’d fixed his body the first time the blue boxes appeared: by using points.

It might be difficult to explain why he healed so quickly, but this was his life. He wouldn’t play around any longer to save face.

The blue boxes responded to his thoughts.

Do you wish to eliminate harmful cholesterol from your body?

Unallocated points available: 6,900

Points required to remove harmful cholesterol from your body: 80

Carl couldn’t think ‘yes’ fast enough.

In response, he spasmed as pain tore through his body, and his chest arched toward the ceiling. Somebody screamed, but he passed out before he could tell who it was.

Chapter 14

“Human beings suffer agonies, and their sad fates become legends; poets write verses about them and playwrights compose dramas, and the remembrance of past grief becomes a source of present pleasure - such is the strange alchemy of the spirit.”

— Upton Sinclair, Dragon’s Teeth

It was the nurse who’d screamed, not Barbara. Her emotions had been wrung dry, and she didn’t have the energy to respond to the newest emergency.

The worst part of it was, she knew he loved meatloaf, bacon, eggs, steak, and a host of other foods bad for him. Yet she’d been so blinded by love that she’d said nothing, afraid it might start a rift between them.

As she mentally flagellated herself for her failings, a crash team ran in, quickly setting up their equipment to get her lover’s heart started again.

Except for one problem: his heartbeat was strong, even better than it had been before whatever had just happened. When he’d first woken up his heartbeat had escalated to nearly 160 beats a minute, but as he calmed it dropped to just over 100 beats a minute.

Now it was a rock solid 65, the heart rate you would expect to see from twenty- and thirty-year-olds in the prime of their life. It wasn’t what you saw from a 73-year-old male who had a history of eating poorly, with off the charts cholesterol to show for it.

It just didn’t make any kind of medical sense.

The crash team vacated the room, rolling their equipment away. Gene had arrived shortly before Carl woke up, but hadn’t said a word to her, Carl, or anyone else. He ignored all offers of help, whether it was her offering to get him a soda or the other nurse offering to get him a pillow to help with the hard-back chairs. He looked to be in shock, and she couldn’t blame him in the least. She didn’t know the man very well, but she knew from Carl that they had been best friends for a long time, two single men who liked to get together to ‘drink beer and listen to conspiracy theories,’ in Carl’s own words.

Looking back at Carl, she felt tears threatening again. She wasn’t a strong woman when it came to people she loved. She’d been a wreck for years after her husband passed, and she didn’t think she could go through it again. Please, Lord. Not again.

The doctor entered and gave her a warm smile before going about his business. He did all the usual checks, but she could see from his actions that he hadn’t discovered the reason for whatever had just happened.

Only Carl knew the answer, and he was fast asleep right now.

* * *

Carl dreamed of blue boxes and gold mines, gold bars stacking up until they filled Randy’s new vault. It was nice, but he was a man who knew that money wasn’t something to hoard. Money was meant to be spent, whether to help others or to help yourself. In a perfect world, both.

He dreamed of Barbara and saw them on a moonlit beach where the palm trees swayed as a gentle breeze came off the water. They stayed in a beach house, enjoying each other as they planned for the future. He couldn’t see the details, but it felt right.

When he woke up, he had only fuzzy memories of what he’d dreamed. Still, he knew it’d been nice, and maybe that was all that mattered.

When he looked around, Barbara was outside of his line of sight, and he didn’t sense her presence. His room was empty, except for a tray of food off to the side of his bed on the right. His left arm was still useless, but he would fix that soon enough. Maybe he’d wait until tonight, so he didn’t scare anyone with what he was doing.

A voice appeared from nowhere. “Carl, you up?”

He couldn’t see Gene, but he knew his voice. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

Gene stood up, having slept on a cot Barbara had brought in for him a few hours ago. He was too worried about his friend to say thanks, but Barbara seemed to understand. She had patted him on the shoulder before leaving to return to her duties. The woman looked wrung out, and he worried whether she would recover from this. He had a feeling they would get to know each other better after Carl got out of the hospital, and he looked forward to that.

“I’m over here.”

Carl turned to the voice at the end of his bed. “Have you been here the entire time?”

Gene nodded. “Yup. I…” Choking up, he could only nod at Carl. He didn’t have the words to share how scared he’d been. He’d never been the kind of guy who had a large group of friends, and the thought of losing Carl had scared him so much that he was having trouble even speaking simple sentences. He’d been alone for so long, and then Madge had left him a few weeks ago, adding to his loneliness. So, so alone. He couldn’t go back to that, or…

Pushing the thought away, the thought that always whispered in the back of the mind when he was alone late at night, he wiped the tears away with his fingers. Then he rushed Carl, hugging him tightly. Maybe if he held on to him long enough, nothing bad would happen to him ever again.

Carl didn’t know what to say or think. Gene had always been a bit odd, but he was a man Carl would trust with his life. What in the devil had gotten into him now?

Then Barbara came in, and she joined the hug. Everyone was crying now, and Carl sensed something he’d long forgotten. After his wife left him, he’d created a shell around himself, one that he barely noticed but always knew was there. It protected him from unwanted feelings, inuring him to the fact that his kids never called anymore, not even for the holidays in recent years. He was an island, and like an island, he had a rocky shore that kept the pain and fear from negative emotions far away.

He knew this because of his 100 percent emotional understanding, but knowing it was there didn’t remove it. He could only achieve that through a conscious effort.

The rocky shore gave way to a sandy beach, but only in a tiny, forgotten part of his island. He hardly noticed it, feeling the love pouring into him from the two people closest to him.

Then more gave way, and he felt the fear of mortality appear where sharp, black rocks had been before. Because that was what it boiled down to in the end, wasn’t it? The fear that he would die and have his life forgotten and unmourned by his own family.

As tears rained down his face, he let the rocky island go. It no longer served a purpose, and he joined the cryfest, unable to hold that fear back any longer. His recently mended heart soared, and he had true hope for the future.

As the crying jags slowed down, Gene pulled away first, smiling down at his friend. Barbara pulled away as well, straightening her nurse’s scrubs.

Then she leaned into him until she was nearly nose to nose. “What the hell happened back there before you passed out? Why is your heartbeat that of a thirty-year-old when it was so much higher earlier?” Barbara wanted answers, and as much as she loved the man spread out before her, she wanted them now.

Carl nodded. Fair was fair, and he knew this was a secret that he couldn’t keep to himself any longer. It was time to fess up.

He turned to his friend. “Gene, close the doors and keep watch that no one comes in. I’ll tell you both what happened, and what I can do.”

Carl spoke for the best part of an hour, repeating some facts and explaining in more detail—usually for Gene’s benefit—others. No matter how many times he told it, he could tell Barbara didn’t believe him, while Gene believed him just a few minutes in. After all, it lined up perfectly with his world view.

Barbara shook her head when he finished, her body turned away from his. “That makes no sense. What you’re describing isn’t possible.”

He smiled at her. She looked tired, beyond exhausted, but still as beautiful as ever. “I love you, Barbara, and I will always try to tell you the truth as I understand it.”

She folded her arms in front of her, doing wonderful things for her bosom. “I... I…” She paused, frustrated. Then she tried again. “Everything you’re saying goes against what I know, what I’ve learned, and a lifetime of medical experience. Everything.”

Carl nodded. He understood her point of view, he really did. But the simple fact was that he knew better, and he could prove it.

He spoke slowly, the recent stroke slurring his words. “What if I healed my left arm? Made it normal again?” She began to protest, but he kept speaking before she could get anything out. “All I’m saying is what if? If I could do that, would you at least entertain the possibility that it’s true? That all the money I found wasn’t accidental, and that I knew the companies I’ve bought had been failing before I knew why they were failing? Heck, sometimes before I even knew what kind of business they were.” He took a sip of water, his mouth still dry. “And that I can heal my body in a variety of ways.”

Her foot tapped on the floor as she stared at him. He could tell that she wanted to believe him, but her mind couldn’t get there. When she spoke, it was like she was cursing at him for putting her in this position. “Fine. If you can do that without any medical intervention or rehabilitation, I’ll have no choice except to…”

She turned even further away from him, her head shaking back and forth. When she turned back, she leaned in close enough that Gene couldn’t hear. “I hate you for putting me in this position. I love you, Carl, I really do. But I hate you for this.”

She walked to the door, turning to him before opening it. “Do it later tonight. My shift ends at 11pm, so I’ll wake you then. I want you better because I love you, but this is a lot to take in.”

Then she left. And Carl had a sinking feeling in his newly opened and repaired heart that it might just be forever, no matter how the test turned out.

Chapter 15

“People that have trust issues only need to look in the mirror. There they will meet the one person that will betray them the most.”

— Shannon L. Alder

Gene left shortly thereafter, recognizing that Carl needed some time alone. The rest of the day passed minute by excruciating minute as he watched daytime TV and ate more Jell-O and applesauce.

He waited for Barbara to come back before 11pm, but she never did. He felt sick, unsure whether everything he had been doing before he had a heart attack mattered without her in his life. He thought it should be a straightforward answer, but like most truths, it was not.

He dozed off with the TV on sometime around 7pm, wrung out from the past thirty hours. He dreamed he was on a sinking boat, the boat rocking back and forth as it took on water. He tried to bail, but the water was coming in too fast.

When he woke up, he saw Barbara standing beside him. Not sitting next to him, not giving him a gentle hug, but standing beside him.

She said nothing, so he spoke. He was tired but had rehearsed what he planned to say in his head a few times earlier in the day.

His voice sounded wrong when he spoke, a result of his combined heart attack and stroke. “I’m sorry I hurt you. That was never my intention, and I’m so sorry that I did.” He kept his eyes focused on her, but the look she gave him was inscrutable. “Please remember that I never asked for this to happen to me. It just did. And while it’s helped me in some areas, those won’t matter anymore if you’re not in my life. I love you, Barb, and I hope and pray we can find a way past this that doesn’t include you compromising your beliefs. I really do.”

Tears streamed down his face, all thoughts of fixing his arm forgotten. He was coming to the conclusion that it might be better if it stayed that way. Barbara could understand that and knew how to deal with it. Rehabilitation would be difficult, but it was a small price to pay for love.

She laid her fingers lightly on his unfeeling left hand. “Fix yourself up, but you’ll need to pretend that you didn’t. It might be easier if you don’t do anything until you’re released from the hospital. Then they can call it a miracle cure, which I’ve heard can occur sometimes.” He thought he heard her mutter under her breath, ‘although I’ve never seen it happen,’ but he couldn’t be sure. Her tone was beyond sad, like she was speaking to a beloved family dog that was minutes away from being put down.

Before he could respond, she walked away. He didn’t try to stop her or say anything that might make her stay. They had reached an impasse, and the problems they had wouldn’t be resolved while he was in the hospital.

With that, Carl turned the TV off. He lay awake in bed until the wee hours of the morning, thoughts cascading through his head. He came to decisions dozens of times, only to reverse them in hopes that he could find a better one.

He never did.

Four days later, the doctor announced he was being released to go home. Gene had stopped by on the second day, but only briefly to say hi and check in on him. Barbara, however, stayed away. He wasn’t sure if she was working or not, but it didn’t matter. She’d made her decision, and he would have to accept it.

* * *

It was Randy that drove him home after Rebecca asked him to do so. Even though she hadn’t stopped by, she’d been keeping track of him after hearing from Sue what had happened.

Randy drove an old, off-road Jeep that required the assistance of two muscle bound orderlies to get him up and into the passenger seat. Carl didn’t know how he would get back out, but Randy assured him it wouldn’t be a problem.

Randy gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before strapping him into his seatbelt. “How are you doing, Carl? I’m glad you’re feeling better. You had us all worried there.”

Carl gave a thumbs-up with his right hand, too tired to talk. It turned out that Randy was a nervous talker, a side of him he’d never seen before.

Randy turned the radio on, classic rock belting out of the speakers. “You really had me worried, Carl. I won’t lie to you, it terrified me because I’m afraid of going back to the person I was before you showed up.” He sighed. “That guy wasn’t great. Oh, he got by okay, but he didn’t have a purpose. You gave me a purpose, although I need you to buy the building. You hear me, Carl? Please buy the building. I can’t tell you why I need it, but I do. It’s… damn, do you know how hot Rebecca is? She’s smoking hot, and her being smarter than me only makes her hotter. I hope you get better, Carl. I need money to buy more gold coins. They’re flying out the door like hotcakes. Her body is rock hard, rock hard…”

To Carl it sounded like background noise, with only small snippets getting through the wall of rock music. When they arrived at his house, Randy lifted him bodily out of the Jeep, then carried him into his house after Carl showed him where the secret key was hidden under a rock.

Setting him down in his recliner, he propped Carl’s unmoving left arm up on the armrest, then brought out a pair of PB&Js along with a hot cup of coffee and a glass of cold water.

Carl gave him a tired smile. “Thanks, Randy. I really appreciate you coming to get me. But I’ll be all right, I think. Both my legs still work, and I can get around.”

Randy looked around the small but tidy home, unsure what to do. Looking up, Carl could see he wasn’t ready to leave, although he didn’t know why.

Until he did. “Who told you to stay with me?”

Randy spun around to face Carl. His eyes were wide. “Um… well, Rebecca suggested that you might need someone to help you while you recovered.”

Carl shrugged with one shoulder. “Fine. I’m going to watch TV. You like old movies?”

Randy plopped down on the sofa. “Sure, I guess. Whatever you want, Carl.”

Flipping through the channels, Carl found The Great Escape was starting in a few minutes. He planned to sleep in the recliner tonight, something he’d done for weeks on end after his wife left him. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he thought that was the right decision for the next few days.

Chapter 16

“Into this wild-beast tangle these men had been born without their consent, they had taken part in it because they could not help it; that they were in jail was no disgrace to them, for the game had never been fair, the dice were loaded. They were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, and they had been trapped and put out of the way by the swindlers and thieves of millions of dollars.”

— Upton Sinclair, The Jungle

Carl fell asleep within the first hour of the movie, but Randy watched it raptly, having never seen it before. It was old, and old usually meant bad, but not this time.

Seeing that Carl was asleep, he turned down the volume before heading into the kitchen to make a few more sandwiches and grabbed a beer out of the fridge during a commercial. He felt bad for Carl but couldn’t think of a way to help him. What didn’t make sense was why his girlfriend nurse wasn’t here taking care of him?

When the movie ended, he kept it on the same channel when he saw that Escape from Alcatraz was on next. Two escape movies in a row was too good to pass up. He’d already told Jeb to open the store tomorrow morning, which meant he could stay up and take care of Carl. And watch cool old movies while doing so.

* * *

When Carl awoke, it was dark out, and after following the sound of a raspy snore, he saw Randy curled up on his sofa. Sighing, he went into the bathroom to perform his ablutions, then grabbed a beer and sat back down on his recliner. He tried to open the beer, but it required two hands, so he set it aside. He pulled a blanket out from a cubby right next to it, then turned the TV on. Anything was better than sitting in the silence, thinking. He’d had enough of that in the hospital to last him for a good, long time.

The next few days passed like that. He thought about calling Barbara almost every minute at first, but as time wore on, that need faded to a dull ache. She needed space, and he would give it to her.

Randy left after the second day, saying he needed to get back to the shop. They both knew it was a flimsy excuse, but Carl was fine with it. He needed some time to himself to sort things out.

On his fourth day, it was like God slapped him on the face for sitting on his butt and doing nothing. It was sunny out, so he decided to walk around the block. As a goal, it was a small one, but he would try anyway.

Martha tried to talk to him as soon as he locked his front door, but he waved at her as if he couldn’t hear her, turning in the opposite direction. His legs worked fine, but his unmoving left arm threw his stride off, turning it into more of a shuffle. He was well aware that the blue boxes could fix all this with a few points and a mental command, but he refused to do so. It would raise questions that had no good answer, and he had a gut feeling that it would drive an irreparable wedge between himself and Barbara.

He finished the block in just under an hour, sweat streaming down his face from his exertions. He was thankful that Martha didn’t attempt to stop him as he shuffled into his house and collapsed into his recliner.

The light was blinking a steady ‘1’ on his answering machine, and he couldn’t hold back a wellspring of hope that it was Barbara.

It wasn’t. It was from someone called Bill, and he didn’t think he knew anyone called Bill. Until the man on the message mentioned a particular bar.

“Carl, it’s Bill Langford. Sorry for not reaching out sooner, but I’ve got news on The Rustler’s Brand. The court has ordered that it be auctioned off to the highest bidder in three weeks to pay Mrs. Byrne’s attorney fees. I doubt the news would make it up to Portland, but she’s been found guilty on all charges, and a few of her associates have been found guilty on lesser charges. It’s a real clusterf—” Bill caught himself a moment before he cursed. “It’s a real mess down here. Anyway, I remembered that you were interested in the bar, so if that’s still true, this will be your only chance for a good long while. Give me a call and we can talk. Thanks.”

Carl could honestly say he hadn’t expected that. Going into the bathroom, he wiped himself down with a towel, unwilling to brave the shower when a good portion of his body was unresponsive. It didn’t seem like favorable odds.

While he was busy, he thought about The Rustler’s Brand. The scent of failure had stunk around the bar, and he knew it was a solid opportunity, especially if the bar manager he’d met no longer worked there. He wondered if he could drive down to Medford in his current condition and couldn’t come up with a definitive answer. He thought he could, but no one in their right mind would ever recommend it. It was common sense.

Unsure what to do, he marked the auction on the calendar. He wanted to talk to both Charles and Rebecca first to get their advice. As a distraction, it was a fantastic idea, but as a business investment when he had so many irons in the fire, he wasn’t sure.

Before he did anything else today, he needed to call into work and let them know that he wouldn’t be coming in while he recovered. He wondered how true what he was saying was, but if he stripped away his special abilities, he knew no reasonable person would call him on it.

He called Human Resources, hoping one of Bryn’s assistants might answer.

They didn’t. “This is Bryn.”

Carl thought about hanging up and trying again. Then he stiffened his spine. He was a man, not a scared little girl, even if that was how he’d felt the past few days. “Bryn, this is Carl. I’m calling because I needed to tell you of a health situation. I—”

Bryn interrupted. “Carl, is everything all right? You sound a bit off.”

There was no better to say it than just to say it. “I had a heart attack and a stroke. They released me from the hospital a few days ago, but I need to go to rehab to regain my lost mobility.”

He thought he heard Bryn crying on the other end. He considered them to be good friends, but nothing more. When he came back on to the phone, she was sobbing. “I had a dream that something bad would happen earlier this week, and I’ve been holding my breath for the past two days. This is worse than I ever could have imagined.”

Carl remained silent. Without going into the medical details, many of which he didn’t understand, there was little he could say. It took a full minute, but Bryn seemed to get control of herself.

“Of course, Carl. Stay home and get better and let me know as soon as you feel up to coming back into work. I should mention that the district manager was so impressed with how you’ve changed the greeters that they’ve been discussing flying you to Bentonville to meet with the CEO and COO. That will have to wait, but I thought you should know.”

“I’m grateful, I guess. I mean, I’m glad they’re recognizing the work I’ve put in, but I don’t think it would be safe for me to travel right now.” He coughed, feeling more awkward than he expected. “I’m sorry, Bryn, but I need to go.”

He hung up before Bryn could respond. His life had turned into the sort of mess that couldn’t be swept into a nice, tidy pile, and that was only the latest in a string of messes.

Putting the receiver down, he sat down in his recliner and turned on the TV. Something in the back of his mind whispered that he was right back where he’d been before the blue boxes arrived, but he ignored it. Shane was on, and he’d always been a sucker for a good western.

The next week passed in a monotony of inactivity. He took a walk every day, usually early in the morning or late at night, to avoid his neighbors. Rebecca called to check in on him, as did Charles, but he otherwise spent his days on his own, festering in the morass of thoughts circulating in an endless loop through his mind.

He was still sufficiently self-aware to know what he was waiting for, even if it didn’t arrive. He was waiting for Barbara to reach out to him, but she didn’t. He didn’t know how many times he thought about picking up the phone and calling her, and a few times he did, one time even dialing her number before hanging up.

It was pitiful, and he knew he couldn’t go on like this much longer. Something had to give. His businesses would survive on their own for a while yet, especially with Charles looking over them, but the mineral rights hadn’t been purchased because he needed to go into the bank to wire the money to the law firm first. That reminded him of the millions he had in the bank’s safe.

Lying in bed late at night, he stared at the ceiling as he tried to think of a way out of this mess that didn’t involve the blue boxes. He’d gone to two rehabilitation sessions now, each one about an hour, and it would take months, if not years, for him to regain any semblance of the man he had been before.

Something had to change. It wasn’t Barbara, or his friends, or his business partners.

It was him.

Pulling open the blue boxes for the first time since his hospital stay, he saw a single blue box was waiting for him.

DNA acquired: 27

Unallocated points acquired: 500

Points remaining: 2

Mentally closing the blue box, he focused his mind on the first thing he needed to change. It wasn’t his arm, but his voice. It bothered him greatly that he didn’t sound like himself any longer.

Do you wish to strengthen the mouth, tongue, lips and related muscles to their pre-stroke state?

Unallocated points available: 7,320

Points required to strengthen mouth, tongue, lips and related muscles to their pre-stroke state: 45

Adjusting his neck on the pillow, he mentally said yes. For the first time since the blue boxes arrived, he had a deformed half smile on his face as he passed out.

* * *

When he awoke, it was still dark out, and without looking at the clock he had a feeling it was sometime around 2am. The older you got, the better feel you had for the time. Carl thought it was because older people had lived long enough to sense these things, but he could be wrong.

Not needing to speak to know his voice was working, he focused on his lost memories. He didn’t know which ones he’d lost, but he thought they related to his friends when he’d worked at the engineering firm years and years ago. He didn’t think about those times very often, but now he couldn’t think about them at all.

Do you wish to recall lost memories?

Unallocated points available: 7,275

Points required to recall lost memories: 110

The second time he woke, it was daylight out. He tested out his memories, recalling people he’d forgotten after leaving the engineering firm like it was yesterday. Beyond that, he remembered childhood friends and acquaintances, and he knew he could write down every single classmate he’d gone to school with from kindergarten through high school and not miss a single person. His memory was that good.

The memories didn’t stop there. They went further back, to his time as a toddler and even a newborn. He saw his mother in her prime, and she was stunning. His father had muscles that he couldn’t remember seeing before, and the resemblance between him and his father was closer than he’d ever acknowledged.

As he traveled down memory lane, he remembered the birth of his sons. They had been beautiful boys, and he could even admit that his ex-wife had been an exquisite woman back in those days. If he spent enough time, he was sure he could watch his kids grow-up, but he didn’t. He was thankful he had the memories again, as it was more than he had hoped for when he used the blue boxes to restore his memory. But he wasn’t ready to revisit it all yet.

He had too many things to accomplish still.

Getting out of bed, he had to roll over his immobile arm to get on his feet. He hadn’t repaired his arm yet and didn’t plan to do so anytime soon. Yes, it was an encumbrance that got in the way of even the simplest things, but it was also the only thing that tied him to Barbara. It seemed he’d failed his test, and should she ever speak to him again, he would be happy to admit that.

Pulling open his laptop, he saw emails from Rebecca and Charles at the top of his inbox. The latter had sent his report on the financial projections for the building, and after reading the summary he could admit they looked good. He’d read the rest later, maybe, but then again, maybe not.

Rebecca had sent him the amount needed to purchase the mineral rights, breaking the numbers down between the plats he had selected and those she recommended to hide the ones he wanted. He sent her a short message back, typed with a single finger, that he agreed to purchase them all. He added that he would be in later today to discuss a few things with her.

With that done, he got in his car and drove to the diner. Turn signals proved to be the most difficult as they required him to reach across the wheel with his right arm to flick it in either direction. In the end he ignored it, hoping he didn’t get picked up by the Portland police but willing to pay the ticket if he did.

By the time he got to the diner, the lunch crowd had left, leaving plenty of open parking spaces to choose from. Chloe hugged him tight as soon as he came through the door, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before telling him that everything would be all right. When she released him, she had tears in her eyes.

“Gene told me the news. I’m so sorry, Carl.” She patted him along his right arm, doing her best to not stare at his other arm that hung uselessly by his side.

He gave her a warm smile in return. Now that he could speak, he felt halfway normal again. “I’m doing well. I’ll have coffee and… oatmeal with fruit on top, I think.”

Chloe grinned. She knew better than most what he ate on a daily basis, and sometimes it took a traumatic event like a heart attack to get back on the straight and narrow. “You got it, Carl. Coming right up.”

He ate his oatmeal, and with some brown sugar and milk on top, it was as good as his mother used to make for him when he was young. A cup of bottomless coffee helped wash it down.

When it came time to pay, he could do little else but hand over his wallet to Chloe and told her to take out forty dollars. His bill was only a little over fifteen bucks, but he’d always been a good tipper.

She took a single twenty instead before placing his wallet back in his hand. “You stay safe, you hear me? I want you to be a customer here for another twenty or thirty years, so don’t expect any meatloaf sandwiches in the future.” She winked. “I might make an exception every once in a while.”

With that, he got back in his car and drove to the bank. He had some withdrawals to make.

Chapter 17

“For a country, everything will be lost when the jobs of an economist and a banker become highly respected professions.”

— Baron de Montesquieu

Kerrie wasn’t there to greet him when he arrived, but that was okay. He arranged for two money orders, both to the law firm. He could have done one, but he thought it was easier to do two instead to keep the accounting straightforward. One was to purchase the building, and the other was to purchase the mineral rights down in Medford.

After the cashier confirmed they had both gone through, he walked over to the law firm. His walking gait was awkward, but there was nothing he could do—or more accurately, was willing to do about that right now.

The receptionist at the law firm raced from her desk and opened the door for him as soon as she saw him walking down the street. Carl thanked her with a gracious smile, but a part of him fumed inside. A man should hold the door open for women, and not the other way around! His parents had raised him that way, and he still believed it to be true.

The receptionist took her seat as Carl plopped himself down in the waiting area. “Rebecca is just finishing a few things up. She’ll see you then.” She smiled at him, then turned away as the phone rang.

Carl smiled back. He sat in the chair doing nothing, despite an interesting magazine on rock climbing in front of him. His mindset had changed over the past few days, as he thought back to what Barbara had said to him in the hospital. He’d agreed with her back then, but now he wondered. Maybe it was the benefit of hindsight, but what she was saying was that she couldn’t accept him as he was. Yes, he had strange powers, and could do things that few others could do. But none of that was his choice, and he didn’t know how to change the situation.

More tellingly, he didn’t want to change that situation.

If Barbara couldn’t accept him for who he was, then maybe it was time he moved on. Fixed himself up like he planned, stopped his rehabilitation visits, and moved on with his life. It would be painful, but he was used to pain after seven decades of living.

Rebecca poked her head out of her door. “I’ll be with you in a second, Carl. Why don’t you head on in and I’ll be there shortly?”

Carl stood up, using his good arm to leverage himself out of the chair. Knowing that the discussion would be about business, he pushed his internal debate to the back of his mind. He’d never been one to argue with himself, but he was doing it more and more these days.

Sitting down at the conference table, he waited for Rebecca. She arrived just moments later with a leather notepad under her arm. The receptionist brought coffee and tea carafes in, setting them in the middle of the table before excusing herself from the room.

Setting the leather pad to the side, Rebecca folded her hands in front of her, resting them on the table. “I’m sorry, Carl. About what happened to you, and what I said at our last meeting. It was out of line, and I’ve wondered more than once if our relationship is too informal to continue as it is. I personally prefer it that way, but if you’d like, we can have Robert work with you. I’ve already spoken to him about it, and he has agreed that if he moves some things around, he will have time to work with you instead.”

Carl said nothing. He met Rebecca’s eyes, and he saw remorse, responsibility, and a tiny hint of fear. Rebecca meant every word she said.

Shaking his head, he said, “That’s not what I want. I enjoy working with you, and if we need to change how we work together to make this work, then that’s what we’ll do.” He took a sip of coffee after she poured him a cup. “As for mentioning Vancouver Life, I’m not holding it against you. It wasn’t fair on my part to dump a problem like that on you, regardless of whether it was before our meeting or after. For that, I’m sorry.”

Rebecca nodded, her face stoic. “Good, it seems we’re agreed then.” She opened her leather pad. “I received notice of your deposits and will have contracts drawn up for you later today on the building purchase and the mineral rights. Honestly, I should have had them prepared much earlier, but I can’t deny that your heart attack threw me off.” Her facial muscles relaxed now that they had resolved the main issue. She reached across the table to rest her hand on his bum arm. Tears threatened when he realized he couldn’t feel the weight of her hand there. “Are you doing all right? I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital.”

Carl waved it away with his good arm. “It’s fine, and yes, I’m doing well according to the doctors.” He took another sip of coffee as he thought about what he wanted to say next. “I’ve enjoyed working with you from the first time we met. If you need to keep our relationship more professional, then I’ll respect that. But I do think we have a unique way of working that transcends you being an attorney and me being the client. I doubt that that will ever change.”

Tears came to Rebecca’s eyes. She nodded, wiping them away with the back of her fingers. “I appreciate that, and I feel the same way. Now, what do you say we get down to business?”

They talked for the next hour and a half, going through everything Rebecca had found out about finding lost money. Truthfully, it wasn’t very much, but she had come to a few conclusions.

“Until you report it to the state, the money will always be in limbo. In fact, I think there is a danger if you don’t report it immediately. The fact that you’ve suffered through a heart attack and stroke buys you some time, but the state may question your motives if the money hasn’t been reported to them quickly. They may think you’re the drug lord claiming your own money.” Rebecca paused, holding her hand up to forestall Carl’s objection. “Not that I’m saying you are, but you’ll probably be audited—both state and federal—for the next few years. They’ll scrutinize your accounts with a fine-tooth comb, and you’ll need to document all the money you’ve found, in detail.”

Carl sighed. He should have thought of that before he’d started, but it made a depressing sort of sense. “Will you help me with the forms?”

She gave him a half smile. “Of course. It will take a few days to get it all together, but I’ll have it for you before the end of the week.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Carl caught a glimpse of what his future might be like. They would want to know how he’d found the gold, and he had no way to prove how he’d found it since he didn’t even own a metal detector. It would look very suspicious. Then he remembered what he’d told the police officer in Medford after he found Paddy, and he wondered if he could use that as an excuse.

Carl left the law offices and headed home. He had some decisions to make, and he wanted to think everything through before he did anything.

Parking his old Honda in the garage, he got out. He was deep in thought, so he didn’t recognize the trap Martha had set up. He was almost to his back door when she sprung it.

“Hello, Carl.” She waved her hands in front of her face, although Carl thought it was a relatively cool day today.

He gave her a half-nod as he tried to get his key into the door. “I’m sorry, Martha, but I’m not feeling well. I’m going inside to take a nap.”

Martha pulled a plate of brownies out of thin air. He had no idea where she’d hidden it, and he didn’t really want to know. “Would a brownie cheer you up? They’re still warm. I made them just for you.”

He shook his head as the door slipped into the lock. “I’m gluten intolerant now, Martha. It’s an aftereffect of the heart attack and stroke.” He winced. He was telling more and more lies, and doing so went against the morals he’d learned six decades ago.

That caught Martha off guard. “Oh, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Carl. I was just trying to do something nice for you.”

The door lock clicked open, and he knew with just a bit of force he could escape inside. It was what he wanted to do, but it wasn’t the responsible thing to do. He turned around. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, Martha?”

She smiled widely as she nodded, her eyes eager. He didn’t know how to classify women between 60 and 80 who actively hunted down younger men. They weren’t cougars, a term he’d learned from his ex-wife. Sloths? That sounded disrespectful, but more than a few older of the women he knew moved at a sedate pace.

Inviting her in, he got the coffee pot going before setting out some cups and saucers. He usually drank with a mug, but having a guest over required that he used the more formal china.

Martha spent an hour in his living room, talking about this and that, all the while asking how he was and if she could do anything for him. She tried to sidle closer to him, causing him to excuse himself for a moment. It was a game of cat and mouse, and he was the mouse. A disabled mouse who felt a headache coming on.

Martha tired as their visit wore on, and she excused herself after nodding off for a few minutes in her chair. Carl had done the same thing plenty of times before the blue boxes arrived, so he did his best to downplay her embarrassment. She insisted on leaving the brownies behind ‘just in case,’ and he thanked her for her kindness.

As soon as she left, he grabbed a brownie. They were warm and delicious, and he moaned a little in satisfaction before taking a second bite.

Now that he was alone, he sat himself down in his recliner with another brownie and a cup of coffee. Despite his low point count, a few things needed to change in his life. He couldn’t think of a better time than right now.

Do you wish to change your imputed age?

Unallocated points available: 7,165

Points required to change imputed age: 100 per year changed.

This was the third time he was changing his imputed age, but there was no other way around the problem. Unless he changed his imputed age to something much younger, he was at risk for further heart attacks and strokes despite removing the cholesterol in his body. Better to solve the problem now.

New imputed age?

Note: changes to imputed age can take longer when healing broken DNA strands, repairing heart surgery damage, healing broken neuron connections, healing micro-tears in muscle and ligaments, and repairing any physical damage due to age.

Carl already knew the age he wanted: 35. The same wave of heat he remembered from what seemed like long ago rushed through his body as he fell asleep.

Chapter 18

Though much is taken, much abides; and though

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

— Alfred Lord Tennyson

When he awoke, he was down to less than half his unallocated points. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, but it made him nervous. One more battle where he had fewer points than the other blue box user, and that would be the end.

Pushing the thought away, he set his intention.

Do you wish to change the age you appear to be a different age?

Unallocated points available: 3,365

Points required to appear a different age per year changed: 5.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this before. This way he would look like he was in his seventies, but have the body of a thirty-five-year-old. Or so he hoped.

Closing his eyes before he mentally said seventy-three, he felt something move through him. He didn’t pass out, though, and he took some comfort in that.

When the process finished, he was down to just over three thousand unallocated points, the lowest he’d been since the disaster. Looking out the windows, dusk was falling, but he ignored that as he walked into the bathroom.

And saw a seventy-three-year-old man looking back at him. He grinned at his reflection, and his reflection grinned back at him.

He felt younger, and his body still had some of that definition. Barbara might notice, but he didn’t think anyone else would…

She popped into his mind like that sometimes, and the truth was that he didn’t want to forget about her. What they’d had was special. Or at least, he had thought so.

Locking up the house, he drove down to the diner. He planned to have red meat for dinner if he could talk Chloe into it, and he couldn’t wait.

* * *

The next day he called Bryn after going for a walk around the neighborhood and having a bowl of cereal for breakfast. He needed his job back, despite the limitations of his left arm.

“Bryn here.”

“Hi Bryn, it’s Carl. You have a moment?”

He heard her get up to close the door. “Carl, it’s so good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

Carl cleared his throat. “I’d like to come back to work. My left arm remains incapacitated, but the rehabilitation is helping, and I’m fully mobile. I think I can do my job just as well as I did before, and it could help the company having customers see someone disabled working out front.”

Bryn’s voice wasn’t as soft as he remembered when she responded. “I don’t know, Carl. If you were to have another heart attack on company grounds, that might make us liable.”

It was the same problem he’d had at Precision Steel, where management worried more about financial liabilities than people. “Is that the true reason, or did something else happen?”

Bryn cursed under her breath. “You know I think fondly of you, Carl, so I’ll tell you the truth. Terry has replaced your position, and he’ll be going to Bentonville in two weeks to share the new greeter methodology with corporate. I might be able to bring you back after that, but probably not as a manager. I’m sorry, Carl.”

Angry and disappointed, Carl said the first thing that came to his mind. “You know you just gave me reason to sue you and the entire company for discrimination against disabled people.”

Instead of responding, Bryn hung up. He’d made his threat, which would give the company time to prepare for battle. He just wasn’t thinking straight these days.

He knew he could apply for a job at the Wal-Mart in Vancouver, but that was a heck of a drive that would force him to take I5 and deal with all the traffic. Unsure of what to do next, he got on the laptop and looked for other locations. There was one in Happy Valley, which was further than he traveled to his old store, but it was worth a try.

Getting in his car, he drove to the other store, using his knees to steer while he used his right hand to signal turns. It was awkward, but he was getting better at it.

When he arrived, he found the kiosk exactly where it had been at the old store. He filled out a new application, but it went faster since the system knew who he was already. This store was grimier, and he didn’t know the people here like he did at the other store, but there was nothing that he could do about that.

With nothing else to do, he drove home, taking it slow to avoid getting in an accident. He felt bad about his conversation with Bryn, but to dismiss him for being disabled? He didn’t know if it was righteous anger or if he was fed up with the struggle of being disabled, but either way it didn’t feel right.

When he got home, he had two messages waiting on his answering machine. One was from Gene asking if he could go down to Medford with him whenever he next went, which sounded too close to something Rebecca or Charles would say to be a coincidence. Still, he appreciated the sentiment.

The second was from Bryn and Terry. Pushing play, Bryn spoke first. “Carl, I’m sorry for the conversation we had. It was unprofessional of me, and you’re right to be angry about the situation.” He heard whispering in the background that sounded a lot like Terry.

“We absolutely do hire disabled people, and the company’s policy is to hire employees regardless of race, creed, religion, disability, or sexual orientation.” She said it more firmly than needed, which made Carl wonder what was going on over there.

Terry spoke next. “Carl, you know I value you highly as a friend and an employee. You changed this store so much for the better, and,”—there was more whispering, this time from Bryn—“while we have replaced your position, you are next in line for the next open greeter position. At an entry level hourly rate, of course.”

He heard flesh hitting flesh, and he could guess who was on the receiving end despite the womanly, high-pitched yelp. “Stop it!” Terry continued. “Fine. You should be the one going to Bentonville. It was your idea, and the regional and district managers know that.” There was a pregnant pause like the call was over, but Terry threw in at the very end, “Please don’t sue us.” The words had been spoken so quickly that Carl had to rewind the message before he understood what was being said.

Then the call ended.

Stunned, Carl sat back in his recliner. He didn’t delete the message in case he needed it in court, but he thought that unlikely. He didn’t care about going to Arkansas, a state whose best export was Johnny Cash, but it was the principle of the thing.

The longer he went without responding, the more his emotions dulled. When the flare of anger he’d felt was back under control, he called and left a message for Rebecca. He doubted she would answer this late, and as he’d guessed, she didn’t.

“Rebecca, I just wanted to leave you a message about the conversation I had with Wal-Mart. They wouldn’t hire me back after I asked to go to work because of my disability and said that they have already replaced me. I said”—Carl shook his head in dismay. He’d reacted like a hormonal teenager — “some unfortunate things, as did the store and HR managers when they called me back. I’m not looking to take immediate action, but I want my job back despite the lack of mobility I have in my left arm. Call me when you have a chance. Thanks.”

He set the phone down in the receiver, feeling slightly better about things now.

Leaning back in his recliner, he opened his laptop. If what Charles said was correct, he needed to search for new mines sooner rather than later.

Chapter 19

“Mining is like a search-and-destroy mission.”

—Stewart Udall

Carl was up late into the evening, searching for old mines in Oregon, Washington and Idaho. Of the three states, the most active mining was going on in Idaho, both in the panhandle and in the southern half of the state. Washington had numerous old gold mines, but many now resided in national parks or wilderness reserves.

Baker City, Oregon, was different from all the rest. It was the site of hundreds of gold and silver mines, and while some were now in the Whitman National Forest, many others were not. He didn’t know if there were any veins left to be discovered, but he knew how to find out.

Closing his laptop, he saw it was dark out, yet he didn’t feel tired. Pulling his calendar off the wall, he started planning out the next few weeks. He’d already marked down The Rustler’s Brand auction date, along with the UFO conference in Ocean Shores. That still left him enough time to drive across the Cascades to check out Baker City. It was a five-hour drive to get there, and if his time in Medford was anything to go by, he would need to spend three or four days there to check the area out before heading home.

He could only hope they had an old theater there showing classic movies and serving silky smooth porters.

He also marked down a reminder to set up a new meeting with Sue at the advertising agency. He could only hope that this one would go better than the last one.

Once everything had been written down and scheduled, he shut the house down for the night and hit the sack. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

* * *

He had a message from Rebecca on his answering machine after he got back from the diner. He’d gone for a two-mile run earlier, his pace little more than a jog, but he was improving. That was what mattered most.

“Carl, I’ve got the next two hours free if you want to stop by. I think that would be easier than me leaving a ten-minute message on your answering machine.”

He drove over to the law offices, finding Rebecca already in the conference room along with a carafe of hot coffee and a plate of cookies. She was busy organizing papers, and various piles spread out along the length of the table with her laptop in the center.

Instead of sitting down, he walked toward her. She stood up to shake his hand, knowing he preferred to do that, but he instead wrapped her up in a half hug, only one arm going around her back.

Pulling away, Carl sat down on his side of the table.

Rebecca looked at him sideways. “Is everything all right, Carl?”

He grinned, awkwardly pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Just fine. I wanted to thank you for dealing with all my latest problems, and a handshake seemed a little too impersonal. That’s all.”

Rebecca’s cheeks took on a rosy glow. “Well, I appreciate it. And you’ve had quite a string of unusual problems. Some of which we’ll be dealing with today.”

They spent the next hour going through document after document, Carl asking questions about the things he didn’t understand. The first document was to purchase the building. It included a waiver of liability in case the building burned down, fell down, flooded, or some other disaster struck. All of which seemed possible based on the engineer’s report, but that was fine. Rebecca had already sorted out commercial insurance options to cover him in case any of those things happened.

Next was the final partnership agreement in the law firm. She passed him a copy so he could read along. “This isn’t our standard partnership agreement and differs in a number of ways from the one Robert and I agreed to. You’ll be responsible for coordinating advertising along with finding new firms to either buy or add to our company. Your share is slightly less because of this, but only for the first five years. After that, your share level will be the same as ours.”

Carl twirled his pen around his thumb. “Why am I getting less? Not that I mind, necessarily, but I do want to understand.”

Rebecca nodded. She and Robert had prepared for this question. “You’re getting less because the partner that left only had a half share. You’ll have a double share due to your investment, but we won’t be able to support four full share payouts even with the new clients coming on board. Our intention is that with all the advertising and additional associates to help with the workload, we’ll be able to do so in five years.”

From the look on Rebecca’s face, he could tell she was hoping he went along with it. After all, if he took two full shares that would reduce Rebecca’s and Robert’s payout. He didn’t mind, not really, but it didn’t seem equitable.

Then he reminded himself that all he had to do was bring in another law firm or two. Doing that, plus keeping the advertising budget up, would get him there faster. Or so he thought. “And if I get your partner shares up by an amount that you could pay out two full shares to me earlier than five years, would that change anything?”

She smiled with relief. “Actually, it does. If you read clause 14. b-3 under ‘Partners,’ you’ll see that spelled out in more detail.”

In the end, Carl signed off on the partnership agreement, then followed that up by signing off on purchasing a fifty-one percent share of Randy’s coin shop. He’d already paid Randy the money but had never formalized the agreement. He didn’t think Randy minded, and he didn’t really care either, but he could see from the tension around Rebecca’s eyes that she did.

With that done, she walked him through the reporting to state officials about the money he had found. Besides the three forms she’d filled out, she had also included a written report of his activities the night he’d found the money.

He read through it, correcting one or two items which she would have the receptionist fix so he could sign it before leaving. The last set of forms was for the purchase of the mineral rights for the plats he’d found outside Medford. These had been much simpler, just a few signatures along with a large check.

Setting his pen down, he leaned back in his chair to stretch his back. When he was done, he noticed Rebecca hadn’t moved from her seat.

“What?”

She chuckled, but it didn’t sound happy. It more closely resembled someone who dealt with an unruly child every single day and was ruing her life because of it. “What else are you planning? Just so I can get ahead of the curve for once.”

Carl grabbed a cookie, taking a bite of sweet deliciousness before answering. “I’m heading over to Baker City and see if I can find more mines before word gets out about the ones in Medford. If you and Charles are right, then we can sell any we find over there to potential investors, or go in 50/50. I have a feeling it will be easier if I do that before we begin drilling.”

She waved her hand for him to continue. He sighed. “I’m going to the UFO conference in Ocean Shores with Gene and possibly Randy. You’re welcome to tag along too.” He gave her a flippant grin, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

When he saw she was still waiting, he kept talking. “I plan on heading over to the advertising agency to complete our negotiations. Their first offer was halfway reasonable, but needs further negotiation, and I’d like to have them secured so we can improve all our businesses using their services.”

To that, Rebecca smiled. “They’ve been wonderful. Sue has already reached out to start a new sales and promotion campaign in late summer, just before all the corporate lawyers head back to work after vacation. We’re already seeing a bit of that work, but we could use a lot more.”

Then she folded her arms in front of her, her good mood dissolving in an instant. They stared at each other for a tense moment, and Carl knew what he wanted to say next. He’d missed a lot of what Randy had said on the drive home from the hospital, but one comment had stuck with him. “Oh, and Randy thinks you’re hot. He told me so when he drove me home from the hospital.”

This time her blush ran from her cheeks down her neck and to her chest in less than two seconds flat. Carl grinned, while Rebecca fanned herself with a set of documents. Clearing her throat, she said in a husky voice, “I see. Well, that’s not really relevant, is it?” Her voice was throatier than usual, and Carl wondered if matchmaking between his business partners was a good idea or not.

Still, he couldn’t help but turn the screw a little tighter. “Oh, but I do think it’s relevant. You need to get out of the office more, and Randy is a fine man. A self-made business owner, that one. And I have it on good authority that he owns a Harley.” Carl couldn’t hold it in any longer, laughing loud enough for the receptionist to peer in through the window to see what was happening.

Rebecca pointed at the door. “Thank you for coming in, but I believe our time is up.” She was fanning herself so quickly that Carl worried about paper cuts.

Taking his leave, he drove over to the advertising agency. It was lunchtime, but the three cookies he’d eaten would tide him over for a while. And if he knew Sue, she would have fresh donuts ready and waiting for him. He wondered where she got those from…?

Chapter 20

“Advertising is a valuable economic factor because it is the cheapest way of selling goods, particularly if the goods are worthless.”

—Sinclair Lewis

She had the donuts waiting on the conference table, including cake donuts, which had always been his favorite. She fussed over him like his mother would until he finally convinced her he was fine, and he promised he wouldn’t have another episode right in front of her again.

After a half hour of friendly negotiations, they decided on $370,000 for 80 percent ownership of the advertising company. Sue couldn’t guarantee that the former owner would sell, and Carl wasn’t motivated right now to look into it. If the man made an offer for his shares, he would consider it, but majority ownership suited his interests just fine.

He called Rebecca from the advertising agency, and she promised to draft up the paperwork. She seemed to be back in control of herself again and kept their discussion focused on business. She mentioned in passing that she had wired the funds for the building to the seller’s escrow account and that the keys and title should arrive within a day or two. Once they did and all looked to be in order, the escrow funds would be released to the former owner.

“Thanks, Rebecca. And I want to apologize for riling you up earlier. I’ll say no more about your personal life. It’s none of my business, and I should have remembered that.”

Rebecca paused. What had hurt the most was that he had been more right than wrong about her not getting out much. “I… I appreciate that. And as much as it pains me to say it, you’re not wrong. I spend too much time working, and I can’t remember the last time I went out on a date.”

“I know all too well what it’s like to be alone. If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be all ears. And Randy is a wonderful guy, if a little rough around the edges.”

Rebecca sighed loudly into the phone. “I appreciate you sharing that. I haven’t had a lot of men calling me hot lately, so…” She paused. Unseen on the other end of the line, she rolled her eyes. She very much disliked conversations about her personal life, no matter if they came from her mother or her boss. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll call you when I have some news.”

Rebecca set her cell phone down, then banged her fists on her desk. She knew he was only trying to help, but that didn’t mean she wanted to have that kind of conversation with the man she for all intents and purposes reported to these days.

Carl came out of a private office and said his goodbyes to Sue and some of her senior managers who Sue had invited in to meet him. Although the price was agreed, nothing else had been finalized. Despite this, he liked the people he met. To his eye they were professional, creative, and they knew what they were doing. That was good enough for him.

* * *

It was just before 4pm when he got to the diner, Chloe waving him toward the counter while she took an order. He’d never noticed it before, but she almost always took orders while facing the front door. Whether it was to greet guests or to prevent dine and dashers, he didn’t know, but he appreciated it.

He ordered the special for the night—prime rib—but when his food was set before him, it was a large salad with seared salmon on top. It was delicious, but it wasn’t prime rib. It seemed everyone was looking out for him these days, and while he knew he should feel good about that, part of him couldn’t help but feel smothered. He left a good tip, but not quite as large as he did when he received what he ordered.

Chloe touched her nose and pointed at him as he left, and Carl could only shake his head.

Chapter 21

To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire, and where they make a desert, they call it peace.

— Tacitus

The next morning Carl went for a run. He hadn’t heard from the other Wal-Mart store yet, and it appeared nothing new had opened up at his old store. He kept his senses on the entire time, but rarely stopped to investigate. He had a decent collection of coins at home now, but nothing compared to the gold he’d found earlier.

As soon as the keys and title to the building arrived, he planned to head inside to check it out so that contractors could get started on repairs. That would leave him free to drive over to Baker City, which he was looking forward to. He hadn’t decided whether he should invite Gene along or not. The responsible part of his mind told him it would be prudent to have someone else along when he was driving, while the independent part didn’t want Gene horning in on the work he needed to get done. If that wasn’t enough, Gene’s taste in movies leaned towards the modern, while Carl preferred the classics. Certain movies had been so well made that it didn’t matter how many times you saw them, because you always caught something new during each viewing.

Carl felt that way about a great number of movies, almost all of them made before 1980.

He skipped the diner, eating cereal at home instead. What was the point of going in only to be fed unsweetened oatmeal instead of the bacon, eggs and hash browns that he truly wanted?

The phone rang just as he was washing the dishes. It was a complicated process with only one arm that involved pinning the dish or bowl to the bottom of the sink so he could scrub it with his good arm.

Letting it go to the answering machine, he finished up. Once everything dried and been put away, he pushed the play button.

“Carl, it’s Rebecca. The title and keys just arrived. Congratulations on the purchase of your first commercial building. Stop by when you have a chance, and I’ll hand them over to you.”

The message ended, and Carl moved as fast as his stroke-ridden body would let him as he got dressed and ready to go. He called Gene and told him to meet him at the law offices before he headed out the door.

After a quick drive over, he saw Gene waiting for him in his car. He waved for him to join, and they walked into the building.

The receptionist gave him a bright smile. “Rebecca is waiting for you in the conference room.”

Thanking her, they headed toward the conference room. He’d never imagined owning a commercial building before, but the feeling was almost as good as purchasing his first home. It had been a small home, less than nine hundred square feet in a neighborhood that had seen better days, but they had loved the house. His ex-wife had redesigned the interior on a budget of zero dollars, while he hacked down all the overgrown bushes and pulled out the garbage piled in back. Once he’d cleaned it all up, he found an apple tree under overgrown blackberry vines, which he pruned. Every year they collected apples for homemade applesauce and apple pies.

He could still taste the memory of those pies. They had been delicious.

“Congratulations, Carl.”

He gave her a teary grin, which she misconstrued as happy tears from buying the building. He supposed part of that was true, but not entirely.

“Thanks, Rebecca. I know Randy will be thrilled.” He looked at the large key ring resting on the table, too many keys on it to count. Pointing at it, he said, “Are those all the keys? How will we know which one goes to what door?”

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. “I’m afraid that’s your problem, Carl. I recommend that you change the locks at some point, as many of these keys look ancient, but that’s entirely up to you.”

Gene nodded like he was already planning to do so, and come to think of it, he probably was.

“Can we head over to look at it?”

She motioned for him to sit. “Not yet. You need to sign the papers for liability and casualty insurance. Once those are in order, you can head over at your leisure.”

Forty minutes later, the paperwork was wrapped up. Carl grabbed the keys, but he left the title in Rebecca’s possession. “I think you should put it in the law firm’s safe deposit box.” He turned his head sideways, away from Gene, and mouthed Found money.

Rebecca touched her nose. “That’s a good idea. I’ll see to it after you leave.”

They shook hands all around, and then Carl and Gene walked down the street toward the building. He didn’t want to tell Randy yet as he would get overexcited, but when he found the right time he would.

Gene motioned towards a trash-filled entrance where an old door with peeling paint from the years of weathering stood forlornly. What color it had been originally was anyone’s guess. “This is one of two ways I know of to get upstairs. The other entrance is on the opposite side by the café that just closed. That one doesn’t have an outside door, and the smell of urine in the stairwell is… significant.”

Carl turned to Gene while he fiddled with the keys. “They already went out of business?”

Gene nodded. “They had a delicious chicken noodle soup, the kind with thick noodles and large chunks of chicken. It was great, but I never saw them with more than a few people inside at any one time.”

The key slipped into the lock, and Carl turned it. To his surprise it turned easily, like it was brand new.

Gene nudged him with his shoulder. “I put liquid graphite into all the doors. Just a bit of maintenance, that’s all.”

Carl thanked him. It was something he never would have thought of doing. Of the three bulbs hanging down by dusty wires from above, only one still worked when they flipped the switch. The stairs seemed too narrow for Carl, and he couldn’t imagine how anyone would pass someone else on the stairs going the opposite direction. It would be difficult.

There was a second door at the top of the stairs. This one hadn’t been lubricated with graphite and took some extra muscle to get open. When it gave way, the door opened into a musty old room filled with dust, spider webs, old furniture, and various odds and ends. Some of it looked like it had been stored here, but that was only a guess.

The ceiling was high, though, and the grimy windows—which needed replacement with something more modern—let in a lot of light. As they explored, they found the restroom, two bedrooms, a large open space filled with more furniture, and a makeshift kitchen that had a blocked off hole where a wood stove pipe would have gone.

Carl had always intended to fix the upstairs up and rent it out for extra cash, but what if he fixed it up and used it as a place for his kids’ families when they came to visit? He only lived a few minutes away, and it would give them all some space to become reacquainted.

He filed it away for further consideration.

“It looks like someone lived up here before.”

Carl opened a closet, finding old dresses with a thick layer of dust covering them. “I think you’re right.”

Neither of them was ready to leave yet, so Gene opened a window, letting in some fresh air. The road noise was considerable, but with double—or triple-paned windows, that could be reduced to almost nothing. They organized the old furniture into stacks, opening up the space to walk around in.

Gene found the other door behind a table propped up sideways against it, and it showed clear signs of someone trying to break in.

“You keeping a list?”

Gene patted his pocked. “So far, I’ve got new doors, new locks and keys, new windows, security systems for the businesses and upstairs, a new vault for the coin shop, and metal barred windows and a steel front door for the coin shop. It’s easier to stop someone from stealing by keeping them out instead of after they break in.”

Carl couldn’t argue with that. “I like this space. It’s old, but it’s large enough for a family to live comfortably in. You could pop down to get coffee in the morning, and if we get new tenants for the café, maybe get breakfast, too, before getting on with your day.”

Gene grunted his agreement. They explored further, examining every corner of the apartment as he added to his list. The contractors would do most of the work, but not all of it.

They had been just about to leave when something bothered Carl. Based on the size of the businesses downstairs, this space represented less than half of the building. Which begged the question of where the other apartments were located?

He turned to Gene, who already had the door open to head out. “Is this the only apartment?”

Gene nodded. “I walked the entire building, and the only two entrances outside lead up here.”

Carl scratched his head. “Let’s head down and check it out.” Carl locked up behind them as they headed downstairs, then walked around the block. There was an alleyway between his building and the next one over that the shops, excluding Randy’s, could use for a service entrance.

They walked the full loop, again finding only two entrances. It was difficult to tell from the alleyway since it was so narrow, but he thought he caught sight of windows on the second level. Whoever rented wouldn’t have much of a view, but they would have less road noise.

Carl pointed up. “How do we get up there?”

Gene pondered the question. “Is there an entrance in the back of Randy’s shop?”

Carl shook his head. “He has the restroom and the office, that’s all. What about the coffee shop?”

Gene nodded. “They’re open, so let’s check it out. You might as well introduce yourself while you’re at it.”

They walked around the building again, stopping at the coffee shop. It had the front left corner of the building, with a service entrance that went behind Randy’s shop out to the alleyway. The café was much larger, covering the entire right side. It might make sense to break that area into two, but he would only consider that once he knew the market better.

Gene pulled the door open, and Carl walked inside. Getting in line, Carl ordered a small cup of black coffee for himself when they got to the cashier. Gene ordered a café latte with extra cinnamon on top.

Carl addressed the barista pouring his coffee. “I wanted to introduce myself to your manager. Is he or she in right now?”

The young lady, whose nametag said Keonie, waved toward the back. “Let me get your order and then I’ll go get her. Can I ask what this is about?”

“Yes. I’m the new owner of this building.”

The girl blinked. “Okay.” She got both their coffees before popping her head in back. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Carl found a table in a quiet corner and sat down. His cup of coffee had been ready in seconds, while Gene’s took a few minutes to prepare. Why anyone wanted something other than plain black coffee, Carl couldn’t comprehend. It was tried and true, and he had no plans to change his routine anytime soon.

A woman came out of the back who looked like she could be the cashier’s mother. The cashier pointed at Carl, and she said a few words before walking over to meet him.

Carl stood as a gentleman should before the woman introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Olivia. Am I to understand that Mrs. Wellington sold the building?”

Carl nodded. The mother was a beautiful woman, with an olive complexion and eyes that he could imagine capturing any man’s attention. “She did. Which is why I thought I would come over and introduce myself to the business owners. My apologies for not making an appointment earlier, but we only received the keys today.”

Olivia touched his hand lightly before releasing. “I see. Are you planning on changing anything?”

With her emphasis on changing, it took Carl a moment to realize what she was hinting at. “Not at the moment and not regarding rent. All current leases will remain in force until they expire, and we’ll negotiate then.”

Olivia sighed in relief. “But I take it you are considering some changes?”

He glanced over at Gene, who was still fussing with his latte. “We are. My friend over there is my security specialist, and he’ll making improvements to the security systems. We won’t interfere with what you already have unless you want us to, but the building security will improve. We’ll also be renovating the upstairs areas, although we’ve yet to access the other apartments.”

Olivia perked up at mention of the apartments. “Really? I would be interested in being closer to work. I’m renting an apartment in North Portland at the moment, which is quite a drive each day. Staying closer would reduce our commute and give us more family time.”

Carl let the comment pass. “Do you know how to access the apartments near the alley?”

She shook her head, her eyes looking up at the ceiling. “You’re welcome to check the service access, but I haven’t seen anything like you’re describing. We’ve been in this shop for over five years, and I think I know every nook and cranny of this space by now. I would have noticed it.”

Carl liked the woman, but right now she was lying to him. He didn’t know why, or what she was lying about, but the way she kept looking away from him didn’t feel right. “I would appreciate that. We’ll have a look and then get out of your way.”

She nodded quickly. Too quickly, he thought. She glanced at him before averting her eyes. “Do you know where we should send the rent now that you own the building?”

In fact, he didn’t. But he knew who would. “I’ll have a colleague reach out to you about that. His name is Charles Wilson, and he’s my business manager.”

She nodded. “Well then, I must be getting back to work. Thank you for coming in, Carl. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

Olivia stood up, and Carl did as well. Gene walked over just as she turned away from him.

Carl grabbed his friend’s sleeve, leading him toward the back where Olivia had just disappeared into. She hadn’t said a word to her daughter, making a beeline for the back door instead.

Carl jogged to catch up, opening the door just as Olivia disappeared through another door. A door that had steps leading up. He only caught a glance, but it spoke volumes.

Pulling out his keys, he tried them at the lock. If she’d been smart about it, she would have changed the lock, but then again, she’d in all likelihood been living up there for years with an owner on the other side of the country who never checked in.

The key turned, and Carl opened the door. The steps had been painted a floral green and had small white and yellow flowers on the back of each step. It was quite artistic and whimsical, and he almost felt bad for Olivia and her daughter. Then again, they had gotten themselves into a mess, and it was his job to sort it all out.

Gene opened his mouth to say something, but Carl put a finger in front of his lips. Olivia had to know they had followed her into the back, so all that remained was sorting out what the apartment looked like and figuring out rent.

Walking up the stairs, they came to two doors. One had been painted the same floral green as the stairs, while the other was a drab brown. It wasn’t difficult to guess which apartment was Olivia’s.

Knocking on the door, the apartment became silent. He’d seen her enter, so he didn’t know what she hoped to achieve by feigning she was somewhere else.

Carl spoke in a kind voice. He didn’t want to scare the woman. “Olivia, I know you’re in there. I just want to talk. We’ll figure out the ramifications later.”

The sound of a lock turning preceded the door opening. Olivia’s eyes were wet, and she wiped at her nose with a damp tissue. “I feared this day would come for years. I…” She paused, seeing Carl’s inscrutable face looking back at her. He didn’t plan to throw her and her daughter into the street, but he couldn’t let the situation continue in its current form. It wasn’t safe for them, and it wasn’t how he liked to do business.

She opened the door wider. “Please come in. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Gene nodded, while Carl shook his head. “Water’s fine.”

Entering the apartment, Carl saw that it had been decorated in the same floral style as the steps. Mismatched furniture filled the living room, with colorful pillows and throw blankets giving it a homey feel. A small kitchen was filled with appliances so old his mother would have thought they were stylish back in her day. Still, the apartment was neat and tidy, and although he could see that the windows were just as old as the ones they’d seen in the last apartment, it didn’t seem dangerous to have people living here.

Olivia returned with the drinks, everyone taking a seat at the kitchen table. One leg was shorter than the others, making the table wobble.

Holding her cup of tea in front of her face, she asked in a tremulous voice, “Are you going to throw us out?”

Carl took a sip of water. “Not yet. I plan to renovate all the apartments, including this one, and that includes modern windows, new appliances, better electrical and plumbing, and Gene here will handle security.”

Gene gave a brief wave.

“What does that mean for us?”

Carl shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to my lawyer about it, along with my business manager. You’ll have to sign a lease contract at a minimum, for liability reasons. Rent will be set, but—”

Olivia stood up, some of her tea sloshing over the side and on to the table. “I have squatter’s rights. You can’t just throw me out!”

Carl shook his head. This was why he disliked these kinds of situations so much. In a calm voice, he rebutted, “And I can change the lease for your coffee shop to a much higher rate. We both have power.” He sighed. “This isn’t a fight. Not yet, anyway. I ask that you work with me, not against me.”

Olivia sat down, her outburst over. She hadn’t thought of the coffee shop lease. She didn’t know the law, but she didn’t doubt that this man could change her lease and run her business into the ground. She had a tendency to overreact, and it was a rare occasion when it worked out well for her.

In a softer voice she said, “I agree. I mean, I’ll work with you. The coffee shop doesn’t bring in much, but it does make a profit. I can afford a small rent.”

Carl’s mind was already five or six steps ahead. “What if you hired a chef and took over the café? Kept the same lease to get yourself up and running, and we’ll keep the rent on this apartment low until both businesses are profitable.”

Olivia gasped. She couldn’t help it. She’d been thinking about the café ever since the former owner left, and she even had a friend who was a part-time chef. Her sandwiches were to die for, that’s how good they were.

She wanted to be happy about this development, but that wasn’t her life story. Good things turned to shit over and over again. “And what’s going to stop me from going under just like the last one did?”

Carl smiled. He was in his element now. “Do you spend any money on advertising?”

She shook her head. “No, just word of mouth. There are over two thousand coffee shops in Portland. People pick whatever’s most convenient.”

Two thousand? Carl had trouble believing it, but now was not the time to split hairs. “It just so happens that I own an advertising agency. One that could get people into the café.” He hesitated. He wanted to help this woman. He didn’t know her story, but he guessed she’d divorced after a bad marriage. It was the story of modern times, after all.

Taking a sip of tea, he cocked his head at the woman in front of him. “You might even persuade me to invest in it. I would want to see the menu first, as I don’t plan to eat at an establishment that doesn’t serve hot, homemade food.”

Olivia fanned her face with a piece of paper. There was no air conditioning in the building, and it got hot in the afternoon when the sun was out, despite the curtains she’d fashioned out of thrift store cloth to cover the windows.

She played it over in her mind. “Okay, let me see if I understand. I could take over the café, you’ll pay for advertising, you might invest if the food is good, and you won’t throw me out of this apartment. And you’ll even fix it up while I’m living here?”

Carl winked at Gene. “I think that about covers it. It might help you to know that I own the majority of Randy’s coin shop, which is what prompted me to purchase the building.”

Olivia shook her head in disbelief. That man was raking in money and had lines outside the door every weekend.

Then it clicked. This man had helped Randy, and he was offering to help her. In her experience, men only helped for one reason, a lesson she’d learned the hard way from her ex-husband. He’d left her pregnant and broke after cleaning out their joint bank account and stealing her broken-down but still running car.

The coin shop had boosted her business over the past month or two. Sales were up, and more people spent their time at the coffee shop, a few of them talking about gold and silver. It wasn’t that she wanted to overhear them, but the coffee shop was small. Sometimes she couldn’t avoid it.

She nodded as she looked back at Carl. He was a kindly old man, and she doubted he was after her romantically, even if the doubt that he might be lingered in the back of her mind. “I’m in. I don’t have enough money to get the café started, and I wouldn’t want to give up the coffee shop while I’m working on the café. Does that work for you?”

Carl grinned. “It’s just fine, Olivia. Why don’t you sit down with your chef and figure out what you need for start-up costs? I’ll reach out to the advertising agency to get them started on the coffee shop free of charge. Expect a call from someone in the next week or two.” Carl stood up, and Gene followed a moment later. “In the meantime, please don’t mention the apartment to anyone. The contractors will show up in…”

He turned to Gene, who shrugged.

Carl spitballed an answer. “… a couple weeks, more or less. Hang on until then. Deal?” He held his hand out.

Olivia took it. “Deal. I can’t thank you enough. Truly.”

* * *

Just before they left, Carl turned on his sense for lost money, but nothing popped up but the baseline scent for a single bill or two. Ignoring it, he turned the sense off.

Locking the door at the bottom of the stairs behind him, he asked Gene, “Do you know of any good contractors?”

Gene took the keys from him while he thought. “Yeah, I might. Not for the electrical or plumbing, but for the building renovation I definitely do. The company brought a crew in to expand the building when I was a security guard there, and they did quality work. I doubt they’re cheap, but they impressed me.”

They walked out of the service area in silence. Once they reached the sidewalk, Carl said, “You think you could get me their number?”

Gene gave him a knowing look. “You’re thinking of using the first apartment as a place your family can stay if they come out here, aren’t you?”

It was Carl’s turn to shrug. “It’s one option. The other is to expand my house and I live up there while they do the work. I’d planned to…”

He didn’t finish that sentence, and Gene knew enough not to press him on it. “You ready for the UFO conference next week?”

Thankful for the reprieve, he grinned. “I am. I heading over to Baker City tomorrow if you’re interested. I promise I’ll be back in time for the conference.”

Carl could see Gene was deep in thought, but it looked more like an act than anything serious. Feeling awkward for bringing it up, he said, “Sorry, never mind. Why don’t you get started on the security system and buy the vault we looked at? Don’t hire the contractors until I get back, but everything else is fine.” He handed Gene a corporate credit card with the LLC name printed on it.

Gene’s mouth dropped open as he held the credit card like it had been made of precious crystal instead of a small rectangle of flexible plastic. “You serious?”

Carl laughed. “Yes. I wouldn’t give it to you otherwise. But if you don’t want it…” He reached over to take it back, but Gene pulled it farther away before tucking it into his wallet.

“Thanks, Carl. For everything.” He chuckled. “You head over to Baker City and make more money so I can set up more security systems.” He put his hand out. “Okay?”

Carl nodded, happy that his friend was happy. “You got it, buddy.”

Chapter 22

“Our country is now geared to an arms economy bred in an artificially induced psychosis of war hysteria and an incessant propaganda of fear.”

— General Douglas MacArthur

Carl spent the rest of the day getting ready, and when he finished with that, he called Charles to let him know he had a credit card for him when he was ready. He also asked him to research plumbing, electrical and general contractors, and Charles promised he would get on with it immediately.

With all that done, he was free and clear to drive to Baker City. One-handed across a semi-treacherous mountain pass.

Shaking his head, he pushed thoughts of Barbara out of his head. They had been popping up less and less often, but they hadn’t disappeared entirely. And a large part of his heart hoped that they didn’t.

* * *

He skipped the diner after going for a quick jog the next morning, wanting to get an early start on the road. He ate breakfast, then packed a few PB&Js in his suitcase before heading out. He filled up his thermos at the coffee stand like he’d done before going into work at Precision Steel every day, and then he was on I84 heading east out of the city. It was a straight shot on the interstate all the way to Baker City.

He hit The Dalles roughly an hour later and pulled over in an abandoned fast-food stand to eat a snack and drink some more coffee. I84 followed the Columbia until it reached Boardman, and from there he would turn south into arid eastern Oregon.

When he drove into Pendleton, he pulled over to walk around a bit and get blood back into his legs. He was past the halfway mark and hoped to reach Baker City around noon. From there he would find a nice motel, some maps, and hopefully—fingers crossed—a movie theater to relax in at night.

While it had been cool and cloudy in Portland, it was already 85o in Eastern Oregon and rising. He rolled up his window and turned on the air conditioning as he kept driving. It would take thirty or forty minutes before he felt it, but better to start now than later.

He rolled into Baker City roughly ten minutes past noon. He’d visited the city a long time ago, back at the first company he’d worked for. It wasn’t the type of city he’d ever considered as a vacation destination, although it had a lovely but small downtown area and plenty of Oregon Trail exhibits. Feeling like taking a risk, he drove into the downtown until he found what he wanted.

The Grand Hotel was in the center of the downtown area, and after finding a place to park, he grabbed his suitcase and trundled on inside. He rented a room, then went upstairs to inspect it.

The room was larger than he expected, with a white duvet cover on a queen-sized bed. A coffee maker stood in the corner of a desk, and a large TV hung off the wall across from the bed. Even better, the old windows opened properly, and after putting some muscle in to getting them open, a warm breeze wafted into the overly air-conditioned room.

After putting his clothes away in the closet, he headed downstairs. There was no concierge, so he asked the man behind the front desk for the information he needed.

The teenager looked up from the computer screen he’d been staring at. “Yes, sir?”

Carl reached across to shake the man’s hand. He’d missed it earlier when checking in. “I’d like maps of the local area. Is there a local mapmaker nearby?”

The clerk brought out the yellow pages, and Carl’s hope deflated like a hot-air balloon descending too quickly. If the man didn’t know of a mapmaker in a small town like this, chances were good that one didn’t exist.

The clerk put his finger on a page, writing the address down on a notepad. Handing the note to Carl, he said, “Here you go. I can’t vouch for them personally, but they’re the only mapmaker listed in town.”

Carl raised an eyebrow. It was a pleasant surprise, and one that would hopefully continue if he could find a brewpub that showed old movies. He asked that exact question, only for the clerk to shake his head. “We have a couple of pubs in the area, and some are very good.” The kid smiled like he’d been in a few, and Carl changed the estimate of his age from teens to the early twenties. “But none of them show movies. The Eltrym Historic Theater shows movies, but they tend toward the modern.”

Nodding, Carl gathered his things to get started on his day. It was a disappointment, but he’d get over it. “If you’ll hold up one second, Mr. Thompson, we offer guests the use of our DVD library. We have over a hundred movies, and these days hardly anyone uses it.”

Carl stopped in his tracks, doing an abrupt one-eighty as he headed back to the counter. The box of DVDs was dusty, but had a few classic films in it. He recognized a few westerns and adventure movies from the better, olden days. It wasn’t the perfect combination he’d had in Medford, but he thought it would be fine.

Reserving a few movies for tonight, he made his way into the midday heat as he walked toward the mapmaker’s shop. It was a dry heat, and his younger body didn’t have much of a problem with it, but he could use a nice hat if he planned to search the surrounding hills and valleys around Baker City for gold and silver more than just this once.

Turning left onto a shady sidewalk, he walked down a street that had seen better days. A restaurant that must have closed years ago still had tables and chairs set up like it was opening tonight. Unable to help himself, he turned on his failing business sense and was overwhelmed with four or five scents hitting all at once. The scents were strong, and he had a feeling that just behind the strong ones there were even more businesses failing that just weren’t doing as badly as the strong ones were.

As he walked into the mapmaker’s shop, he knew it wasn’t failing. First, it didn’t smell, but it also had a wealth of maps lining the walls, from old gold mining maps which Carl took an interest in, to railway maps and more modern maps of the surrounding areas. He noticed an old map of the Blue Mountains in northeast Oregon, and the detail was exquisite for something so primitive.

A gruff voice that sounded like it came from a connoisseur of too many whiskey bottles and cigars spoke behind him. “That one there is from the mid-1880s. it was commissioned by the railroads as they tried to find the best way through. That one’s a copy, but I have the original in my safe. And before you ask, it’s not for sale.”

Carl continued to admire it. The map showed lines of elevation, landmarks, streams and rivers, along with a couple proposed routes through the mountain range.

Without turning around, Carl continued to marvel at the detail. “It’s a beauty.”

The mapmaker was an older man, which didn’t surprise Carl in the least. He imagined the younger generation was more than happy to rely upon GPS to get where they needed to go, but there was beauty to be found in maps.

Carl thought he caught sight of a grin behind a thick beard and mustache. “Thank you. And if I don’t miss my guess, you’re not from around here.”

Approaching the glass counter, which had a prominent ‘Do not lean on the glass’ sign underneath it, he nodded. “That’s right. I’m in town for business, and a few other things.”

The mapmaker twiddled the left end of his mustache until it was a fine point. “What’s your interest? Gold and silver? Or perhaps gems? Because I know you’re not here for a pretty map of our fair city.”

Carl liked people who spoke directly. It was easier to get things done with them. “Gold and silver. I’m not averse to gems, but they’re not my focus.”

The man nodded as if it all made sense, his thinning hair spreading with the motion. “I have standard maps of known mines, although I should tell you that a lot of those old mines are now in the Whitman National Forest.”

Carl grinned. “Oh, I know. And I don’t just want maps of the old mines. I want modern mines included too, even those that failed. Along with the plat numbering on the edges, and roads, rivers, elevation and the like marked clearly so I know where I am at all times.”

Bushy eyebrows lifted just a hair. “I can do that, but it won’t be cheap. Most people go for the basic map before realizing how much work finding a gold mine can be.”

Rather than haggle in the non-air-conditioned office, he proposed an amount. “Five hundred if you can get it to me tomorrow.”

The mapmaker only hesitated a second before countering. “Seven-fifty and I’ll include the plats where mineral rights have already been gobbled up by other speculators. You might pry a few free from the owners, but they won’t be cheap. You may or may not know this, but there is a theory that a wealth of gold flows down two ‘mineral rivers,’ one going north to south, and one going west to east. I’m not claiming I know that for sure, but you won’t find a single plat not already claimed in that area.”

Carl didn’t have to think about it very long. “I’ll take it.” He reached across and shook the mapmaker’s hands.

“The name’s Tom.” He had a firm grip, giving it a single pump before releasing.

“Carl. I’ll see you tomorrow, Tom.”

Tom waved him away as he pushed through the door. Enjoying the heat and having nothing to really to do, he turned his failing business sense back on.

The closest one was a restaurant on the outskirts of the downtown, a busy road going by. He didn’t understand why the business was failing, until he went around front and saw that it was a knock-off fried chicken restaurant. Based on the smell of rancid frying oil emanating from the restaurant, it wasn’t one he wanted to eat at. Ever.

Heading back toward downtown, the next business he homed in on was another laundromat. This one looked to be in better shape, with all the lights working inside and two streetlamps outside. He didn’t know what the problem was, but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t interested in owning a laundromat or a failing restaurant, because neither would create synergies with the rest of his businesses.

The third business took him closer to the hotel he was staying at, then down that same street and on to the next block. A hairdressing shop stared back at him, as did the three women inside wondering what he was looking at. An older woman gave him a flirtatious wave, her hair tied up in aluminum strips.

Beating a hasty escape, he followed the last scent. It was only a few blocks over, and now that he’d walked much of the downtown area, most of the streets looked familiar. Despite none of the businesses working out, he didn’t mind in the least. It was a beautiful day out, and the air was so dry that he didn’t really sweat much.

When he turned the corner to the end of the scent he’d been following, he thought he heard the trumpets coming down from the heavens above. The building looked forlorn, the weeds and bushes around the building laughing at the memory of the last landscaper.

He was staring at a credit union. And it smelled wonderful.

Chapter 23

“This concern with the basic condition of freedom—the absence of physical constraint—is unquestionably necessary, but is not all that is necessary. It is perfectly possible for a man to be out of prison and yet not free—to be under no physical constraint and yet to be a psychological captive, compelled to think, feel and act as the representatives of the national State, or of some private interest within the nation, want him to think, feel and act.”

— Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

He walked around the entire building. It had a single drive-through, and double door heading into the interior. It was clean but painted a drab gray that was almost a physical affront to the rest of the city.

Even worse, the interest rates on offer were the lowest he’d seen in ages. Heading to the door so he wouldn’t look like a robber casing the joint, he pushed it open and walked into a room so cold he shivered. Rubbing his arms to keep them warm, he stood in line facing an older woman who was the only teller on duty.

When his turn came, her attitude was desultory, as if she was on a work release program from the local prison.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Carl smiled, reaching his hand across the opening to shake. Instead of taking his hand, she pulled back at the invasion of her personal space. “What are you doing?”

He held his hand up. “Trying to shake your hand. To be friendly. I’m from out of town, and I prefer to shake hands with the people I meet.”

The woman flattened her blouse down, giving him a look like she’d known that all along. “Fine.” She placed her hand in his, only her fingers touching his and only for a split second before she pulled her hand back by her side.

Keeping a smile on his face, he said, “I’d like information about this credit union. How many branches there are, what the rates for checking, savings, CDs, and the like?”

She put a hand on her hip. “You don’t want to open an account?”

Carl shrugged his one good shoulder, a smile still plastered on his face. “I might open an account, but I’d like more information first to make an informed decision.”

The manager wandered over, having seen the entire hand shaking episode. Carla wasn’t known for her customer service, but she wasn’t surly enough to get herself fired. She mostly kept to herself, and that worked fine for him.

Carl turned as a large, short man walked over, going behind the counter instead of approaching Carl directly. Low interest rates could be fixed with enough mathematical modeling, but poor customer service would take longer to rectify. He didn’t know how many branches La Grande Credit Union had, but he had just discovered one reason people had been going elsewhere.

The man was sweating despite the frigid temperature, and Carl immediately knew the reason for the sub-arctic air he was breathing. “What seems to be the problem here?”

Before the teller could answer, Carl spoke. “I came in seeking information to research whether to open an account or not. I offered to shake her hand, but she took offense and only shook reluctantly.” He turned to the bank manager. “Is this how you treat all your customers?”

Despite the man’s age, he spoke forcefully, and Mike always responded to force. He’d wanted to be a police officer, but after failing the physical exam—twice—he had ended up here instead.

The manager’s head swiveled back and forth so quickly Carl was afraid it might spin right off. “That won’t be a problem. Carla will pull together everything you need.” He motioned for her to do so as he walked out from behind the counter and steered Carl toward his office. “We have two branches. The headquarters are in La Grande, which you probably drove through on I84 on your way to Baker City. There used to be four branches, but two closed last year, one in Ontario, and the other in John Day.”

Carl took mental notes as Mike the manager spoke about the credit union, its problems—he tried to downplay those, although not very well—the CEO and CFO, and a variety of other things. He didn’t know how much a small credit union like this would cost, but he was excited.

Very excited.

Thanking the bank manager for his time after promising to think about opening an account, he walked out with a small fistful of pamphlets and brochures in his hands. From what he could tell, the credit union focused more on individual customers than businesses. He had a feeling that banks performed better with a mix of both customers and businesses, so that would have to be rectified as well.

He headed back to his room to drop everything off before stopping at the desk again to ask about a diner. The same young man behind the counter told him about a few, so he chose the closest.

After an enjoyable but short walk, he entered an older building, the hostess or waitress nowhere in sight. Even if the food here was decent, he missed the diner in Medford: it was that good.

Seeing that no one was heading his way, he grabbed a menu off another table that the waitress hadn’t cleared away yet. The menu offerings featured fried food, and while he had nothing against it, he preferred dishes that were homemade.

He waited another few minutes for a waitress to come out, just to be polite, but no one came out to see who might be here. Hungry and tired of waiting, he got up and left, heading to the next location he’d been given. It involved a bit of backtracking and then a long walk down a city block, but that gave him the opportunity to explore the town even more.

He liked rustic towns, and while Baker City was large enough to be called a city—it was in the name, after all—it still had the charm of a smaller town in the fifties and sixties. He didn’t see a single building that had been torn down to build something new, and he’d seen enough new construction along I84 to know why.

The second restaurant was a café, not a diner, but that was fine. It didn’t have a counter, which he thought was a shame, but it had clean tables and someone who popped her head up from cleaning a table to tell him to ‘sit anywhere.’

Taking a seat at a table by the window that gave him a broader view of the city, a few seconds passed before a hot cup of coffee was set down before him. The young waitress he’d seen before whipped out a notepad from her apron.

“What’ll you have?”

Carl put the menu aside. “Any specials today?”

She nodded, an impish grin on her face. To his eye she looked like she should be in high school, but he knew that was his own age speaking. “Today it’s T-Bone steaks with mashed potatoes and gravy. Or you can have the porterhouse.”

Using his right hand, he pointed at his left arm hanging uselessly beside him. “I think steak is out.” The waitress’ face fell, but she perked right back up. “I could cut it for—”

Carl held up his good hand. He hadn’t had anyone cutting food for him since he was a child, and he wasn’t about to start now. “I appreciate the offer, but no. What else do you recommend?”

Nodding resignedly, she started listing them off. “We have roasted chicken with garlic mashed potatoes. Lamb chops, and…” The list went on for a while, almost all of it disappointing. “… and we serve breakfast all day.”

If Carl had a cowboy hat, he would have thrown it in the air and whooped up a storm. “I’ll have bacon and eggs, hash browns on the side. You keep the coffee coming and I’ll leave a nice tip.”

She nodded, the impish grin returning to her face. She placed a bottle of ketchup on his table, then followed that up with a top off on his coffee. It was decent coffee, too, hot and fresh without being bitter.

His food came out less than fifteen minutes later, the eggs perfect and the bacon crispy. Scraping the hash browns from a separate plate over the eggs, he then muddled them together until it became a yellow-brown mess that looked delicious. He added a couple squirts of ketchup to top it off and got to eating.

Just as he’d asked, his coffee cup was refilled every time it got below half. She didn’t hover over him, but she kept one eye on him while working other tables.

When she came to ask about dessert, he begged off, unable to take in any more food. He left a nice tip as promised, because the meal had been fantastic. It wasn’t a diner, but he found that he didn’t care as much as he’d thought he would.

* * *

His cell phone rang as he was heading back to the hotel.

“Carl here.”

“Carl, it’s Tom. I’ve got your map ready.”

Carl grinned. He didn’t know if he’d find gold or silver, but having a good map would give him an edge up either way. “I’ll head over right now.”

Pushing the flip phone closed, he changed directions. Ten minutes later, the little bell over the door tinkled as it opened and closed.

Tom was behind the counter with two tubes in front of him. Carl reached out to shake, and Tom did so. “It took a bit of work, but I think this is what you’re looking for. It covers the entire area from the Walla Walla down to just south of Ontario, and over a bit into Idaho. I know it’s more than you asked for, but I prefer to over-deliver. It keeps customers coming back.”

He pulled the map from the first tube, then unfurled it on the counter after weighing down the corners with little leather bags of sand. “I divided them into east and west. This one here covers the east, including most of the Blue Mountains, and ends just shy of McCall, Idaho. If you can’t find what you’re looking for here, then you need to keep looking. And maybe come in and get a new map.”

Tom chuckled at his own joke, the sound low like it was coming from deep in his throat.

Carl admired the map, seeing the plat lines he needed along the edges. They changed at the border between Washington and Oregon, and then again in Idaho, but that was fine. Despite the multiple national forests, if he couldn’t find a few good mines here, then he really was out of his element.

Pulling out his company credit card, he handed it to Tom. He ran it through a little extension in his phone, which Carl had never seen before. Still, it seemed to work, and soon he was on his way back to the hotel. He planned to lay these beauties out on the bed and plan out his activities for tomorrow.

Chapter 24

“We are at war, and the enemy knows that the subconscious absorbs everything.”

— Wayne Gerard Trotman

He got back to the hotel a few minutes after 5pm, picking up his movies at the desk. The clerk pulled them from a little cubby on the back wall where Carl imagined messages—or even telegrams in the Old West days—had been kept until the residents returned to the hotel.

He’d selected 3:10 to Yuma and The Longest Day from the DVDs packed into the box. He doubted he’d watch both tonight, but he was happy they had a decent movie selection amongst all the dross. He knew he’d be watching 3:10 to Yuma tonight, because it was the kind of gritty western that he preferred. And Glenn Ford was a heck of an actor.

He spread the maps out on top of the queen size bed. They were wider than the mattress, with the edges hanging over on three sides. Still, it gave him a sense of where to start. Just as Tom had mentioned, there was a swath of gold and silver mines going north to south just west outside Baker City, and then another, smaller, swath going west to east further north.

Ignoring those, he circled in pencil a few promising sites. He liked areas where one or two mines struck metal as there was always the possibility that other possible mine sites nearby might have been overlooked. He circled a dozen or more of those areas, a few bordering national forests. There were quite a number of mines clumped together in certain areas, and for the moment he ignored those. He needed to look where others hadn’t.

Looking at the clock, he saw that it was almost 7pm. He made a pot of coffee in the small machine in his room, filling up the carafe in the bathroom, then rolled up his maps and put them away. That done, he kicked off his shoes and called in to his answering machine.

He had two messages, one from Gene and the other from Charles. Knowing Gene, he had likely left him a long message about the security systems he wanted to install, while also reminding him of the upcoming UFO conference. He skipped Gene’s and listened to Charles’.

“Carl, sorry I missed you. Rebecca said you’d just left for eastern Oregon. Anyway, I found contractors for the building. One can handle only the structural repairs and the renovation upstairs, while the other two can do the entire job themselves. All three come highly recommended. Let me know what you think, and we’ll get started.” The message paused but didn’t end. “I think we need to communicate better. I realize I’m the manager and you’re the boss, but I can’t be effective if I don’t know what’s going on. Call me when you get a chance, and we’ll discuss.”

As soon as he heard it, he knew Charles was right. He’d never been a manager during his forty-plus years of working life, and until recently he’d still been working alone. He’d worked some of this out with Rebecca, but despite their biweekly meetings, it wasn’t enough for Charles. The man was his right hand, and as a man with only one good hand, he could appreciate the situation more than most.

On top of that, he was paying Charles a handsome salary, and he should be utilizing every cent of that money. Closing his answering machine without listening to Gene’s message, he called Charles back right away.

They spoke for well over an hour, Carl sharing most of what he’d spoken with Rebecca about just yesterday. He then filled him in on his newest find.

“A credit union?” Charles was incredulous. He could appreciate that Carl had a knack for finding businesses that needed help, but if he over-invested, he could lose everything. Most of his current businesses already needed help, and beyond that had expansion plans. He thought those issues should be dealt with first before buying anything new and said as much.

Carl sipped at his coffee, already on his second cup. “I hear you, Charles, I really do. But the credit union lost two branches last year, and the branch I went into was the single worst experience I’ve ever had at a bank. It’s the perfect opportunity.” Carl couldn’t hide his enthusiasm.

Charles sighed loudly. When he spoke, his voice was steady and firm. “Carl, I appreciate the opportunities you’re finding. It is that same insight that has gotten all of us this far. But I can’t help but feel concerned that you might be overstretching yourself and your company. Do you remember Vancouver Life? Or the plans to expand the law firm? Or that Randy wants to open another store or two? And that you’re planning to renovate the building you just purchased?” He paused, taking a sip of water. “At some point, it becomes too much for your team to deal with. Add to that, this bank is on the other side of the state. And although I don’t have access to your banking account, I doubt it has endless amounts of money. That’s why I prepared the financial projections. They’re a way for both of us to plan out the future. That future can include a credit union and a life insurance company. But in time, not all at once.”

Carl knew he was right. But that didn’t stop the excitement—or, more accurately, the need to expand even further—from bubbling through his mind.

“You’re right, Charles. We need to take a more managed approach to everything. But you’re wrong if you think I’m not willing to take risks. Educated and calculated risks, certainly, but I didn’t get this far without taking risks.” Carl paused, trying to think through what he wanted to say next. “Maybe we can meet halfway. I slow down a bit, but you speed up. All the things you described are possible. Some will make us money in the future, and some will right now. But if the overall portfolio of businesses does well, then you agree to seriously listen to my ideas.”

Although Carl couldn’t see the other end of the line, Charles smiled. That was exactly what he wanted. He knew he was a more than a little staid in his approach. He was an accountant, and it was his job to be conservative.

“Agreed. I’ll look into the credit union, only to get an idea of their financial situation and what a purchase might look like. We don’t know who the current owners are, and all that has to be figured out before we approach them.”

Carl began to relax. They talked further, but the key issues had been resolved. And as the leader of this team, he knew he needed to do a better job sharing what he was thinking. It didn’t come easy, but old dogs could learn new tricks. Before they hung up, he mentioned the leases in the new building and that payments needed to be sent to the LLC’s account. Charles promised he would look into it.

With work done for the day, he settled back with a beer from the mini-fridge and hit play on the video player.

Chapter 25

“It is to be regretted that the rich and powerful too often bend the acts of government to their selfish purposes. Distinctions in society will always exist under every just government. Equality of talents, of education, or of wealth cannot be produced by human institutions. In the full enjoyment of the gifts of Heaven and the fruits of superior industry, economy, and virtue, every man is equally entitled to protection by law; but when the laws undertake to add to these natural and just advantages artificial distinctions, to grant titles, gratuities, and exclusive privileges, to make the rich richer and the potent more powerful, the humble members of society—the farmers, mechanics, and laborers—who have neither the time nor the means of securing like favors to themselves, have a right to complain of the injustice of their Government.”

— Andrew Jackson

Carl was up early the next morning. He quickly got showered and ready to go, gathering his things in his right arm before heading out of the hotel and to his car. It had a ticket it on it from leaving it there all day yesterday, but when he saw the amount he laughed.

It was twenty-five dollars. Some things were truly better in small towns.

From there he drove to the café from yesterday, ordering almost the same meal as he’d had for dinner last night. Instead of hash browns, he had a freshly made muffin that was steaming hot on the inside.

When he finished with his meal, he ordered two more muffins to go, then had them fill his thermos with coffee before heading out. The same waitress as last night was there, and her service was impeccable. He left another nice tip, and she gave him a friendly wave as he left the restaurant.

I hope he stays in town for a long, long time. Clutching the tip in her hands, she folded it and stuffed it into her jeans.

* * *

Carl drove north on I84 a short way before turning off on state route 203. He passed over a canal that led to irrigated farmland, with the scrub-filled hills beyond. A handful of mines had been built in this direction, and after he got off 203, he slowed down to enjoy the drive. He had turned on his precious metals sense on state route 203, but hadn’t found anything yet.

He drove into the hills, and the sun seemed to rise faster than it did in Portland. Maybe it was the elevation, or maybe he was fooling himself, but the heat grew noticeable before it was even 10am. He already had the windows rolled down, but he found himself wanting to turn on the air conditioning in his ancient Honda despite the early hour.

He held off, knowing that the system hadn’t been recharged in ages. Paved roads turned to dirt roads, and he followed a steep one up closer to where the original mines had been. When he couldn’t drive any further, he got out and walked, immediately regretting that he hadn’t brought a hat. Pulling out his notepad, he wrote a reminder down before pressing on.

The hills didn’t look steep from a distance, but had rocks jutting out at sharp angles that could easily break an unwary ankle. Soon he was breathing hard, yet he pressed on. He hiked for another twenty minutes before an abandoned mine came into view. Blown over signs littered the ground warning people not to enter the mine, and he wasn’t foolish enough not to heed them.

He walked the entire ridge the mine was on, but smelled nothing. Part of him thought the scent was less than a half-mile higher up, but he convinced himself that was wishful thinking more than anything else.

Dejected but not willing to give up yet, he walked back to his car. The view was stunning on the way down, and the clear sky afforded a magnificent view that went as far as the Cascade Mountains. He thought he saw Mt. Hood through the distant clouds, but he couldn’t be sure.

When he got back in his car, he turned on the air conditioning. There was no sense messing around any longer. It blew warm air, but it was better than nothing.

Pulling out his maps, he unrolled the western map, as he thought the area he was in was on the right-hand edge of this map.

It was. Scanning the surrounding area, he thought about heading north parallel to La Grande. From where he was sitting on the map, the Blue Mountains were located just to the northeast of his position, and on the other side of the protected wilderness was the town of Joseph, Oregon. The town had a few dots laid out around it, all of them gold mines.

Putting the car in reverse, he backed down the dirt road until he hit pavement. Taking it slow and only using the back roads, he covered a good portion of the land west of the Blue Mountain protected wilderness as he kept his search going.

The first time he scented something, it was very faint. He immediately slowed the car down, backing up until he smelled it again. It was like a faint odor on the wind, and he couldn’t really tell which direction it was coming from. Getting out, he walked around the area, sniffing the entire time.

He was on a flat plateau with small bushes all around. He’d seen a few animals during his drive, including whitetail deer, but that was about it. Heading down the embankment, he pushed his way through scrub until the scent came closer. It wasn’t strong, but it was refined.

Gold.

Just to be sure, he walked past the location. He doubted the area was worth mining, given the strength of the scent, but he noted it on his map when he got back. He put a question mark on his notepad next to the plat number, with ‘faint’ written next to it.

He drove north until past lunchtime, not getting another scent the entire time. At 1pm, he pulled over to the side of the road and had a cup of coffee with his muffin. It was just as good as the one he’d had this morning.

As soon as he finished, he got back on the road again. He passed through the town of Cove a half hour later and then was on his way around the north end of the Blue Mountains. He was driving through the foothills, pine trees appearing in clusters. He crossed innumerable logging roads, although few of them seemed to be in use these currently.

When he couldn’t stay on back roads any longer, he hopped on to I82 and headed toward Joseph. He passed through Wallowa, Lostine, and Enterprise before finally pulling into Joseph. Ignoring the pretty lake in the distance, he quickly got off I82 and picked a rural road at random. Once civilization was in his rear-view mirror, he turned on his sense again.

He found silver within the first ten minutes. No silver mines had been marked on the map, although when he looked further, he saw a handful less than ten miles away. Marking it down, he continued on. He didn’t know what had drawn him to this area, but by the time he headed back—it was already after 5pm—he’d found four gold mines and another six silver mines. All in the same general area, and all of them strong.

When he pulled into Baker City, he didn’t go to the diner, but to the hotel. He needed a cold shower to cool down and get the road grime off. He pulled a beer from the refilled mini-fridge and popped the cap off, taking a deep draught of cold goodness.

Not yet hungry after eating his last muffin, he checked his flip phone but found no messages. He then called his answering machine. The first one was the message from Gene from last night.

“Carl, just calling to tell you that the vault will be installed in Randy’s shop next week. He asked me to tell you that he will need an advance to purchase more coin stock. Oh, and he said he wants to buy another shop in Longview, Washington. The owner reached out to him after seeing one of his ads and wants to go into business together.” There was mumbling in the background for a few moments. “He also wants me to tell you thanks for everything. He’s thrilled that you purchased the building.” He heard a shouted, “Thanks, Carl,” from Randy in the background.

“Oh, and don’t forget about the UFO conference next week. I know you’re busy, but they’ve announced the speakers and there are two Bigfoot specialists speaking. And a guy who’s going to talk about contrails, HAARP, and how they’re all connected. Anyway, see ya.”

Carl couldn’t help but compare the discussion he’d had with Charles last night to what he’d just heard from Randy speaking through Gene. Until his businesses stabilized, he probably couldn’t purchase anything new.

The next message was from Rebecca. “Hi, Carl. I wanted to let you know that you are now the new owner of mineral rights covering thirty-three plats outside of Medford. The purchase went through without a problem. I hope you’re happy. I know I would be.” Paper rustled faintly in the background. “Oh, and I think you’re right. We do need a new associate. Not a partner, but someone who can take on the excess corporate work that’s coming through the door. We don’t have any of the tech clients out in Beaverton yet, but we do have a handful from downtown now.”

Although she didn’t say it, Carl could tell that she was happy. She just wasn’t very good at showing it. “Anyway, I hope you’re finding lots of mines out in Baker City. And I thought you should know that I asked Randy out for a date.” She laughed, a little hysterically. “I’m not good at sharing my personal life, but since you were the one who mentioned it, I thought you should know. Thanks, gotta go.” The last three words sounded like the recording had put them on double speed, that’s how fast they came out.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. He liked Randy, who was more than a little rough around the edges, but a good man at heart. And Rebecca was a fantastic woman, just too hardworking and driven to notice the eligible men around her. He couldn’t decide whether to hope that it worked out or not.

Taking a sip of beer, he pushed the thought out of his mind as he placed a call.

“Charles here.”

“Hi Charles. I’ve been busy today, and I have a few things to update you on.”

Chapter 26

“Great nations are simply the operating fronts of behind-the-scenes, vastly ambitious individuals who had become so effectively powerful because of their ability to remain invisible while operating behind the national scenery.”

—R. Buckminster Fuller

He followed the same schedule the next day. It was Friday, and he thought he might stay until Sunday before heading back. That would give him a few days to get things done in Portland before driving up to Ocean Shores with Gene and Randy.

And possibly Rebecca, now that he thought about it.

He headed south today, roughly edging his way toward Ontario on the Oregon/Idaho border. He hoped to see what might be available in Idaho, not because he wanted a mine in the state, but because he hadn’t been there in quite a few years.

Despite driving back roads all day, he found nothing of substance. He again found a few light scents, but after chasing them down, he knew that was all they were. He wondered if the faint scents represented gold further underground that his senses couldn’t reach, or if they were just small amounts of gold.

To find precious metal deposits deeper under the Earth’s surface: 2000 unallocated points.

The light continued to blink in his vision despite the blue box he was reading right now. The problem here wasn’t the points—although that was a problem, since he couldn’t renew them as quickly as he used to—but that he didn’t know how deep his sense currently worked or how deeply it would work should he select this.

Current sense to find metal under the Earth’s surface. Maximum range: 50-yard radius.

Expanded sense to find metal deeper under the Earth’s surface. Maximum range: 100-yard radius.

Carl couldn’t help but be fascinated by what he saw. He wanted this expanded sense, but he needed to check the rest of his blue boxes first.

DNA acquired: 41

Unallocated points acquired: 800

Points remaining: 3

His total points stood at a measly three thousand, nine hundred and seventy-five. And to get the expanded sense, he would have to give up half of what he had.

Even worse, he wouldn’t be able to make the sense go any deeper into the Earth. He simply didn’t have the points for it.

He almost thought yes. He came so close that he was sure the blue boxes would accept it, but they didn’t.

What he needed right now was food, a shower, and time to think through what he wanted to do next. He already had a good number of mines he’d found, and if could get the plats secured, that should be enough.

But would it? Despite his conversation with Charles, he wanted to purchase Vancouver Life and make it better. And he wanted the credit union. Not in a childish, ‘I want this!’ kind of way, but in a way that would help make the employees’ that worked at those companies, and their customers’, lives better. After all, if he wasn’t making the lives of the people around him better, then he should immediately sell everything and stop what he was doing.

He didn’t know how much the beers in the minifridge were costing him, but he knew they couldn’t be cheap. Still, he pulled another cold one from the fridge, popped the top with the handy little metal device, and sat down to think. He had The Longest Day cued up to watch, but he needed to make this decision first.

Hoping that he was doing the right thing, he said yes.

To his surprise, he didn’t pass out. He checked that the points were deducted from his total, but otherwise nothing happened. It was by far the easiest upgrade he’d made yet.

* * *

He’d planned to head back today, but knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

After a quick breakfast downstairs in the hotel, which was passable at best, he headed out to the faint scent he’d caught the first day he’d looked. Before he even got close, he could tell that the scent was stronger.

It was overpowering, much stronger than anything he’d smelled in Medford.

Which raised the question of how many possible mines he had missed during his previous travels. And did some of the plats they’d purchased mineral rights on to hide the ones he wanted possibly have gold in them too, so deep that he wouldn’t have noticed them until now?

He hoped to find out when he headed back to Medford to bid on The Rustler’s Brand two weeks from now.

Instead of driving to the faint scent he’d caught further south, he continued heading north. Before he hit Cove, he’d found five gold mines—although none as strong as the first one—and two silver mines. One of the silver mines was faint, but he thought it was strong enough to give it a try.

From there he turned south, finding the same thing to be true at the faint marks he’d made on the map. He wrote it all down, including the plat numbers after triangulating them on the map, and continued to search until darkness fell.

Only then did he give up. He knew this was the next phase of his small business empire, and if he could sell these mines after purchasing the mineral rights, that might be enough for him to continue expanding.

When he pulled into the café, the waitress sighed with relief. Now that they knew each other better, she didn’t attempt to sell him on the expensive items, because she knew it didn’t really matter. He always left a nice tip, and she thought that if he was younger, she might even try to seduce him. She’d never had a sugar daddy before.

She doubted the unmoving arm would even bother her. She’d had men who did nothing but lay there during the act, but she somehow doubted this sugar daddy would just lie there. No, this was a man who knew things. She could sense it.

Waving at him with her fingers as he sat down, she ignored picking up a menu and went to take his order. His clothes were dusty, and he looked a bit sunburned, but the grin on his face told her he was hungry.

“Hi, Alice. I’ll have the usual.”

She smiled at him. He looked old, but something about him felt younger. His body wasn’t collapsing in on itself like her grandmother’s was, and she thought maybe he only looked old. Her dad’s best friend’s hair had turned white after a bad scare one night, doing what she didn’t know. But he looked older because of it, sort of like Carl did.

She gave him a flirtatious grin, her eyes dancing in delight. “Sure, Carl. I’ll have it right up.”

Carl nodded, sipping at the coffee she’d set down. Except she hadn’t moved, curling her hair in her left hand as she stared at him. “You’re staying at the Grand Hotel, aren’t you?”

Before he could respond, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle with danger. He didn’t want to answer. He also didn’t want to lie, but he had a bad feeling about the question. He decided to lie despite it going against his morals. “No, I moved to a motel on I84. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

Half of that was true. Her eyes sparkled. “I get off at 9pm tonight. Could I come over and…” She leaned in toward him, the top half of her blouse opening up like a parachute. Young breasts stared back at him, both barely contained by a frilly, pink bra.

Carl fell into a coughing fit as he turned to look in any other direction. She was a child, so what had possessed her to do something so forward?

A cold chill went down his spine. Baker City wasn’t a large town. Had she followed him back to his hotel at some point? Maybe she had misconstrued the nice tips he left her. He was a good tipper, always had been, always would be. He liked rewarding people for doing good work.

Pulling out his wallet, he left a twenty on the table as he scooted out of the booth. Alice didn’t understand what was happening. She knew she was pretty, and she knew what to do in bed. Why wasn’t he interested?

Carl moved around Alice like Jim Brown avoiding a tackle, then ran for his car. The other customers watched him go, all of them spouting theories as he got into his car and drove away.

“He must have just heard that someone died. Poor man.”

“He needs to use the restroom, and God knows the one in here is dreadful.”

Laughter sprang up at the last one.

Alice watched him go, still unsure what had happened. She liked giving boys a peek and thought nothing of it any longer. She was even wearing her newest bra, the one she’d bought with his tip money, she realized.

Seeing him pull out, she ran after him. “Carl, come back! Carl, don’t leave…”

That, of course, opened up a whole new round of theories.

“He got her pregnant. Poor Alice, she always goes after the bad boys. You know, her parents are…”

“Yup. That sounds about right.”

“What else could it be between an older man and a young woman?”

Carl didn’t drive back to the hotel. He drove out of the city, just driving to let the cool air calm an overheated mind. What in the dickens had the girl been thinking?

As time went on and his heart rate decreased, he relaxed into his seat. He could admit that while he would never take advantage of a girl so young, it was a nice boost to his ego.

That brought back thoughts of Barbara. He still hadn’t heard from her, and while he thought it unfair of her to not talk things through with him, he believed in respecting people’s wishes. If it took her a year to get over the shock of what he was capable of, then so be it. At some point he might move on, but he knew himself well enough to know it wouldn’t happen any time soon.

He waited until 10:30pm until he went back to the hotel. He would need to gather his things at the very least before checking out. It wasn’t in his plans to leave tonight, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. He just couldn’t.

He gathered everything into his suitcase, then grabbed the door key and took it down to the front desk. He handed both movies he’d rented over to the young man, then paid his bill. He found that the beers cost four dollars each, which while steep was less than he had expected.

The young man behind the desk couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. “You’re leaving tonight, sir?”

Carl nodded as he scratched his signature across the invoice. He then handed his corporate credit card over and paid the bill.

While the young man ran it through the device, Carl asked, “Are you single, by chance?”

The young man looked up. Tentatively, he replied, ‘Yes?”

Carl grinned. “You should get breakfast at the Baker City diner tomorrow. There’s a very nice young girl that works there, and I think you two might be perfect together.”

Relief flooded the young man’s features. He’d been propositioned a few times by older male customers staying at the hotel, and it always made him uncomfortable. He never knew what to say to them besides ‘No.’

“What’s her name?”

“Alice. She’s a nice girl, so make sure you treat her right, understand?” Carl pulled two twenties from his wallet and passed them across the counter. “This is for your breakfast and to leave a nice tip.”

Not fully understanding what was happening, he took the money and stuffed it in his pocket. “I promise you I’ll go tomorrow. My shift doesn’t start until noon, anyway.”

Carl shook the boy’s hand. “Good lad.”

With that done, he went out to his car. He had a long drive home tonight, but found that he didn’t really care. Time was fungible the older you got, and a drive during the day was almost the same as a drive at night.

Especially when he turned on his 50/20 vision, just to make sure he could see any possible dangers along the way.

Chapter 27

“The man who views the world at fifty the same as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life.”

– Muhammad Ali

He got home just before 4am, parking by the front door. It was early Monday morning, and he knew exactly what he could use right now to perk him up.

Tossing his suitcase inside, he waited an hour for the diner to open. While he waited, he checked his emails, finding nothing very interesting beyond an initial update on La Grande Credit Union from Charles. The company had first been formed by two partners who had been successful with other businesses, one in lumber and the other in construction. When the lumber business began to fail, the construction partner bought the other partner out, but that only exacerbated an already bad situation. With two businesses to run, he put a manager friend in charge of the credit union, and that man had run it into the ground.

Charles continued, “… I can’t deny that it is an interesting opportunity. Even with all the credit union branches based in Eastern Washington, your other businesses wouldn’t have any difficulty setting up business accounts and doing everything online.

“The bigger problem is whether the credit union could be turned around. It has a very high T ratio2 at 88, and that number is growing. Without knowing the details of the credit union’s accounts, it is difficult to tell where the problem is, but I would suspect that business accounts are leaving faster than customer accounts are.

“In summary, I think it is worth pursuing if we can get a great deal more information on it. We would need to know whether they want to sell, and if they are, then it’s a unique opportunity that fits within your master plan.”

Carl read the email twice, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything important. The tone was neutral, and he knew Charles would never outright endorse a purchase unless he believed it in his heart and soul. But if Carl could either sell the new mines after buying the mineral rights, or use the money he’d found after it was cleared for his own use, then he knew he’d be making a second trip to Eastern Oregon.

And probably staying somewhere that wasn’t Baker City.

Checking the clock on the wall, it was ten minutes to 5am, and after peeking out the window, the sky had that unique blend of dim light in the east while still being dark in the west.

Getting in his car, he made the quick trip to the diner. Chloe was busy in back, so he sat himself down at the counter.

A cup of hot coffee slid in front of him just moments later. “It’s good to see you, Carl. And so early! That’s not your normal routine.”

He smiled. It felt good to be home. “Hi, Chloe. I just got back from eastern Oregon after driving most of the night.”

Chloe perked up. “Really? Anything you want to share?”

Carl knew she didn’t want to hear about his business ventures. “I got hit on by a girl who couldn’t have been older than nineteen. So that was interesting.”

Howling with laughter, Chloe slapped her hands together. Carl told her the whole story, including how he’d tried to set up the clerk in the hotel with Alice to get her with someone closer to her own age.

Chloe ate it up, as did the customer who came in about halfway through the story. It wasn’t a long story, but Carl stretched it out by explaining everything that happened in minute detail.

When they stopped laughing, Chloe put a plate of food that had been sitting under the heat lamp while he talked. “You’re one of the good guys, Carl. I hope you know that.”

Carl didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. He tried to do right by people, but he also knew that he was lying more and more often to people to get around sticky situations. His mother would have been appalled, and his father would have told him to cut a green switch and bring it to him for a bare-ass whooping.

He finished everything on his plate, enjoying his meal as he listened to other people tell stories. The newspaper had been grabbed by another regular, but he found that he didn’t mind. Life was good at the moment, and a hot meal to finish the day made it even better.

When he got home, he ignored the light flashing on his answering machine and went to bed. He wasn’t tired, not exactly, but he knew he could use some shut eye.

* * *

He woke up just after 11:30am, daylight streaming through the curtains. Getting up, he took a long shower before getting ready for the day. As far as he knew, he had nothing special he needed to do today.

Pressing the button on the machine, the message played. “Hi Carl, this is Sarah Watson in Human Resources at the Wal-Mart supercenter in Happy Valley. We’ve reviewed your application and we’re very interested. Last I heard, you were working at the supercenter on 82nd. I was hoping you could come in and meet the store manager and myself for an interview. I should mention that this position is for the greeter manager job, not the store greeter position.”

She listed the job specifications along with a few times for him to come in and meet them. Picking up the phone, he dialed the number immediately. The woman on the message sounded professional, but nice enough. He couldn’t help but compare her to Bryn.

“This is Sarah.”

“Sarah, hello. This is Carl Thompson. Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right. As I mentioned, your experience caught our eye. We would like you to come in for an interview, but before we do that, would you mind sharing why you’re not working at the store on 82nd any longer?”

Carl cleared his throat, wishing he had a glass of water with him. “No, I don’t mind at all. I had a heart attack and a stroke a while ago, and it did quite a number on me. My left arm has no mobility, but I shake with my right hand, anyway. When they released me from the hospital, I called Bryn in HR there and asked for my job back. She denied the request, citing that they had already filled the position and it wasn’t available any longer.” He paused, unsure how much he should disclose. “I should add that the regional director invited me to speak in Bentonville about the changes I made to the greeter position. I doubt that will happen now, but I like the company. The management at the 82nd Avenue store left a bitter taste in my mouth, but that is between people, not between myself and the company.”

Sarah didn’t answer for a long moment, and he heard the tippy tap of fingers typing on the other end. “Thank you for being so forthright. And before we go any further, I want to mention that we do not discriminate against people with disabilities. On behalf of Human Resources department and the company, I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

Wetness filled his eyes at the comment. He wasn’t the sort of person to hold on to grudges, but he had felt like the company had thrown him out with the day-old donuts. It wasn’t the kind of feeling that endeared someone to a company. “I appreciate that, Sarah. When would you like to meet?”

They compared calendars, and although Carl didn’t mention the UFO conference, he did say that he couldn’t meet on Thursday and Friday due to personal commitments. They agreed to meet tomorrow at 9am, and he promised he would bring in two forms of identification, just like he had the first time.

Putting the receiver down, Carl felt much better about his outlook. He was low on points, and this job was the solution.

Opening his laptop, Carl started searching for mining companies. His schedule would be much more compressed with a job again, so he needed to get as much done as possible while he still could.

He looked at regional and national mining companies, then tossed out the nationals. It wasn’t that they couldn’t do competent work, but he preferred having a more personal relationship, and he doubted that he could do that with an account manager handling dozens of accounts.

He also worried that they would press to buy the mines from him. He wasn’t opposed to that, assuming it made sense, but he preferred having companies bid for them instead. That kept everything clean and aboveboard in an industry that was anything but.

Looking through the regional mining companies, he turned on his failing business sense but didn’t get any hits. One company had extensive bios on the family who had built it, and that appealed to him greatly. Three generations had kept the business alive, and the list of work they’d done was impressive.

By the time he had finished his research, hours had passed, and he had over thirty different tabs open in his browser. The fact that he knew those terms made him proud for learning a new skill so late in life.

He compiled his top four companies into a list, adding notes about why he liked them. One had extensive gold mining experience and had pictures of the work they’d done to mine precious metal. Another had a strong philanthropic tendency and gave to various charities out of the profits they earned. The third did solid work, but was smaller than the other three. And the last was the family company. They were still his favorite.

Once he had it ready, he emailed the list to Charles and Rebecca, asking follow-up questions from each of them. Charles would investigate the company’s financials, while Rebecca would see if any of the companies had gotten into any legal trouble with their customers.

Feeling satisfaction at getting his research done, he shut his laptop. It was a few minutes before 3:30pm, and he wanted to head out for a jog. After eating so well these past few days, he knew he needed the exercise.

Chapter 28

“It is well enough that people of the nation do not understand our banking and monetary system, for if they did, I believe there would be a revolution before tomorrow morning.”

— Henry Ford

When he got back, he wasn’t sweaty enough to justify a shower, so he made himself two PB&Js and settled in for the night. Turning on the TV, he searched but found nothing of interest. There were a few classic movies on that started at 11pm, but that was too late for his schedule.

There was a subtitled movie on the channel he usually found old movies on, so he gave it a chance. He didn’t know what L’armée des Ombres3 translated into, but the movie was just starting. He might as well give it a go.

Two and a half hours later, Carl’s mind was reeling. The movie was about French Resistance fighters during World War II. It had been shot in black and white, giving it the feel of a movie made during the war. He loved American movies about the war, but this film had grit and a palpable tension that he still felt as the last frames played. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard about this movie before. It was that good.

Putting his plate in the sink, he settled down for the night. Tomorrow was the big interview.

* * *

Carl was up at 5:30am, the room already light enough to see almost everything despite the overhead lights being turned out.

He dressed in a nice pair of khakis, then put on a button-down shirt and a sport coat after that. He had dozens of pairs of business shoes from his work years, so he picked out a pair he hadn’t worn in ages.

They still fit, the leather unscuffed and waxing up to perfection after only a few minutes’ work with the day-old newspaper.

Opening the doors of the diner, he got a whistle from Chloe and a few cat calls from the women inside. Blushing, he sat down at the counter.

“Why the fancy duds today, Carl?” She placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

Carl gave her a warm smile. “Job interview. I lost the last one after the heart attack, so I’m hoping this one works out.” To those who didn’t know the wealth he had, it was the perfect story. Very few working Americans could retire on any kind of pension, and while Social Security was nice, it wasn’t enough to live on. Chloe could have retired five years ago, but she was working full time every day. And her husband was even older than she was.

Gene was the same story, although now he worked for Carl.

“I hope it goes well. You look dashing.” She gave him a wink before pulling more orders from the window and delivering them.

Carl couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the comment. When had Chloe ever called anyone dashing?

When his order came, Chloe said nothing, which relieved him a bit. He was careful to pour the ketchup on his hash browns and not on his suit, and it was the same story when he ate. Checking the clock on the wall, he saw it was not even 7am yet.

Seeing a line of people waiting to get into the diner as he finished, he paid up and left a nice tip. Having nothing else to do, he headed home, putting his sport coat carefully on the couch so it didn’t wrinkle.

Opening his laptop, he saw a response from Rebecca. He knew she wanted him to call her Becky, but that wasn’t how he knew her. And Becky was too informal for him.

Reading through the email, he saw that one of the mining companies—the one that donated to charities—in fact had a few lawsuits going against them right now. One company accused them of stealing mined ore, while another said that they violated the terms of the agreement with the client. He didn’t know what those details were, but he didn’t need to know. One lawsuit was bad enough, but two put them out of the running.

The smallest mining company had a lawsuit against them, but it was older, from six years ago. Still, if he were looking for ways to narrow it down, he couldn’t think of a better one. He still needed the financials from Charles, which could change the order, but so far, the family business was in the lead.

After closing out his emails, he did a quick search on La Grande Credit Union. Pictures of the two owners—and then one owner—popped up, along with old news articles about the company. There wasn’t much there, and it all fit on a single Google search page.

Clicking on a few links, he saw that most of the articles were older, either from when the company had started or when the two owners changed to one. It was nothing special, but it helped to round out the company’s history in his head and spend the time he had before the interview doing it.

When the clock hit 8:10am, he got ready to go. He knew it would take him less than twenty minutes to get there, but he preferred being early. It would give him an opportunity to see how the greeters in that store performed. They were close enough and in the same district that they would have received the memo on how the greeting process had changed, but that didn’t mean they had implemented it.

This store was also on 82nd Avenue, but much farther south than his first store. Parking his car on the edge of the lot, he pulled his sport coat on and went inside. He had multiple copies of his resume with him in a folder, along with his driver’s license in his breast pocket and a passport he had never used in the opposite pocket. His ex-wife had insisted he get a new one less than a year before she divorced him, after his first one had expired over twenty years prior.

His first impression was that this store was dirtier. The floors looked like they hadn’t been polished recently, and the greeter on the other side of the grocery entrance didn’t say a single word to him. Before exploring further, he headed to the other entrances. The dry goods entrance greeter was waving at customers entering the store, but sat on his kiester the entire time. The man looked to be in good health, so there was no excuse for it.

Taking a deep breath, Carl reminded himself that these weren’t his staff members yet.

Heading farther into the store, he checked out the garden entrance. This early in the morning there was little happening, and with the checkouts positioned at the main door, this entrance probably didn’t deserve a greeter.

From there he headed over to automotive. Business was booming, with cars lined up to have new tires put on and other work done. Although the area had double doors, there wasn’t a greeter in sight. It was common knowledge that on average, automotive customers spent almost double what other customers spent, and that deserved a greeter in his opinion.

Going back into the store, he checked the clock on the wall right next to pharmacy. The returns line was already getting long, and the cashier office also had a line.

If he didn’t know better, he would say Terry had changed stores and now worked here. That was how bad it was.

Heading to the door that led upstairs to where the management offices were located, he took a seat. Sarah had told him she would be down to bring him up when they were ready.

He waited until 9:15am, but still no one had shown up. He wondered if they had forgotten about him, or if Sarah was dealing with an emergency and that had delayed her.

The door opened, and a woman in her mid-forties stepped out. She was dressed professionally, with flat shoes, a green blouse and tan pants, and a darker gray jacket. Even though Carl still held hope that Barbara would reach out to him at some point, he had to admit that the woman in front of him was attractive. He was a red-blooded male, and he knew beauty when he saw it.

She gave him a smile as she walked over. “Are you Carl?”

Standing up, he nodded before holding out his hand. “Yes, I am. You must be Sarah.”

She smiled broadly, her expression warm. “We’re so excited to have you here. I have to admit that I saw you come in, and I followed you as you checked out our greeters. I would love to get your thoughts before we head upstairs.”

Carl’s face took on a grim look. “It’s not good. The dry goods entrance greeter is young enough that he should be standing up helping people and wiping down cart handles, not sitting there waving at people. He’s not running for office, after all.”

Sarah laughed, the sound warm and honest. “I like that. Go on.”

“The grocery entrance receives the most foot traffic, yet when I arrived no one was there. Whether he was taking a bio break”—a term Carl had learned at his last job—”or wandering around the store, someone should have been notified so another greeter could fill in. It didn’t surprise me that nursery doesn’t have a greeter, but automotive should. You know as well as I do that customers there spend twice the average of what other customers do, and they deserve better service.”

Sarah kept a poker face, but inside she was impressed. The man had arrived early, done his research, and summarized it nicely. And everything he said was true. There was only one problem.

Clearing her throat, Sarah looked Carl square in the eye. “Before we head up, there is something that you should know. Your previous manager, Terry Howard, transferred to this store a week ago.”

She could see the disappointment on the man’s face as she broke the news. She didn’t know their story, and Terry had said very little about Carl besides the fact that the man had threatened to sue for disability discrimination.

It was a serious threat, yet Carl hadn’t followed through. Instead, he had applied at this store for a job.

Nodding, Carl said, “I should be going. He won’t hire me, and we had some… heated words the last time we spoke. I regret the phrasing, but not the intent.”

Turning around, he started walking back toward his car. He was only a few feet away when he heard Sarah call his name. “Carl.”

He turned around. Her dark, shoulder length hair was straight, but a few strands had gotten free and she tucked them behind her ear. He couldn’t think of another word for it except adorable.

“Yes?” He took a few steps in her direction, but stopped.

Seeing that he wasn’t coming back, she said, “You should know that HR handles all hiring and firing. Terry will have input, but he won’t have the final say. That’s not a guarantee, just an explanation of the process we follow.”

Carl had been ready to give up hope. Maybe he could find a job at Target, or a similar store. It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be something. Then she had turned the tables on him, and although he knew it was a long shot, he knew better than most that long shots sometimes paid off.

Placing a tentative smile on his lips, he said, “I see. Why don’t we head upstairs?”

Chapter 29

“Wal-Mart’s size and scale are so vast they literally have the ability to change the face of the entire country. If Wal-Mart were to make a decision tomorrow to refuse to sell a single product made with partially hydrogenated oils, for example, we’d probably see rates from heart disease decline a few years later. That’s how powerful Wal-Mart is.”

—Simon Sinek

Sarah led him into her office, which was neat, tidy, and unrelentingly drab in comparison to how Bryn had decorated hers. He suspected this was more of a job for Sarah than something she truly enjoyed, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions too early.

Sitting down across from him, she steepled her hands in front of her. A pad of paper with scribbled notes and a vintage metal pen were on the desk. “Why do you think you should have the position of greeter manager?”

Carl answered that question, and many more beyond that. They weren’t softball questions, but he knew the answers almost by heart. It made sense because he had invented the new greeter method, as simple in concept as it was.

Taking further notes, she said, “Thank you. And I noticed in your file that someone died while you were greeting them. That had to have been traumatic.” Sarah’s face was neutral, and she had a look somewhere in the zone between interested in the answer and disinterested. She was difficult to get a read on.

Carl nodded, keeping eye contact on Sarah the entire time. “It scared me nearly to death. One moment my hand is in his, and the next he’s on the floor and dead. I tried to call 911, but I realized after the fact that neither myself nor any other greeter is trained in CPR or first aid. It might be a good idea to bring in a trainer for the floor staff to be trained on a regular basis so they can act before the paramedics show up.”

Sarah nodded, jotting notes down in her notepad. It was a good idea, and she couldn’t believe no one had thought of it before. The cost would be minimal and being able to save customers’ lives would be a great PR opportunity.

“That is a well thought-out response. And one last question, which doesn’t relate to your job performance exactly. How did you find the widow’s husband down in Medford?” Sarah leaned back, trying to look relaxed, but the muscles around her eyes were tense.

Carl smiled wearily. He’d had an idea this question might be coming but had hoped it wouldn’t. “It’s just as the news reporter said. I have limited psychic abilities. I don’t think they pertain to my job, and I have never used them at work. It wouldn’t be professional, and I have no reason to do so.” He paused, taking a sip of water without breaking eye contact. “Most people have already forgotten about that news clip.”

She shrugged. “I have a good memory.” She jotted something down that he couldn’t see before continuing. “Would you be willing to perform just a small test for me?”

At that moment, Carl knew he had her. After the dispute with Terry and Bryn, he’d spent some time on the laptop looking up employment discrimination by employers. Beyond the basic requirements of not asking a person’s age unless it was pertinent to the job, the interview questions had to be similar to all applicants.

And he doubted that she had ever asked another applicant, greeter or not, to show off their psychic skills.

Keeping his voice level and measured, he said, “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I’m not comfortable doing that. And you should know that you just opened yourself up to a discrimination lawsuit.” She started to protest, but Carl spoke over her. “I’m not a vindictive man, I’m really not. But I was treated poorly by the store management at the store on 82nd, and now you’re asking questions about things you have no reason to inquire about. Questions that any HR manager would know to avoid with a ten-foot pole.”

Sarah sighed, her body language that of a defeated person. Carl wasn’t fooled. Too many things didn’t add up, and despite the name on the door, he doubted the person before him was the HR manager. She might be the store manager, or she might be the sporting goods manager. Either way, she wasn’t who she said she was.

She typed into her phone, and the door opened behind Carl. A man in his mid-thirties went behind the desk, taking a seat next to Sarah.

He smiled like they were best friends, and all had been forgiven. “You caught us sooner than we expected. Sarah and I are from Wal-Mart corporate in Bentonville. Sarah investigates discrimination against employees, and I am from legal. And you’re absolutely right: you were discriminated against by Terry and Bryn, and again just now.”

Carl stood up to shake the man’s hand. He still didn’t know their names. “Carl Thompson.”

The younger man seemed surprised, but he stood and shook. “Tanner Long.” He sat back down, but Carl didn’t. “And her full name?”

Sarah gave a forced laugh. “Sarah Young.”

Carl turned to open the door, pausing before he left. “If I don’t receive a job offer by the end of today, I’ll prepare a lawsuit that includes both of you for fraud, and whatever else my legal team can dig up.” Sarah and Tanner weren’t laughing now. “And did I not mention that I own a law firm? Well, I do.” He tapped his wrist where a watch would be. “By the end of today. Not a minute later.”

With that, Carl left the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t slam it, but only by force of will. The prospect of a new job had excited him, only to have to suffer the tomfoolery of people from corporate trying to… what? It couldn’t be about discrimination, or they’d have interviewed Bryn and Terry while leaving him alone.

That right there was the problem. He didn’t know what they were after. Were they planning on using him as a witness to sue Terry and Bryn? He wouldn’t do it, first of all because the matter should be handled internally.

He thought about it all the way to his car, and then again on his drive home. When he got there, he started writing a very nice email to the company’s CEO that explained everything that had happened to him, both the positive and the negative, at the company.

It took him the better part of two hours. When he finished, he sent it to Rebecca for review.

Leaning back in his chair, he could be thankful for one thing. He hadn’t deleted Sarah’s message on the answering machine.

He also hadn’t deleted Gene’s, and that gave him an idea. First, he would need to stop by the coin shop, and then he would take a long drive and relax. God knew he needed it.

Arriving at the coin shop moments later, he parked and went inside. Randy was working the front, while his assistant was taking phone and email orders. They both looked busier than he’d ever seen them before.

Carl waited a half hour until the last customer left, then walked up to the glass counter. He had planned to shake his hand, but Randy came bounding out from behind the counter and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Carl. For everything.”

Carl mumbled, “You’re welcome,” although he doubted Randy heard it, seeing as how Randy was taller than he was, and he’d been speaking into the man’s clavicle.

“What brings you out to see us?” Randy walked over to turn the sign from open to closed. Then he poured two coffees from a brand-new coffee maker that hadn’t been there the last time he’d visited.

Carl grinned. “I got the message you sent through Gene, so I thought I’d come over. Business is booming, I take it?”

Handing a cup of coffee to Carl, he shook his head. “You have no idea. They finished up the newest ad campaign, and it’s been crazy ever since. We’re turning over our inventory of new gold coins every four days, and our suppliers are having trouble keeping up. That’s why I asked for the advance to buy extra coins, just to have some in stock in case a shipment is late.”

Carl pointed toward the back with his coffee cup. “That makes sense. Can I take a look at the new vault?”

Randy had a smug grin on his face. “I don’t believe you’re authorized.” Then he laughed so hard at his own joke that coffee sloshed around his cup and onto the floor. Based on the carpet’s color, it wasn’t the first time.

“Come on.” Following Randy into the back of the shop, the other employee whose name he couldn’t remember waved at him as he typed on his laptop while taking orders. The back room where the old safe had been was now empty, and instead there was a gleaming stainless-steel door with a large keypad, a device at about head height, and a heavy wheel in the center. Gene probably knew all the specs on it, but to Carl it looked amazing. And expensive.

Covering his right hand with his left, he typed into the keypad, then leaned into the device, placing his right eye next to a small transparent box he’d seen earlier. A sound like a gunshot went off, startling Carl, and Randy turned the wheel to open the vault.

“Sorry about that. You can program the sound it makes when it’s secure and when it opens, and I changed the open sound to a shotgun. The closing sound is an Uzi.” Randy laughed, but Carl didn’t get the joke.

The door swung open, revealing gleaming piles of gold and silver coins and bars stacked on the numerous metal shelves. It was a walk-in model, and by Carl’s estimate it was about eight feet deep, seven feet high, and maybe six feet wide. It was a monster of a safe.

Randy turned expectantly, waiting for Carl’s response. He didn’t have to feign anything when he said, “It’s better than anything I might have dreamed of. The pictures online don’t do it justice.” He glanced from the safe to Randy’s smile. “It doesn’t matter what I think as long as you’re happy with it.”

Randy slapped the side of the vault after stepping inside, the sound not reverberating at all. “The walls are eight inches thick, if you include the concrete, and it has security wires every inch crisscrossing the entire vault. When I saw it, I was dubious, but now I can’t imagine using anything else. It’s magnificent.”

Stepping inside next to Randy, he pointed back into the front room while turning his voice down to a whisper. “What’s his name again?”

Randy smiled. “That’s Jeb. He’s been doing great at taking phone calls and online orders. Honestly, I think I need to hire someone else to handle the weekends. We’re getting it all done between the two of us, but sometimes it gets stressful.” Then he amended, “The good kind of stressful.”

Carl didn’t have to think long before coming to a decision. “Go ahead and hire someone, but make sure one of you is opening and closing. And does Jeb have access to the vault?”

Randy chuckled. “Nope. Just me and Gene. We talked about adding you to the list, but Gene thought that you wouldn’t want it, anyway.”

That sounded like Gene. And was absolutely true.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he launched into the reason he’d come to visit. “I was thinking of driving up to Longview to look at the shop you mentioned, but I don’t know the name. What do you think?”

Randy’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “Definitely. I’ve got all the details written down out front.” As he closed up the vault, he asked, “And what do you think about the additional funding?”

He patted Randy on the back. “I sent the request to Charles for his comments, but I think it will be fine. Although I would ask you to look further into the future. Would you keep all the spare coins for both shops here? Or would we install another vault at the new shop? And even if Gene installs the best security system in the world, it won’t prevent an employee from walking out with a lot of money. The people you go into business with have to be trustworthy.”

Randy ran his hand along his chin, which Carl noticed Randy had shaved. Recently. Filing that little tidbit away, Randy replied, “The guy who owns the Longview coin shop’s name is Dwain. And while I know of him by reputation, I don’t really know him. He’s been in the business his whole life and has a wealth of experience. He reached out while you were traveling in eastern Oregon, and that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

Carl nodded before sipping his coffee. “Are you thinking of buying him out or keeping him on? Because if you’re buying him out, all you’re getting is a name that you won’t use and coin stock, some of which you might want, but others you won’t.”

Randy looked confused, so Carl slowed down. “If you buy him out, all I’m saying is that it might not make sense. What if we opened a new store, in a place we want to be located, and did it that way? It would cost some money, but you could stock it exactly how you want to with your name on the front. And to be honest, Longview never struck me as a wealthy town with people wanting to buy gold. But again, that depends on your clientele. Those are the kinds of things you need to think about.”

Randy leaned back against the wall as he took in the information, his face scrunched up in concentration. “I think I get it. Although I admit, I never thought about just opening a new store wherever we wanted. I thought we had to buy another store first.”

Carl shrugged. “Why don’t I head up and get a list of the stock he has on hand, especially the rare coins? I’ll take pictures of the store front, the counters and the safe, and we can decide between the three of us when I get back. How about that?”

Randy stuck out his hand, having learned the practice from Carl. “I like it. Now you should leave before I turn the sign over or you’ll be overrun by customers. We’ve had people driving up from Eugene and over from Astoria, just to come here to buy their coins. It’s nuts.”

Carl said his goodbyes, then escaped through the front door. Just as Randy had said, there were a half-dozen people milling around waiting for the store to open back up. He heard a cheer when it did, but he didn’t turn around to watch. He had things he needed to get done.

* * *

The drive up to Longview didn’t take long, but the search for his old camera had taken him a while. He finally found it stuffed into the back of a drawer in his armoire, and after opening the case, it looked just as good as it always had. Instead of using the old rolls of film he had in the armoire, he headed to the lone photography shop nearby and picked up some film. Then he was on his way.

Longview was located where the Cowlitz and Columbia rivers met and had once been home to large lumber mills. Some of them remained, spewing smoke with the delicious scent of fresh wood, but that wasn’t what interested Carl. Turning off I5, he headed into the downtown area after passing what seemed like every single fast-food restaurant known to man.

He found the coin shop at the far end of Hemlock Street. Most of the buildings were still in business here, but there were a few empty stores, and it got worse the further he drove. When he found the shop, it had the usual metal bars covering the windows, and it looked like the roof hadn’t seen a roofer in years. Or maybe decades.

Overall, it didn’t give him a feeling of confidence.

Leaving his camera in the car until he had permission to take photos, he headed inside. Pushing the door open, the smell of cigarette smoke assaulted his senses. It hung thick in the air, with full ashtrays dotting the counters. Looking up, he saw the ceiling tiles above the man smoking behind the counter were stained a greasy looking yellow brown color.

The man behind the counter didn’t move, watching with his eyes as Carl approached. The voice that came out sounded phlegmy, with coughs interspersed every few words. “You here to buy or sell?”

Despite his reservations, Carl approached the man, who had a freshly lit cigarette in his right hand. “I’m the majority owner of Randy’s coin shop. I came here to speak with you about selling and get an inventory of what you have in stock. And take some pictures, if that’s all right.”

He put his hand out, but the man made no move to shake. “You’re not Randy.”

Carl knew all his clothes would need dry cleaning as soon as he got back to Portland. He hadn’t changed out of his interview clothes, and they would soak up the smoke like a sponge. “No, I’m not. I think I explained that already.”

Taking a deep draw from the cigarette, he repeated as he exhaled, “You here to buy or sell?”

Ignoring the question, Carl surveyed the counters. They were grimy and difficult to get a clear look at without getting down on his knees, but the selection looked fairly sparse to his eye. There was some collectible paper, but he discounted that immediately. Even he knew that people who collected or hoarded gold didn’t collect paper money, too.

Looking around the room, he caught sight of a safe in the backroom. It looked like a hunting safe, although Carl couldn’t be sure that was correct. It was bolted into the wood floor, but based on the sagging floorboards he was walking on, he didn’t think that would be a great impediment to anyone fully committed to robbing the place.

Carl turned back to the man, who had lit a fresh cigarette during the few minutes he surveyed the store. He felt like he needed to give the guy one last chance, although he didn’t know why he felt that way. To do that, he simplified things greatly. “I own Randy’s shop. He works for me. If you want to sell, I need an inventory of all your coins.”

The man’s eyes blinked, like he had just woken up after a sitting nap. “What? You own Randy’s shop? That don’t sound right.”

Instead of arguing the point, Carl waved goodbye as he headed toward the door. Even if the safe contained hundreds of rare coins, which he doubted, he wasn’t interested in doing business with that man.

Getting back on I5, he drove south, turning off at the last Vancouver exit. He wanted to have another look at the buildings he’d seen during the school bond fiasco. They were old, but they had strong bones. That was good enough for Carl.

It took him a few minutes to get his bearings, but soon enough he found the buildings where the Vancouver Life Insurance call center employees worked. Although all the buildings were attached with no space between them, Carl thought there were four buildings, not just one, on that block. They all looked roughly the same, with only minor details to distinguish them.

He hadn’t walked more than a few minutes, the open air feeling good in his lungs, before he found the leasing agent sign. Pulling out his flip phone, he called the number listed.

“Wakefield, Rogers, and Johnson commercial leasing. This is Kelly.”

“Hi, Kelly. This is Carl Thompson, and I’m looking at the buildings you have up for lease on King Street and 11th. Can you email me the availability of the buildings, and how much it would cost to lease each of the units inside?”

Kelly paused before asking, “You want all of them?”

“Maybe. I probably want a ground floor unit and an upper floor unit, although I don’t know which one. That’s why I need pricing on all of them.”

“Oh, I get it. Sure, what’s your email address?”

Carl passed that information over and then asked for what he really wanted to know. “Do you know if the buildings are for sale?”

Kelly paused. “Um, let me check. No one’s asked about those buildings in such a long time. Most people want more modern offices these days.”

She put him on hold, and Carl stared lovingly at the buildings. Yes, they were old, but they were sturdy, and with some improvements and retrofitted modern technology, they could be turned into something people would desire as a place to work. He already knew they had underground parking, so employees could park off the street.

Kelly came back on the line, her voice bubbly. “The only answer I got back is maybe.” She paused. “I don’t think management knows, but they will probably check and get back to you. Like I said, no one rents those buildings, especially now that Vancouver Life ended their lease.”

Now that was interesting. And more than a little sad. He’d really liked the people he’d met. “I see. I appreciate your help, Kelly. Thanks again for everything.”

Carl hung up, intrigued by the whole situation. He already knew he’d rather have Randy expand here and build out a new store instead of buying the one in Longview, but he would need to discuss that with Charles first. The law offices were trickier, as Rebecca and Robert couldn’t just expand without adding more staff.

With various ideas floating through his mind, Carl got back into his car and drove toward downtown Portland. Most of the larger law offices were there, and he had an idea on how to figure out which ones were failing, if any.

* * *

When he got to the diner, it was almost 7pm, but he felt like he’d put in a good day’s work. He’d found two failing law firms after getting out of his car and walking down Fourth and back up Fifth Avenue. Instead of trying to get past security and head upstairs, instead he focused on the signs outside listing the businesses inside. One building didn’t have that, so he walked inside and smelled the companies listed on the wall.

Instead of calling anyone with his findings, he chose to put it off until tomorrow. He ordered a chicken Caesar salad, knowing that Chloe wouldn’t bring him anything else. Most of the smoke had left his clothes, but a faint odor still hung around him. He couldn’t wait to get home and shower.

He ate every shred of lettuce, then ordered a slice of coconut cream pie. Chloe gave him a look when he did, but must have decided he’d been a good boy by ordering a salad for dinner and served him a heaping slice where the meringue tottered back and forth on top.

He savored the pie and had a third refill of coffee to wash it down. When he finished, he left a very nice tip, even larger than usual. It was his way of saying thanks to Chloe for letting him have pie.

After parking in the garage, he walked in and stripped down on his way to the shower. He put his clothes in a pile to take into the dry cleaners tomorrow.

Fifteen minutes later he felt like a new man. He’d shampooed twice, just in case any smoke odor was left, and had scrubbed until his skin turned red to get rid of the stale smoke stench.

Sitting down in his recliner and turning on the TV, he looked over at the answering machine. A single ‘1’ blinked on it. He didn’t feel like dealing with it tonight, so he flipped through the channel guide until he found something he liked.

Flipping to that channel, he settled in to watch the last half of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, with Humphrey Bogart at his finest. That reminded him of The African Queen, and he wondered if he should get one of those new streaming services that had hundreds if not thousands of old movies on them. It would be a lot easier than playing the ‘I hope there’s something good to watch tonight’ game.

God knew he had the money for it, but part of him resisted. It would mean learning another new system, and he already dealt with that enough just on his laptop.

Rather than think about it any further, his mind drifted off as he watched the last act of the movie.

Chapter 30

“I don’t think you can make a lawyer honest by an act of legislature. You’ve got to work on his conscience. And his lack of conscience is what makes him a lawyer.”

—Will Rogers

He woke up early on Wednesday, going out for a jog before 5am. He showered when he got back, still picking up whiffs of stale cigarette smoke.

Toweling off before getting dressed, he pulled open his laptop and drafted an email with his findings from yesterday. The summary of the coin shop in Longview didn’t take long, and his recommendation was straight to the point: don’t buy. He sent that email to Randy, Charles and Rebecca, wanting to ensure that everyone stayed informed.

He then wrote up a list of law firms in downtown Portland that weren’t doing well. He didn’t add any personal comments because he didn’t have any, but he asked Rebecca to come back to Charles and himself with her thoughts on both of them.

With that done, he opened the email from the leasing company. Just as he’d asked, they had shown the monthly leases for every level of the building, and sometimes for different offerings on each level when one unit was larger than another.

Overall, his first reaction was disappointment. The lease prices were at least 50 percent too high, especially for a building that needed improvements and didn’t have a single current lease. He didn’t know why they had been priced so high, and wrote back to that effect, asking if it was possible to negotiate a lower lease rate.

He read through the email twice to make sure he hadn’t missed mention of a sales price, but he hadn’t. Kelly had included some glossy brochures as an attachment, but they looked to be pictures from decades ago. They didn’t at all reflect the current condition of the building.

Realizing that, he sent a follow-up email, asking if she had visited the buildings recently, and explained the shape they were in. He’d only been in one building, but he doubted the others were very different.

That done, he closed his laptop and pulled up the message. As he’d expected, it was from Wal-Mart. “Carl, this is Sarah. First, let me apologize for yesterday’s meeting. If you’d stuck around a few minutes longer, we would have explained why we were there. We are investigating each of the Portland stores’ management teams, and during our research discovered your case. We thought it easier to pretend that I was from HR by inviting you in for an interview, but I realize in hindsight how foolish that was.” There was whispering in the background that Carl couldn’t make out before Sarah continued. “We have a job offer for you to work in either store. What I told you about Terry being promoted is correct, and he now works at the Happy Valley store. What I hadn’t realized was the pivotal role you played in getting him that promotion, which I learned from Bryn yesterday afternoon.”

She sighed. “Again, I can’t apologize enough. The original job offer was for the same position you had before, as a manager of the greeter team. We changed it slightly after yesterday’s events, and it now includes responsibility for all three of our Portland area stores, plus the Vancouver store. You wouldn’t have to travel often, but you would need to check in at least every month and make sure they are following the protocols you established. I don’t want to share salary information over the phone, but all manager positions, even part-time managers, are paid a salary. That you were still paid hourly after your promotion is something that I can’t discuss yet, as it is part of an ongoing investigation.

“I hope you’ll consider this offer. You’ve done great work for Wal-Mart as a company, and I can only imagine what you’ll come up with in the future. You can reach me on my cell phone at…”

The message ended with her contact information, and that the offer would only last for a week. After that, they would have to fill it with other candidates.

It was a lot to take in, but Carl knew he would accept the job. He needed the points, and this would be the perfect opportunity to get more. Still, he didn’t respond right away. He’d been through the wringer, and he needed some time to process what had happened to him and how he’d been treated.

Getting up, he drove into the diner. He knew he wouldn’t get anything other than oatmeal, but that didn’t matter too much. It was too quiet at home, and he liked the ambience that the diner almost always had in spades.

* * *

Carl drove to the law firm from the diner, having polished off an enormous bowl of oatmeal. Nothing could replace bacon and eggs, so he tried not to think of it in those terms. Oatmeal was a different breakfast food, plain and simple.

The receptionist was on the phone as he came in the door, motioning him to the three chairs in the waiting room. Scanning the magazines on the table, he found one called Best Hikes around Mt. Hood and started flipping through it. He thought he recognized a few of the easier hikes mentioned, and his renewed memory came up with a camping trip from the early 60s. His dad had taken him on two of these trails, although they hadn’t hiked them all the way through.

The rest of the hikes looked too strenuous for someone who looked his age to be doing. At least he thought so until he saw the recommended ages listed for each hike, and all but two were shown as 14 through 70.

Rebecca’s door opened, and he set the magazine down.

“Carl, did we have a meeting scheduled for today?”

He grinned while shaking his head. “No. If it’s a problem, I can come back later. I just thought you would want to talk through the law firms I sent you this morning.”

Glancing at her watch, she nodded. “I have twenty minutes tops.” Motioning him into the conference room, she sat down with a printed copy of his recent emails.

The receptionist brought a carafe of coffee in after a few minutes, and Carl wasn’t the kind of guy to turn down fresh brewed coffee.

“I am more than a little surprised by what you found. Are you sure they’re not doing well? Because I’ve worked with the first firm you listed, Donnehy & Associates, and they are a tenacious group of men and women who know the law inside and out. Of all the law firms you might find that were failing, they would be last on my list.”

Carl set his coffee cup down. “I can only tell you what I found. I don’t know these companies at all, but trust me when I say that something is wrong with each of them. Maybe a big client didn’t pay, or business is down. I can give you the generalities, but you’ll need to ferret out the specifics.”

As she pulled the page in front of her, he could see the gears spinning in her head. This was the opportunity she wanted. The only question was whether either of the two firms were the right fit for them.

“I don’t know McKellon, Gerling, and Tandsey, but I’ve heard positive things.” Setting the papers down, she looked up at him. “I mean, what do you recommend? I’m out of my depth here, if it wasn’t obvious.”

He had prepared for the question. “I think we should reach out to the office manager for each firm. The business side will try to blow smoke, but the office manager will have a sense of what’s happening with the firm’s finances and might open up to us. I base that on you, actually, since you’re the office manager here. What do you think? Good idea, or should we try something different?”

She tapped a nail on the table, each time a little ding resulting. “I think you’re right. Although I think it’s better if you do it first. You’re not a lawyer, and you’re good at focusing on facts instead of whatever they might try to sell you on.” Taking a sip of coffee before speaking, she said, “You should know that they’re bigger than we are. Both of them, and by a good measure. Donnehy is probably triple our size in revenue, and McKellon is quadruple, if not larger than that. They’re a serious name in corporate law, and they have a lot of top-notch clients. They also have multiple offices while Donnehy only has the one.”

Carl absorbed the information, a game plan starting to form. “I’ll try to set something up today for next week. That work?”

Rebecca grinned. “I have to be honest with you. When I saw your email, I was dubious at first. Then I got excited, and then I got scared. So I’ve been through the wringer this morning. Don’t send me anything until you need something from me, or I won’t get any work done at all.”

They both laughed. “That’s reasonable. Now how goes it on the junior associate?”

Rebecca shook her head. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but she had bags under her eyes, and the lines on her face seemed more prominent. Her dark hair didn’t have the sheen it usually did either. “I haven’t gotten to it yet. It’s one of those catch twenty-twos where it would be great to have an extra pair of hands, but the time it will take to interview everyone and get them up to speed will put us even further behind.”

Carl twisted the problem around in his head. “Why don’t you hire someone from one of those two firms? They’ll have trained in corporate law, and should be able to tell us a few things about what’s happening at those firms.”

Rebecca couldn’t hide her surprise. Then she felt annoyed. Why hadn’t she thought about that?

She knew the answer immediately. They’d been operating on such a bare-bones budget for years on end that she’d assumed that she would have to hire someone right out of law school and train them up in the art of corporate and family lawyering.

Except that now, she didn’t. Some part of her hadn’t flipped that switch yet, but she knew that would have to change from now on. “That is an excellent idea. You speak with the office managers, and I’ll hire one or two of their junior associates. Between the two of us, if we can’t find a way to add one of those firms to our network, then I would be very disappointed.”

The bags were still there, but her eyes were sparkling with fresh energy, and the tension in her shoulders had lessened. It was time for Carl to leave before he added anything further to her plate. And that’s exactly what he did.

Only to realize as he was driving away that he should have asked her about the offer from Wal-Mart, and the problem with Olivia. He didn’t need legal advice, not yet at least, but being able to bounce a few thoughts off of her would have been helpful.

The rain started coming down as he pulled into his single-car garage, his old Honda two-cycling as it shut off. He supposed after the lengthy drive over to eastern Oregon and back, it deserved a tune-up.

When he got inside, he made an appointment for next week. When he’d first bought the car, he had used the Honda dealership, but as time went by and he saw how old his Honda compared to the newer models, he’d moved to an independent mechanic. The guy knew his stuff, and he didn’t charge an arm and a leg for it.

Pulling his laptop open again, he drafted a quick email to Rebecca about Wal-Mart and what had transpired, adding a line at the end about Olivia and her living situation. He asked for her thoughts on both matters as a friend, and with a ‘whoosh’ the email left.

Lightning crackled in the distance, and a few drops of rain splattering down on the roof turned into a torrent minutes later. Thunder rumbled past a few seconds later, which made the distance at around four miles away. Settling into his recliner, he started researching who the office managers were at each firm. He found the right person at McKellon almost immediately, but Donnehy only listed partners, law staff and associates without stating who did what.

Pulling the receiver off the cradle, he dialed the general number for the law firm.

“Donnehy and Associates. This is Elaine.”

“Hi, Elaine. I have a billing question about a recent contract and wanted to speak with the office manager. Unfortunately, I don’t recall his name, and my associates are no help at all.” Carl did his best impression of the put-upon administrator and it seemed to work.

Elaine laughed. “That would be Todd Long. Would you like me to put you through right now? He’s in a meeting, but you can leave a voicemail.”

Carl grinned on the other end of the phone. “That would be wonderful, Elaine. Thank you.”

Elaine giggled. “Oh, it’s no problem. Here you go.”

The phone rang before an answering system picked up. “This is Todd. Leave a message.”

“Yes, Todd. This is Carl Thompson from Lyon and Hudson, attorneys at law. I wondered if you had a moment to speak about a few topics that might be beneficial to us both. You can reach me on…”

Carl gave his home phone and his home email address, which he realized after he hung up was nothing like the firm he supposedly worked at. He jotted down a quick email to Charles recommending that they both get emails for all their businesses so they could do business on their behalf. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, but he asked Charles to check anyway.

To his surprise, Charles emailed back right away.

Carl, your email prompted me to respond about a few items I owed you. First, the mining company that was your first choice—I believe you referred to them as the ‘family company’—checks out on all counts. If you’d like, I can contact them while you’re away tomorrow and Friday.

And yes, I agree that we should both have email accounts for all the businesses along with the LLC. We don’t really operate from the LLC level, but going forward we should. Instead of representing ourselves as employees, we should use the LLC to signify that it is the umbrella corporation.

Last, but not least, I should have the preliminary quarterly numbers ready in the first week of April. This will be profit and loss only, and I won’t get into valuations for each business until year end. Let me know if you’re fine with that approach. You should start thinking about retirement savings to shield your earnings from the tax man. If you need a recommendation, let me know.

Best, Charles.

Carl wrote back that he was fine with the family company as a drilling partner and having Charles handling it would take a load off of him.

But that wasn’t what surprised him. It was the request to put retirement money away again. At his age, he hadn’t thought that was possible, but he didn’t think Charles would have recommended it unless it was true.

To Carl, it emphasized just how far he’d come in the past three or four months. And he was just getting started.

He was just about to pack when the phone rang. Picking it up, he said, “Carl here.”

An Ivy league voice of male refinement laced with contempt spoke on the other end. “Yes, this is Todd. I received your call, and I have to say I’m a little confused. I had to look up Lyon and Hudson, and I can assure you we do no business with your firm.”

Carl’s first instinct was to get his hackles up, but he pushed that instinct down. “Would you be open to meeting for lunch? I promise I won’t take any more of your time.”

Todd was dubious. What kind of rinky-dink law firm still used their personal email addresses? Then again, he’d just come out of the partner meeting, and the news wasn’t good. He’d prepared a report on ways to turn the ship around, but he wasn’t relying entirely on that. He’d already circulated his resume to a few firms in Seattle and San Francisco where he had law school colleagues working. Nothing was final yet, but it was a start.

Todd wasn’t sold, not yet at least. “Just lunch?”

Carl grinned as he began to set the hook. “Just lunch. Listen to what I have to say, and we’ll go from there. You don’t like what you hear, and we’ll never speak again on the matter.”

Frustrated and tired from the long hours, Todd said, “Meet me at the Proof Reader at noon. I’ll have a table reserved for the two of us. You’re paying.”

With that, he hung up. Todd wasn’t sure why he accepted, but then again, a drowning man grasps for anything and everything to keep his head above water.

* * *

Smiling, Carl leaned back in his recliner. He wouldn’t call the other firm until after he met with Todd, because he didn’t think that was fair to either of them. Checking the clock on the kitchen wall, he saw it was a little before 11am. With the rain still pouring down, and regular business day traffic, he needed to get dressed and over to the restaurant sooner rather than later.

Before he did that, he needed to know where the Proof Reader restaurant was located because he’d never heard of it before.

Chapter 31

“To me, a lawyer is basically the person that knows the rules of the country. We’re all throwing the dice, playing the game, moving our pieces around the board, but if there is a problem the lawyer is the only person who has read the inside of the top of the box.”

—Jerry Seinfeld

Carl walked into the restaurant’s street entrance a few minutes before noon. It had taken multiple trips around the block before he found a space that his Honda could fit into. It had been a tight squeeze, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Walking up to the maître d’ podium, he said, “I’m meeting with Todd Long from Donnehy and Associates.”

She ran a finger down the erase board list, smiling when she found it. Tucking a menu under her arm, she directed him past all the other lunch patrons to a private room at the back of the restaurant. A man in his mid-30s sat there perusing the menu, his stylish brown hair swept back and stiff from whatever he’d put into it this morning. He wore a dark gray pinstriped suit and had polished black Oxfords, with a chevron red tie to complete the picture. If the meeting hadn’t been in this private room, he could have picked the lawyer out of the crowd in under a minute.

Carl sat down, and Todd didn’t look up. He was sure the other man had noticed, but Carl had a feeling this was some kind of power play. An ‘our company is bigger than yours’ kind of thing.

Clearing his throat, Carl poured himself a glass of water from the Italian labeled bottle sitting on the table. He held the bottle in the air, waiting for Todd to notice.

The silence in the room became oppressive, and Todd finally looked up, surprised to find Carl holding a bottle of spring water above the table. Keeping his voice neutral, he asked, “Water?”

Todd blinked. His tactics almost always broke other business people, whether from the rudeness or from not acknowledging that the other person had sat down. It didn’t work well in larger groups, but one on one? It was perfect.

Yet it hadn’t worked. The older man across from him seemed completely composed, and when Todd nodded, he filled his glass.

Setting the bottle of water down, Carl opened his own menu. The prices were high, but not exorbitant. He spied a three-meat lunch option, which was four ounces each of tenderloin, porterhouse and New York strip steak. He ignored the sides, his mouth salivating at the prospect.

With a force of will, he tore his eyes away from that and found the salad section. It always looked more than a little depressing, like the restaurant didn’t really want to list it but had to because a few people liked it.

Now Carl was in that group.

The waitress came in, causing both men to look up. “Can I get you any appetizers?”

Carl waved her off, but Todd ordered a two-person medley of marinated pork kebabs. The tiniest curl of Todd’s lips gave him away, but Carl played it off as nothing.

Because at the end of the day, it was. Todd could order the most expensive items on the menu, and while Carl might not like it, he understood it. The man had bad manners, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to go into business with his company.

Underneath the table, Todd’s foot began to bounce up and down, slowly at first but growing. Why hadn’t the other man said anything yet? He seemed perfectly happy to remain silent, which Todd hated the longer it went on. That was his trick, not the other man’s.

Carl did his best to appear oblivious. It might as well have been a stranger sitting with him on the other side of the table, someone who had sat down simply to eat and nothing more.

The waitress brought the appetizer out quickly despite the crowd in the restaurant, which probably had more to do with the private room than anything else. It was placed between the two of them, but Carl ignored it. The smell was tantalizing, the odor of lightly cooked and marinated meat wafting over to his nose and intoxicating him.

He stood firm.

Sighing, Todd took one of the kebab spears and slid the meat and vegetables down on to his appetizer plate. He paused as he put the metal spear back, setting it down gently so it didn’t clatter.

Todd said in an incredulous and annoyed voice, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Carl smiled on the inside while his face remained neutral. He could call Todd on the game he’d been playing, but that wouldn’t get him where he wanted to be. “I was only being polite. If I offended, you have my sincere apologies.” Carl paused, watching Todd as he ate. He had concluded that the man was well educated, but perhaps not in the areas that mattered most.

Todd waved his hand in a forward circle as he chewed on a chunk of pork.

Carl inclined his head. “Your company is not doing well. It’s a private firm so I don’t have all the details, but it is failing. Whether Mack can save it I don’t know, but I expect you do.”

Todd paused with a forkful of vegetables and meat inches away from his mouth. His first reaction was shock. Someone leaked the information from the partners’ meeting. It has to be Ted. The man’s a limp wristed weasel. Mack is sure to fire him for it after I report back this afternoon.

Contrary to his thoughts, Todd did his best to put an indifferent expression on his face. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but it’s incorrect. The firm is doing better than ever—”

Carl politely but firmly interrupted. The time for obfuscation was over. “No, it’s not. We both know it’s failing. The only question is whether you and the partners are interested in saving it before it disappears completely.” Carl spoke facts, and from Todd’s fallen expression after interrupting him, it confirmed what he already knew.

Setting his fork down, Todd steepled his hands in front of him. “Say you’re right. What are you offering?”

Carl debated drawing the discussion out, but he was hungry, and he knew his salad would arrive soon. “A way out. A merger between my firm and yours.” Todd motioned to interject, but Carl pressed on. “And before you interrupt me, yes, my firm is smaller than yours. That would make it unusual, but not impossible. The question you should ask yourself is whether what I’m saying is viable. Because if it’s not, then we can sit back and enjoy our lunch in silence. But if it is, what would that mean for your law firm? And for you?”

Todd’s mind reeled as he considered the question. They’d acquired a small firm a few years ago to gain a specialty in high asset divorce law, but Donnehy had steamrolled the former owner of that firm out the door. Oh, he got a nice package before he’d been kicked to the curb, but what did that matter?

What the man was proposing went against everything he knew. The large bought the small. The powerful ate the weak, the…

Todd paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the old man across from him. His suit was a few decades out of style, but his manners were impeccable. It was the sort of move that would have thrown the average person off, causing them to discount their opponent.

Which is exactly what he’d done.

Todd blurted out the first thought that passed through his mind. “How rich are you?”

Carl didn’t smile, but his eyes danced in amusement. He wasn’t one to flaunt his newfound wealth, but he could admit that it came in handy when necessary.

He shook his head. “You know I won’t reveal that. I will share that I head up an organization that has synergies yours can’t match.”

Todd puffed out his chest, as if the mere word was anathema. “Synergies? What sort of synergies?” Todd didn’t even feel the hook sink into the side of his lips as Carl reeled him in.

Carl ticked them off finger by finger. “We own an advertising firm. I’m guessing your growth has fallen off a cliff, and if a company isn’t growing, then it’s dying. We can fix this, easily in fact. We have other companies in our stable, and a number of acquisitions on the horizon. If this one doesn’t work out, then I’ll move forward with the other ones.” Carl leaned forward. “If that happens, what will happen to you? Find another law firm to work in somewhere else? Seattle, maybe? Or California?” Carl shrugged as if it was obvious. “But you won’t have learned how to turn a business around. How to revive a sinking ship. And what law firm doesn’t want a managing partner who knows how to do that?”

Leaning back in his chair, Carl took a sip of water. He’d said his piece. Now it was time to hear how Todd reacted.

Todd felt shaken, but his training held him in good stead. “This is unorthodox in the extreme.” He scowled, then his face softened. “But maybe that’s a positive thing. And while I won’t share any specifics, the firm is failing. We have less than a year before our cash reserves run out. The partners are scrambling to find new business, but no one in corporate legal wants to do business with someone who’s desperate.” Todd sighed. His mind was racing as he thought of possibilities. “What if we didn’t merge, but instead you buy a majority ownership to turn the ship around? We use your advertising and cash reserves to keep the company afloat longer? I think that would be easier to sell upstairs.”

Todd could already imagine the promotion he would receive for pulling this off.

Then he glanced back at the old man across from him. And with a sinking feeling in his rumbling stomach, he realized that this man, the one he’d so badly snubbed early on, might be his boss if this deal worked out.

Lunch came shortly after, and they spoke further of details to make the deal work. They hadn’t talked numbers yet, but Carl had a feeling they would overvalue what they were worth without even asking. It was natural for people to think back on better days, when things weren’t so bad, than to focus on the current reality and price themselves accurately.

When lunch ended, Carl paid the check. Todd had indeed ordered the expensive three-meat platter, but eaten only half of it. He chalked it up to a business expense, and they shook while promising to speak further before departing. Carl asked if Todd would feel comfortable sending over last year’s financials, and Todd said he would think on it.

* * *

When he got home, Carl wrote a quick email to Rebecca and Charles about the meeting. He thought it was a positive development, but there was still a long way to go before a deal might be finalized.

Rebecca wrote back right away. Carl—that is more progress than I ever expected with that firm. I don’t know Todd, but I am familiar with Mack Donnehy, and to say the man has an ego is to say that the Pope is Catholic. Before you bought into our firm, he was the person I thought about going back to work with if our company failed because it motivated me to find a way out of any problems.

Sorry. Enough blabbering. Whether we merge or stay separate, a deal would still create several new opportunities. They could take our spillover work, and we could learn from them in areas we’re not strong in yet. In that regard, it’s a win/win. I’d propose that Donnehy retire after the deal’s completed, but that’s your decision. Just thought you should know how I feel about it.

Becky

Carl read the email closely, as it seemed Rebecca had strong negative feelings with the founding partner of that firm. While he couldn’t promise anything, if he could respect her wishes, he would do so. He owed her for the trouble arising from the found money a few times over.

Closing his laptop, he called Charles. He knew he’d be out tomorrow and Friday at the UFO conference, and he wanted to be sure that Charles had everything he might need from Carl.

The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail. He left a brief message asking Charles to call him back, then hung up.

Not hungry in the slightest and having nothing to do without checking in with Charles first, he turned on the TV. He didn’t have high hopes that anything good would be on in the afternoon, but to his surprise The Gunfighter was on. Flicking to the right channel, he settled in to watch Gregory Peck literally shoot it out with the bad guys.

His phone rang, waking him from a pleasant dream. He’d been with a woman, but he couldn’t see her face. Still, they’d had a wonderful time as they traveled the world, exploring and visiting distant places.

Blinking his eyes a few times, he picked up the receiver. “Carl here.”

“Carl, it’s Charles. Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. I have excellent news: we’ve hired the family drilling company to open mines where we have mineral rights. And just so we don’t keep referring to them as the family company, their actual company name is Reeves and Reeves.”

It took Carl a moment to catch up. “That’s great. Fantastic news. Well done!”

“Thanks. They’re thrilled to have the work, and we negotiated a price based on whether gold or silver is found. If they find metal, then they get 7 percent of everything they find. If nothing shows up after ten days of mining, then that mine is closed and they move to the next one. I hope you’re okay with that.” What he left unsaid was that he still didn’t believe that every plat Carl had found had precious metals under the Earth. That idea defied reason.

Carl could hear the unspoken doubt on Charles’ end. “That’s fine, Charles. I’m sure it’s a good deal. Although I would like to be there when they start drilling.”

Charles tapped on his computer in the background. ‘’They said they can break ground ten days from now. And aren’t you going down to Medford next week anyway for the bar auction?”

Getting up out of his recliner, Carl checked his calendar. Sure enough, the auction for the Rustler’s Brand was next week, at 3pm on Thursday.

Sitting back down, he said, “You’re right, it is. You want to head down with me to view it? I’m not promising I’ll bid, but I would like to see what happens.”

Charles laughed out loud at that comment. “I thought you were the kind of man who always told the truth, Carl. I could see that fib from a mile away.”

Blushing on his end of the phone, he shrugged. He preferred to think of it as a viewing rather than him going to bid. The former left his options open, while the latter did not.

“Your comment on the drilling company reminds me. I found a dozen or more mines around Baker City and up through Joseph. Mostly gold, but some silver, too.” He wasn’t above changing the subject to get out of an uncomfortable situation.

Charles sighed. There was something inside of him that would not allow himself to believe that Carl was that good at finding mines. A trained geologist with decades of experience? Yeah, he’d believe that guy. But a seventy-three-year-old man who dabbled in a variety of different businesses?

Not so much.

“How about you keep those to yourself for now? If the drilling company finds anything, we’ll snatch those up and probably send you out on an extended trip to find more mines for the future. But I think we have enough going on at the moment, especially now that a law firm might be in play. How did that meeting go, by the way?”

Carl explained in some detail, skipping the dubious power moves Todd had tried to get to the meat of the matter. “They’re failing, the only question is how bad and why. I hope to hear from him in the next week or two, but if I don’t, that’s fine. There’s another law firm doing equally poorly that we can look into next.”

They talked a bit about personal matters, Carl asking about Charles’ wife and how she was taking the change of job. “Honestly? She’s excited. She’s met the wives of the other partners and knows the kind of extracurricular activities their husbands get up to. Partners at accounting firms don’t get to take vacations every year, which I should mention is something Donna very much wants to do. Don’t be surprised if I ask for a week or two so we can head to Europe now that the kids are almost out of the house.”

Carl smiled, but it faded quickly. He covered it up by acting cheerful, but he ached to see his grandkids. He’d seen them a few times after they were born, but then it dwindled to every few years. After the divorce had been finalized, he hadn’t seen them a single time since. “Absolutely. You’d be setting a good example for Rebecca, Gene, Randy and Sue, too. I’m all for it.”

Charles noted the omission of Carl’s own name, but didn’t call him on it. He knew that his boss was no longer seeing Barbara, but the why’s and wherefores were none of his business.

Before they hung up, Carl asked about the contractor that Charles had recommended to renovate the building. Charles fumbled to find the right folder on his desk, but when he did, he flipped it open. “I spoke with the managing director, and while they aren’t willing to make an estimate until they get inside the building, based on the surveyor’s report and what you shared with me about the upstairs, they are estimating between eighty and one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That would cover everything, from wiring and plumbing to building out the upstairs however you want it.”

Carl didn’t have to think long. “Get them inside for a full bid. Let me know what their estimate is, but I need the upstairs done. Gene can give them the keys whenever they need them.” He thought about stating why, but he didn’t think he could speak the words without getting teary eyed.

“Will do. I’ll get on it as soon we hang up.”

* * *

Even though it was wasn’t quite dinner time, Carl drove to the diner for an early meal. The lunch salad hadn’t filled him up, and he could still smell the aroma of the three-meat platter and those wonderful kebabs.

Chloe did a double-take as he walked through the door. She made a motion with her hands that Carl didn’t understand until he looked over at one of the booths and saw the back of Barbara’s head with another man opposite her. The man she was sitting with was tan with thinning hair and had an easy smile on his face as he held her hands in his.

He gave Chloe a wan smile, and she rubbed his arm. Then he turned around and drove to the grocery store to get some grub. It wouldn’t be as good as the diner’s food was, but he would make do.

He only purchased a small bag’s worth, because he knew he’d wouldn’t be here for the next few days. He bought a single bottle of a porter, and the thought of beer made him thirsty to return to Medford to see some old movies and drink some fine beer.

When he got home, he tore the rotisserie chicken apart, stacking the legs and thighs on to his plate along with some small carrots and a small dish of ranch dressing. As bachelor meals went, it wasn’t great, but it was filling, and right now that was all he needed.

Turning the TV on to forget about what he’d seen, he flipped through the channels, hoping to find something worth watching. He went through the list twice in case he’d missed something, but he hadn’t. Flipping to a game show he didn’t recognize, he turned the volume down and started eating. The tears started moments later, and he sobbed in his recliner long enough that his chicken went cold.

When he stopped, he ate the cold chicken and put the rest into the fridge. He didn’t know why rotisserie chicken always tasted too soft to be real meat, but it did, and today’s example was no different.

Lying down on the bed after kicking his shoes off, he pulled up the blue boxes. He ignored the first few as he focused his mind on repairing his arm until it was good as new.

Do you wish to remove heart attack and stroke damage done to your left arm?

Unallocated points available: 2,475

Points required to remove heart attack and stroke damage done to your left arm: 250

Seeing the increased unallocated points, he assumed the blue boxes he’d skipped reading had been points he’d received since getting back from eastern Oregon. It didn’t matter, because he had enough points anyway.

Mentally saying yes repeatedly, he felt a stab of pain run from his left shoulder down to his hands. Each finger tingled as the pain crescendoed, and he was sure he was about to pass out.

He didn’t, but it was a close affair. Instead he felt the pain run up and down his left arm for what felt like hours. His eyelids fluttered as his muscles spasmed, more water leaking from his eyes.

Then he heard a pop, and the pain left his body. He tested his fingers, and they felt normal, just as they always had for the majority of his life. After seeing Barbara in the booth, he knew it was over, so why not heal himself back to full mobility?

Getting up, he started packing, using both arms like it was nothing new. They wouldn’t be leaving until tomorrow afternoon, but he wanted to keep his mind busy until then. He dreaded falling asleep tonight, knowing that thoughts of Barbara would swirl endlessly around his head.

To counter that, he opened his bottle of porter and took a deep drink. It was stronger than the porter he’d had in Medford, but to his mind that made it even better for what he needed right now.

When he’d drained the last drops from the bottle of porter, he opened another beer. When he sat down in his recliner, he found two back-to-back movies that would keep him occupied until almost midnight. Flipping the channel, he watched the opening credits of Where Eagles Dare, and when that was over, he would watch The Devil’s Brigade. He just hoped he had enough beer to keep him going until the last movie finished.

Chapter 32

“I look up at the sky, wondering if I’ll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don’t. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. Clouds are always taciturn. I probably shouldn’t be looking up at them. What I should be looking at is inside of me. Like staring down into a deep well. Can I see kindness there? No, all I see is my own nature. My own individual, stubborn, uncooperative often self-centered nature that still doubts itself—that, when troubles occur, tries to find something funny, or something nearly funny, about the situation. I’ve carried this character around like an old suitcase, down a long, dusty path. I’m not carrying it because I like it. The contents are too heavy, and it looks crummy, fraying in spots. I’ve carried it with me because there was nothing else I was supposed to carry. Still, I guess I have grown attached to it. As you might expect.”

— Haruki Murakami

When Carl woke, every sense protested. His mouth was dry, his head hurt, and the room spun around him before he made a stumbling dash to the toilet to relieve his stomach. Too tired to moan, he flushed it down, washing his mouth out with lukewarm water.

Opening the medicine cabinet, he downed two aspirin, cupping his hands for water from under the sink faucet. Closing the cabinet door, the face that stared back at him looked dreadful.

Slowly but surely pulling on his running shoes, he stepped out into the brisk morning air and started at a fast walk, slowing building to a jog. Sweat poured from his body in smelly rivulets, the stink of alcohol and poor decisions wafting behind him.

A few miles later he felt well enough to let his legs stretch into a run, both arms pumping in tandem with his legs. He still felt slightly ill, but the exercise and fresh air were clearing things up.

When he got back home, he took a hot shower, feeling like a real person for the first time since waking up. The memory of what he’d seen last night still hung over him like a cloudy storm front, but the pain had eased. What he felt now was closer to resignation and remorse.

Heading to the diner for breakfast, he ordered oatmeal as always, his stomach not feeling up to eating anything else. Chloe patted him on the back, the way a parent does when a young child gets rejected after asking the opposite sex out to the school dance.

It didn’t help.

He ate his oatmeal, doing his best to push his thoughts aside. She brought him a plate with three pieces of bacon on it, and he nibbled on one before pushing the plate away. His heart hurt, but not in the way she thought.

Leaving a generous tip as always, he headed home. Gene would be over around noon, and then they would leave for Ocean Shores. It was a four-hour drive out toward Aberdeen, then past that toward the peninsula. He’d never been to this UFO conference before, so that might take his mind off things.

To pass the time, he opened his laptop, finding thirteen unread emails inside. One was a reminder that the next semester’s computer class at the community college would start soon, and to get his registration in if he wanted to attend.

He wanted to attend, but he’d missed more than a few classes during the last semester because of things going on in his life. Sighing, he deleted the email, along with ten spam emails.

Hiding below all those was an email from Todd.

“Carl, I’ve talking to Mack Donnehy at length about your offer, and have done a bit of research on Lyon and Hudson. I’m guessing that you’re the one responsible for their turnaround in fortune. We don’t typically pay attention to smaller firms like yours, but the results speak for themselves. Mack wants to meet with you next week. Give his secretary a call to set up an appointment, and it would be good if you brought along the managing partner from your firm as well to answer some questions. The number is…”

He forwarded the email along with a brief note to Rebecca, asking for her availability next week. He would leave a week from today for the auction in Medford and to meet with the drilling company before they started. That left only Monday through Wednesday, or possibly early Thursday morning, for a meeting.

He sent a separate email to Charles asking him to do further research on Donnehy and Associates that would include a recommendation to buy or not buy. He knew there were nuances between those two options, but he wanted Charles’ clear recommendation before he proceeded any further.

That done, he checked the time. Just after 9:30am. With nothing better to do, he got in his car and drove to FastCycle. Of all his businesses, he checked in on that company the least, and he wondered how Evan was doing now that his business was in the black.

The drive across the Willamette was short, but finding parking took almost twenty minutes, and he ended up over six blocks away. Enjoying the walk, he entered FastCycle without knocking on the door.

A new receptionist sat behind a desk, typing into a computer. Someone had painted the walls since he’d last been here, and while a few of the stickers remained, the office looked more professional than he remembered from last time.

Seeing that the young lady behind the counter wasn’t paying attention to him, he asked, “Is Evan in?”

From the angle of the computer, he saw her tab over to the calendar function. “He is, but only for another fifteen minutes. Then he’ll be out on jobs for the rest of the day. You might catch him at lunch if he comes in, but he usually eats at one of the food trucks.”

Carl gave her a warm smile. “Tell him Carl is here. I assume he’s down in his office?”

The receptionist’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”

Reaching his hand out across the desk, he said, “I’m Carl Thompson. I own FastCycle.”

The women’s eyes went wide, and she nodded rapidly. Picking up the phone, she dialed an internal number down to Evan.

“Boss, your boss is here.”

“Mm-hmm.” She twiddled with her hair in her free hand, looping it around her fingers a few times before releasing it. Her eyes flicked over to his before nodding to whatever Evan had just said.

“Mm-hmm.” Cradling the phone in her neck, she typed into the laptop, taking notes on something.

“Okay.” Setting the phone down, she turned to Carl. “You can go down. If you want coffee, grab it from the counter over there, because we don’t keep food or drink downstairs. Evan says that it gets too messy when people do that.”

Another phone call came in, so Carl took his leave. Heading to the coffeemaker, he sniffed, expecting something bitter and unpleasant, but the coffee aroma smelled wonderful and fresh brewed. Pouring himself a cup, he put a lid on it before heading to the stairs that took him to the business end of FastCycle.

Compared to his last visit, there were very few riders in the building. The few that were there were busy working on their bikes, and he saw that there were three workstations for bike repair compared to the single one last time.

It looked like the company was doing well.

He took a few wrong turns before he arrived at the correct place. Evan’s name was on the door, so he knocked before stepping in. The makeshift door desk had been removed, and Evan now had an Ikea desk or something similar with a laptop on it, along with a few personal items.

Evan rose, the two men shaking hands. “It’s good to see you, Carl. I wondered when you’d stop by.”

Carl gave a lopsided grin as he sat down. “I was in the area and had a bit of time. I know you’ll be heading out shortly, but if you have a few minutes, I’d love to hear how the company is doing.”

Evan didn’t mind in the least. “It’s night and day. There’s no comparison. The riders are happy, the clients are happy, and we’re pulling in more in a month now than I did in a year. The advertising really boosted the number of clients we have now. We’ve had to hire some new riders, and let a few old ones go who couldn’t get on board with the changes, but it’s been worth it. I can’t thank you enough.”

Evan still looked like a poster boy against the legalization of drugs, but Carl noticed that he’d cut his hair, and while he still had a thick beard, he looked better. Healthier, and less stressed. The bags under his eyes were no longer there, and his eyes were clear when before they had been bloodshot.

“You’re very welcome.” Taking a sip of coffee, he changed the subject. “What opportunities do you see beyond getting more clients?”

Instead of being surprised by the question, he printed something off from his laptop. Handing one copy to Carl and keeping one to himself, he said, “Charles warned me you might ask. In a good way, not to go behind your back.”

The paper listed a few obvious opportunities, such as a bigger building that could house more riders and getting more of the law and engineering firms since they used couriers the most.

But that wasn’t what excited him. The item that caught his eye near the bottom was expanding out in Beaverton, using both bikes and cars.

Carl looked up from the paper. “Beaverton?”

Evan grinned. “That’s where Nike is, along with dozens and dozens of high-tech firms. They outsource almost everything since they’re operating lean. It would take some investment to buy a few vehicles, maybe some used Priuses or something like that. Charles didn’t oppose the idea, and that’s why it’s listed.”

But Carl was already far ahead of him. “What about Seattle? Or San Francisco?”

Seeing the startled looked on Evan’s face, he pressed on to explain himself. “I’m not against Beaverton, but you’ve got to agree that it’s a limited opportunity. The area out there is mostly suburban outside of the small downtown core, and that’s where all the high-tech companies are located. You’d be driving everywhere, and that’s not really our model. Why not buy a company in Seattle, Sacramento, San Francisco, or even San Diego? They’re dense markets with lots of couriers, but with our model it could work.”

Evan’s head was bouncing up and down as he followed Carl’s line of thought. “We could create an empire. As far as I know, couriers have never consolidated into a single company like other businesses have. Maybe out in New York they have, but not out here. We might need you and Charles to get us meetings with the bigger courier companies, but we could make a lot more with less investment.”

Carl couldn’t help but get excited. Evan’s eyes practically glowed as he considered the possibilities.

Then Evan checked the time. “Shit, I have to go. I want to talk about this more, but I can’t today. One of the very first clients that hired us way back when insists that I ride for them like I did in the old days, and today’s that day.” He gathered some things together, then closed his laptop and locked it in a drawer in his desk. “Let’s talk about this next week. Maybe we can have Charles join us and come up with a plan.”

They said their goodbyes, and Carl walked out the shop entrance to head back to his car. He had that feeling again that he was juggling fine china, and one slip up would cause it all to crash to the ground.

Heading home, he left the car parked out front of his house since Gene would be over shortly. He finished up the dishes from last night and cleaned up the house, throwing out the old newspapers and vacuuming before throwing all the dirty clothes into the laundry room. Then he scrubbed down the bathroom, finding flecks of the mess he had left early this morning. It was disgusting work, but it needed to be done.

Chapter 33

“Setting aside the truth value of the UFO phenomenon, it is an interesting sociological reality that so many people are unwilling to discuss the most significant—and at times traumatic—experience of their lives. What does it say about our society that this is so? My feeling is that, by its very nature, it represents a form of repression. If you are a reader who believes UFOs to be nonsense of some sort, I can nevertheless assure you that you have a friend or relation who has seen one. They have simply learned not to discuss it. Many people can live perfectly well within the constraints of repression and denial; they simply learn to shut off certain parts of their mind. It is sad, but it happens all of the time.

But not everyone is the same. Not everyone is willing to do this, or even can do this. By any estimate, there are many millions of people on this planet who have had a powerful UFO experience. They cannot and will not be silenced indefinitely.”

— Richard M. Dolan (UFOs and the National Security State 2: The Cover-up Exposed 1973-91)

Gene arrived just as he was finishing up. They were taking Carl’s car because his old Honda got better gas mileage than Gene’s Buick.

“You excited?” Gene practically vibrated in place. No one would ever accuse him of having only a passing interest in UFOs and other odd phenomena.

Carl did his best to look excited. “I am. I haven’t been up that way in ages. You know where we’re staying?”

Gene grinned. “I splurged since I’m making more money now.” He waited for Carl to laugh, but he didn’t. “We’re staying at the resort the conference is in. The Quinault casino and resort.”

That perked Carl up. Back when they had less money, they had stayed at dodgy motels most of the time, and while Carl didn’t consider himself a prude, he liked a clean bed that didn’t come with the bugs he had seen far too often at the cheaper motels.

Gene grinned when he saw he was right. “I thought you’d like that. I plan to try the slot machines, just for fun.”

Carl briefly wondered if he could use or modify one of his skills to win at the casino, but decided that was too close to cheating. If he won, he won. He wouldn’t push it. “Is Randy coming?”

Gene shrugged. “I don’t know. Last time I talked to him he thought he was, but I don’t think he knows where we’re going.”

Carl went over to his phone, calling up the coin shop by memory. “This is Jeb.”

“Jeb, this is Carl. Is Randy in?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” The phone clattered on the glass counter. It sounded like there was a decent crowd in the shop.

Randy sounded tired despite it only being noon. “Carl, how are you?”

“I’m good, Randy. Just wanted to check if you were coming with Gene and me to the UFO conference this weekend. We’re leaving in a few minutes, but it doesn’t really start until tomorrow.”

Randy sighed. “Damn, I completely forgot. I would love to go, but business is booming. I’ll go if you tell me to, but it will cost you money.” Randy giggled.

Carl liked making money, he would never deny that. But he wanted his employees to have fulfilled lives beyond work. “It’s entirely up to you. I’m not going to tell you to come, but you need to figure out a way to take some time off, eventually. Both you and Jeb are working hard, and that deserves some vacation time now and again. Just a thought, not a demand.”

The background noise dimmed as Randy took the phone into the back. “How about I close the shop tomorrow and Saturday and drive up to meet you in the morning? That work?”

Carl grinned. “That works. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re staying at the Quinault casino resort, just so you know. I can reserve a room for you when we get there.”

Someone shouted in the background that the US would see a second civil war by the end of the year. “That would be amazing. Thanks, Carl. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you and Gene. I should warn you that I’ve seen more than a few UFOs in my time.”

Carl didn’t doubt it in the least.

* * *

The drive up was pleasant, even if the weather turned from sunny to rain and fog just after they left I5 and turned on to Highway 12. Flicking on the wipers, they drove in companionable silence, Gene reading and re-reading the brochure while Carl let his mind wander.

His first thought was to accept the Wal-Mart job and get back to work. He liked steady work, even if the paycheck wasn’t his primary motivation. It was something to do, and a splendid way to meet people while gaining more points along the way. He might even meet another woman, even if he wasn’t sure his heart was ready for that just yet.

That morphed into thinking about driving up to Seattle to see if he could find any courier companies that were failing. He doubted they would be very expensive, and while it would stretch Evan’s management skills and time, it would be something new and interesting to do. He and his ex-wife had gone up there nearly a decade before they divorced, for a romantic weekend near Pike Place market.

Just the thought of his ex-wife caused him a small spasm of pain, although it was fading as time passed. Clearing his mind, he focused on his driving, the white and yellow lines blurring as they went past.

Signs for Aberdeen and Hoquiam appeared, but they stayed on the highway that went around Aberdeen as they drove toward Ocean Shores. Once they were on the peninsula, the rain stopped, although the sky overhead was dark gray, and the wind had picked up enough that strong gusts were forcing Carl’s old car toward the side of the road.

The casino and resort came into view, a gleaming beacon of light in the dreariness of the north Pacific coast. The further south you went along the coast, the better the weather got, and he’d had some wonderful weekends in Lincoln City, Florence, and even as far south as Brookings. Those had been simpler times, just after they’d married while spending time with friends. They didn’t have the money to do anything fancy, so they spent their time taking long walks along the beach and sampling saltwater taffy during the day, then star gazing and more intimate activities at night.

Pulling into the parking lot, Carl parked at the edge of the lot facing the entrance. They unloaded the car before heading into the resort.

Signs for the conference dotted the lobby, describing the people who would present at the conference in some detail. Gene pointed at the two Bigfoot presenters, while Carl felt a spark of excitement at seeing a speaker on contrails.

While they were checking in, Carl paid for a room on the floor their rooms were located for Randy to stay in.

“That will be two hundred and forty-six dollars for your friend’s room. If all three of you would prefer connecting rooms, that would be an extra eighty dollars.”

Gene gave him a look that said, ‘Yes, we absolutely need that’ without speaking a word, and Carl reluctantly ponied up the extra money for connected rooms. Not that he was against seeing his friends more, but he knew he wasn’t in the proper mood for any kind of conference, much less a UFO conference. The past day and a half had put him in a funk, and he didn’t know how to pull himself out of it.

“Let’s drop our stuff in our room and head down to the bar. A few speakers are usually there, and I want to pick their brains on a few ideas I’ve had recently.”

Just the thought of alcohol made Carl’s stomach clench, and he begged off. “You go ahead. I want to take a nap after the drive.”

Gene knew something was up, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was. He didn’t know the details, but he assigned himself the duty to cheer Carl up over the weekend. If UFOs, Bigfoot, and gambling couldn’t do it, he didn’t know what would.

Putting everything away in his room, Carl relaxed on the bed as he flicked on the TV. They had dirty movies here, but he ignored those as he flipped through the channels. He passed through a half dozen sports and news channels until he happened across The Pink Panther. It had started less than fifteen minutes ago, and who didn’t want to see Peter Sellers as Inspector Clouseau again?

Leaning back on the fluffy pillows, he kicked off his shoes and watched the movie. He fell asleep at some point, because he woke up to someone knocking at his door.

Still groggy with a line of drool on the side of his cheek, he wiped it away before answering, “Just a second.”

Turning the TV off, he padded over to the door in his socks. The knocks came more insistently this time, and he opened the door without looking through the peek hole.

“Gene?”

“Hi, Carl. I wanted to let you know that the speakers are having an impromptu gathering down in the bar. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

Carl ran a hand through his hair, which had been thoroughly mussed from sleeping. “I’ll wait until tomorrow. I am excited, but right now I’m tired. How about we meet for breakfast in the morning and do whatever we want tonight?”

Gene nodded, but his eyes were downcast. Carl felt guilty, but not guilty enough to change his plans. “If that’s what you want, that’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before Carl could protest, Gene was walking down the hallway toward the elevator bank. Sighing, he closed the door. He doubted he would hear anything new tonight, but that wasn’t really the point for either of them. Carl needed some space to get his thoughts in order while Gene wanted everyone to be as excited as he was.

It wasn’t possible to meet in the middle. Maybe tomorrow they could, but not tonight.

Rather than head down and deal with the mass of conference goers getting dinner, he splurged and ordered room service. They had a roast chicken with garlic mashed potatoes and fresh asparagus spears on the tiny room menu that sounded good, and for dessert he ordered apple pie à la mode.

Pulling his laptop out of his briefcase, he plugged the power strip into the wall, then booted up his computer. He had twenty emails in his inbox, and after deleting the spam, he read Charles’ email first.

“Carl, if you don’t mind, I’d like to attend the meeting at Donnehy and Associates with you and Rebecca. I’m still working on the research, but I have found that three of their ten largest clients have left. I don’t know why just yet, but I have calls in to the firms. I don’t expect the companies to tell us what happened, but they might hint at the reason. Either way, I have to try. TTYL. Charles.”

He replied by thanking Charles for the hard work, and then added at the end a summary of his discussion with Evan this morning, and his idea for a courier service in Seattle. He didn’t expect a response tonight since Charles had a wife and kids to attend to, but that was fine.

Rebecca’s email was next in the queue. “Carl, I have to say I’m surprised by Todd’s note. Mack is a hard-nosed lawyer who thinks it’s normal to steamroll over other people. He’s old school and set in his ways. I’ve followed Charles’ lead and put feelers out to find out why the firm is failing. I will let you both know if I hear anything. Since you’re not in the lawyer community, you might not know this, but Donnehy and Associates were the largest law firm in Portland for almost twenty-five years before the recent downhill slide, and that includes the global and national firms. Portland’s a small market, but not that small. To have it fall over so quickly that they’re willing to meet with us is… disturbing. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m excited for the opportunity, but something very serious had to have happened to bring them down so far and so quickly. BR, Becky.”

Instead of responding immediately, he opened a follow-up email from Rebecca addressed only to him. The last one had included Charles, but this one hadn’t.

“PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL. Carl, I heard back from the state attorney’s office on the filing we made for the money you found. I’ve attached the letter, but it’s very basic and says that they’ll reach out to your bank to review the numbers on the bills to see if they’re stolen. There is no mention of a reward or what will happen to the money if it’s not stolen, but I thought I should let you know. This is only the first step in what I assume will be a long and drawn-out process.

Anyway, have fun at the conference. Best regards, Becky.”

A knock came at the door, and after looking through the peephole, he saw a dining tray in the hallway. Opening the door and holding it open for the man to push the cart through, he said, “Hi. You’ve no idea how hungry I am.”

The waiter didn’t smile at his feeble statement. Pushing the cart into the largest portion of the room, he set the mobile cart in front of a seat off to the side of the bed that faced the TV. “Is this acceptable, sir?”

Pulling a five-dollar bill out of his wallet, he handed it to the man. “It’s fine. Thank you for everything.”

The waiter gave a tight smile that never reached his eyes, pocketing the money before handing Carl a faux leather tablet for him to sign for the meal. Carl signed, leaving the gratuity line unmarked. Exemplary service deserved a nice tip, but surly service wasn’t worth the five dollars he’d already paid. His father had believed that and had passed the lesson down to him.

Handing it back to the waiter, he watched the man leave before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. The Andy Griffith Show was on, and Carl knew it would help cheer him up. Who didn’t like to spend time in Mayberry every now and again?

The roast chicken was charred on the outside but remained juicy on the inside, and the potatoes had more garlic than he was used to eating. He would smell terrible the rest of the night, but he thought it was worth it. He was on his second episode of the show when he got to dessert, the ice cream mostly melted but still delicious.

Making a pot of coffee with the small coffee maker in his room, he pushed the cart out into the hallway and against the wall. Then he went back inside to watch a few more episodes while answering emails before calling it a night.

Chapter 34

“There is scarcely a person on Earth who has not heard of UFOs; many believe in them. Few, however, can say much about them. Fewer still—even believers—can find much time to think about them. Life finds a way of keeping us occupied with other matters.”

— Richard M. Dolan (UFOs and the National Security State 2: The Cover-up Exposed 1973-91)

Carl was up early the next morning, the clock beside his bed reading 4:51am. He washed his face in the sink before pulling on his workout outfit and heading downstairs to ask about the workout room.

Walking up to the front desk which had been staffed with only a man on the phone and a woman in her early 20s typing into the computer, he chose the woman. “Hi, I’m looking for the workout facilities?”

She startled, not knowing anyone was up this early. “Your name and room number?”

“Carl Thompson, room 506.”

She input the information, nodding as she found what she wanted. “If you hand me your card, I’ll swipe it to give you free access to our sauna, gym, and swimming pool. Since you paid for two rooms during the conference, it’s no additional cost.”

“There’s a pool here?”

She smiled. The man looked very similar to her grandfather, but in better shape. “Yes, on the lower level. You’ll need to swipe your card in the elevator to take you down to that level. There’s also a hot tub there, and a sauna too. The gym is one level above.”

Feeling embarrassed but not willing to let the opportunity pass him by, he asked, “I didn’t pack a swimsuit. Do you have any for sale here?”

Yes, this man was very much like her grandfather, who was a little forgetful even at the best of times. “We have a shop on the mezzanine, but it doesn’t open until 10am. They might have complimentary suits at the pool, but you would have to ask whoever’s working the desk this morning.” She glanced at her computer. “That would be Chris. Ask him, and he’ll get you squared away.”

Normally Carl would have held out his hand to shake, but it didn’t feel right at the moment. Thanking the young lady for her time, Carl headed to the elevators. He’d planned to run on the treadmill, but a swim sounded much better. And it was a fully body workout.

As soon as Carl was out of sight, Wendy called down to the pool office. “Chris here.”

“Chris, it’s Wendy. I’m sending a resident your way. He needs a suit, so can you set him up?”

Chris sighed dramatically. He’d dated Wendy for a few months, but then she’d dumped him after a fight about their relationship. She was looking for someone to marry, while he just wanted to have fun. He didn’t know who she was seeing now, but the guy couldn’t be better than he was. Not in this dreary town. “Sure, will do. I don’t suppose you’d want to go out again if I did?”

It was Wendy’s turn to sigh. “Give him the swimsuit and I’ll think about it. I’m not promising anything beyond that.” In truth, she liked Chris. He was attractive and in good shape, but he had a habit of talking down to her like she was a pre-teen. She hated that about him and had dumped him once it became apparent that he wasn’t solid relationship material. She didn’t want to get married right away, but she absolutely wanted to be with someone where that was a possibility in the future.

“You got it, girl.”

Hanging up, Wendy thought about heading somewhere else to work. Anywhere else. The resort paid better than other business since Ocean Shores was at the ass end of nowhere, and she’d grown up here. She knew the area, and pretty much all the boys her age from here to Cosmopolis. It wasn’t a great selection.

Carl was handed a suit at the pool office. It was bright yellow with a palm tree on the front with green stripes running down the side, and it was a size too large. He didn’t care. There was no one else using the pool, so how he looked didn’t matter in the slightest.

Walking down the stairs, he got a feel for the water. When was the last time he’d gone for a swim? He couldn’t remember, not exactly, which told him it had been a long time ago.

He breast-stroked a few laps, warming his body up, before getting into his workout. He didn’t know how to do the fancy turns the swimmers did at the Olympics used, but then again, he didn’t have to. Switching to a basic arm stroke, he started doing laps, enjoying the movement as his body remembered what it had known how to do so long ago.

He kept at it until his legs burned, and then he switched over to the side stroke. The pool was still empty, so he enjoyed himself, diving to the bottom and then pushing off to emerge from the top like a breaching whale.

Chris watched from his office in fascination. He’d expected the old man to paddle around for a few minutes before getting out, but he’d swum at least forty laps, and that didn’t count whatever Chris had missed before he started counting. The morning shift was easy, and he usually got some extra sleep in, but not today. He couldn’t recall seeing anyone swim so well, or for so long, in his entire time at the resort. Even the buff guys who thought they were hot shit didn’t last this long.

Getting out of the pool, Carl showered the chlorine out of his eyes and off his body before wringing out the swimsuit. Once he’d dressed, he dropped his towel and the extra shorts at the desk, thanking Chris for the help.

Heading upstairs, he stopped for breakfast in a large, open room. A fresh carafe of coffee was brought over moments later by the waiter, and after asking, Carl splurged by spending a dollar fifty to get a copy of the local paper brought to him. The paper was thinner than the Oregonian, but it was chock full of local tidbits. The UFO conference figured prominently, probably because it brought much needed money into an area before the summer tourists showed up.

He was just finishing up when Gene wandered into the dining room, and Carl waved him over to his table.

Carl poured his friend a cup of coffee from the carafe. “How was last night?”

Gene grinned widely. “It was amazing! I talked to the Bigfoot speaker, and we’re going to meet again tonight to compare notes. He knows of a few areas around Mt. Hood that get regular Bigfoot sightings, and he might even let me go up with him if I fund part of the trip.”

Carl kept the smile on his face the entire time. Sure, it was probably a scam, but who cared if it made Gene happy? “That’s great. And before you ask, I am feeling much better today. I went for a swim this morning and got some much-needed sleep last night. It helped clear my head.”

More coffee was brought over, and even though Carl had had three cups already, he didn’t mind pouring himself a fourth. A plate of food was slipped in front of Gene from the waiter. “There’s a pool here?”

Sipping on the coffee, he paused until he put his cup down. “On the lower level. I went down a little after 5am, and there was no one else there.”

Gene was getting used to expecting the unexpected from Carl. The fact that he’d gone swimming before most people were up didn’t surprise him at all. “Maybe I’ll go tomorrow morning.” Gene patted his tummy, which wasn’t substantial but was there. “I could use a workout.”

Carl shrugged. He preferred having the pool to himself, but if Gene wanted to swim, he wouldn’t begrudge him that. “You ready for today?”

Gene spoke around a mouthful of pancakes and syrup. “You have no idea. I can’t wait.”

* * *

When they broke for lunch, Carl’s butt ached. The folding chairs here were nothing but bare metal, and they weren’t kind on the tushy. While others perused the DVDs for sale in the lobby or headed to the breakfast area to get lunch, Carl bought a nicely padded seat cover with a UFO on the front. It cost him thirty bucks, but he knew it would be well worth it.

Skipping lunch to head upstairs, he checked his email after relieving himself from his multiple cups of coffee.

There was a short email from Charles about Donnehy and Associates, but nothing new. He’d replied to Rebecca’s note on the lost money, but until the state finished its investigation, there wasn’t a lot to say on the matter.

Heading back downstairs before lunch was over, he ordered two PB&Js along with a glass of water and a bowl of fruit. The waiter looked at him oddly, but Carl ignored it. He still felt good from his swim earlier that morning, and he didn’t feel like eating anything heavy.

The sandwiches came quickly, because they took almost no time to make. The bowl of fruit was mostly watermelon and cantaloupe, but there were a few grapes and cut figs sprinkled in too. He took his time eating, all the while people watching the UFO conferencegoers pass by. So far, they’d listened to a presentation on UFO drive systems, the speaker speculating on whether aliens had faster than light capabilities or not. His conclusion: they did.

As a presentation, it had been lackluster. The next speaker had been better, a man who’d come all the way from Puerto Rico speaking on chupacabras, and how the government was covering the problem up. It included an extensive slide deck of pictures from the aftermath of the attacks, along with two blurry pictures of glowing eyes in the dark. The animal looked vaguely like a dog, but he supposed that was a natural comparison.

The last presentation before lunch had been the best. The speaker had been an older woman talking about crop circles, and the mathematics inherent in each one. She did a live demonstration of how a crop circle could be reconstructed using nothing but a compass and a ruler. Carl wasn’t one for mathematics, but he’d still been fascinated. The pictures of crop circles researchers had found in England, the Netherlands and even the US were beautiful, almost all of them taken from above to provide an unimpeded view.

Eating the last of the fruit, Carl headed back into the conference room. He hadn’t memorized the list of speakers like Gene had, but he could admit that he was enjoying this conference more than he had expected to.

When he found his seat, he saw Randy on the other side of Gene. “Randy, you made it!”

Randy grinned, releasing the hand he was holding to stand up and greet Carl. When he did, Carl had a clear view of the other person who had accompanied Randy to the conference.

Rebecca.

Raising an eyebrow at the situation, he greeted Randy like the old friend he was. “I’m glad you could make it. You’ve missed a few good presentations already, but I’m sure the rest will be great.”

Randy leaned in until his mouth was next to Carl’s ear. “I hope this isn’t too awkward, but I asked Becky to come too. I didn’t think she’d say yes, but she did. She said that you told her to get out more.”

Not comfortable with Randy’s mouth so close to his face, he pulled back. “It’s fine, it really is. I hope you both have a wonderful time. You get checked in okay?”

Relief was evident on Randy’s face. “We did. I can’t thank you enough. The coin shop is closed, but Sue is working on a new ad, so I expect sales will grow even more once it goes live. It seemed like the best time to get away.”

He gave Rebecca a slight wave, and she blushed wildly, her entire face turning red. Despite that, she smiled and put her hand back in Randy’s when he sat down. Gene was oblivious as he stared at the program. Carl would give them enough space to decide what they wanted to do with their relationship, and that meant him butting out both as a boss and a friend.

Leaning back on his much softer chair, he settled in to listen to the next speaker who the MC announced would present on the Hessdalen UFO lights in Norway.

Chapter 35

“Recall in The Matrix, when Morpheus offers Neo the choice of a red pill or blue pill. The blue pill allows him to return to his ordinary conventional world, while the red pill offers him truth. If only it were so easy: one simple red pill and all is revealed. In reality, we must take red pills on a regular basis, since the illusions of our world are in many layers. We realize something new, something important, and that gives us clarity for a little while. Soon we notice other oddities and discrepancies, and we realize we need to go further. And so it goes.”

— Richard M. Dolan (UFOs for the 21st Century Mind: A Fresh Guide to an Ancient Mystery)

The Hessdalen presentation was fascinating, something Carl had rarely thought about these kinds of conferences in recent years. Not only did it include nearly a hundred pictures of the lights, but there were interviews translated from Norwegian into English from locals who had lived with the lights for years. Some speculated that they were lights from military installations while others maintained that the way the lights moved were so different from how normal military craft flew that they had to be UFOs.

Carl wasn’t convinced of anything other than that the lights were a fascinating phenomenon when the presentation ended. The speaker had presented the information in an easily digestible form, with no opinion given despite the many strident questions from the audience asking the presenter to give one. He had a feeling that he would think back on this presentation for weeks to come.

Randy and Rebecca left after that lecture, and Carl was half tempted to follow their lead. The presenter was going over Roswell and events that occurred there back in the 1950s, much of which had been documented and agreed on decades ago. There was mention of the Majestic 12, but only to prove that it was a disinformation attempt by the US Air Force. Carl had heard this information over a decade ago from a different speaker.

Tired of sitting in the same chair for hours on end, despite the nice seat cushion, he excused himself to head back to his room.

Gene protested before he’d even taken a single step. “You’re leaving? But the next guy will be talking about how Yeti, Bigfoot, and other species are in fact all one species operating out of different areas in the world.”

Carl felt that edginess that came from drinking too much coffee. The irritability hadn’t hit full force yet, but he could feel it coming. “I am. I need a break, but feel free to stay and watch. You’re the Bigfoot expert, after all.”

That mollified Gene, and he grinned at hearing expert attached to his name. “I’ll see you back here for the last speaker?”

Carl didn’t know who that was, but nodded his head. The Friday and Saturday night speakers were usually the best, or at least well respected, speakers of the conference. “I’ll be here, I promise. Save me a seat and you can use the cushion while I’m away.”

Gene didn’t hesitate, taking the cushion while standing up and sliding it into position beneath him. He sighed in relief as he sat back down. “I should have bought one of these, but the price was too steep for my wallet.”

Carl chuckled. “Still feel that way now?”

Gene turned his face up to look at him, his demeanor serious. “Not at all. They’re cheap at thirty bucks.”

Patting Gene on the shoulder, he said, “You keep that one. I’ll buy another one, and I’ll see you here after dinner. Have fun.”

With that, Carl took his leave. He bought a second cushion as he walked past the stand, then left it with reception instead of taking it up to his room. He needed fresh air, so he walked through the noisy casino to a nice walkway along the road. He thought he spied Randy and Rebecca in the casino, but whatever they were doing was none of his business.

Heading outside, he wrapped his arms around him to keep warm. Even though it was almost April, there was a chill breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean, and a light drizzle that came down in bursts depending on how the wind blew. He kept walking, but he knew he wouldn’t be out here long.

Fifteen minutes later and he walked back into the casino, feeling half frozen. Heading upstairs, he lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over the top of him to warm up. There was nothing of interest on, but that didn’t stop him. He watched a few episodes of Jeopardy! before turning the volume down and shutting his eyes.

* * *

When he awoke, it was dark outside, and the clock by the bed read 6:31pm. Calling room service, he ordered the same thing he’d had yesterday.

By the time he finished eating, it was almost 7:30pm. He’d sent a quick email to Gene to explain that he’d fallen asleep, and to save him a seat when he got down there.

A blue light flashed in the clouds through his windows, then flashed again. It was bright enough to capture his attention despite the overhead room lights being on. The second flash was brighter. It was hard to tell which direction the light was coming from, but it looked to be high above the ocean and to the northwest, in the same general altitude a person would look for lightning during a storm.

The light grew larger, this time with definition around it. He didn’t know if it was a plane with the red wing light out, but whatever it was, the light moved quickly in his direction. He heard voices shouting from the nearby rooms, muffled through the insulated walls.

Getting his phone out to call Gene, the last look he had out the window was of blue filling the entire sky. It reminded him a little of the blue boxes, but that was impossible. He briefly thought it was a UFO, but that seemed unlikely even if—

The light flashed outside his window, its trajectory obvious. Glass exploded inward, but he barely registered the thought as pain radiated through every nerve ending in his body. Even with his eyes clenched tight, he could see the familiar blue through his eyelids.

His muscles spasmed before his back arched sharply, and he felt his bones breaking inside of him. Both his hands gripped the covers in clenched fists, his nails breaking as they gave way to the stiffer fabric. His arms curled protectively around his chest in a vain attempt to protect his internal organs, his entire body arched backwards high above the bed.

The last thing Carl heard before he passed out was a voice, repeating a phrase over and over. He only caught the end of the repeated phrase: “... delivered.”

Chapter 36

“Advocates of capitalism are very apt to appeal to the sacred principles of liberty, which are embodied in one maxim: The fortunate must not be restrained in the exercise of tyranny over the unfortunate.”

—Bertrand Russell

Upgrade module delivered.

Integration underway…

Version upgrade to 15.02. Version upgrade initializing…

Integration progress… 21%

Integration progress…. 57%

Integration progress… 100%

User Module 13x1.1-DNA561S upgrades are as follows:

- Other Modules will be identified when within five (5) feet proximity of each other.

- Triple helix DNA targeting: Activated. When within 500 miles of a triple helix DNA type, the User is required to gather sample DNA by touch. Rewards will increase for each sample gathered.

- Non-triple helix DNA point values are reduced by 50%.

- DNA may be collected within a five-yard radius. Physical touch is no longer required.

- All current skills doubled in ability.

- One-time upgrade bonus: 20,000 unallocated points.

When Carl awoke, it was to a hellish dreamscape of pain and cold. As his mind became more aware, a chill ran through his body, the shivering action causing flares of sharp pain in various areas. His fingers ached for reasons he didn’t understand, and he had a bad feeling he couldn’t shake that he had broken his back. He dared not move in case he actually had. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, and the salty air off the ocean and the stale odor of sweat mingled into a disgusting cocktail of scents.

His phone was on the bedside table, not too far from where he was lying in the middle of the bed. A gust of wind whistled through the broken window into his room, informing him why he was so cold. He had no idea why the window was broken, but it seemed the least of his concerns at the moment.

Calming his breathing as best he could, he read the notification which hadn’t left his sight even after he tried to push it away. As was becoming the norm, he didn’t understand a good portion of what he read, except for a few of the bullet points. The bonus unallocated points would help with his current situation, as would being able to gather points without touching people.

The pain in his lower back grew in intensity, and his vision swam, the awkward position of his body wanting immediate relief. Easing his left hand out from under the covers, he saw blood covering three of his five fingers. His ring finger was missing the fingernail entirely, while his middle finger had the nail hanging at a one hundred and eighty-degree angle to the way it usually was.

A knock came at the door, the sound urgent. “Carl, are you all right in there? A few people said they saw a UFO, and it came toward the hotel. The video is amazing.”

Carl croaked out, “Help,” but Gene didn’t hear it through the thick front door. The blue boxes combined with the pain made him sick, and before he could try to push the boxes away, the dinner he’d just enjoyed came up in a voluminous wet stream. He choked because he was partially lying on his back, and he didn’t dare turn over.

Coughing until the pieces dislodged themselves, he spat out the last bits.

Then the door between his room and Gene’s opened, and Gene cried out in shock. His friend had a faint blue glow coating him that came and went in waves up and down his body.

Unaware of this, Carl croaked out, “Help.” Tears were streaming down his face, despair and fear clawing at his soul. It was enough to get Gene moving, and he quickly dialed the hotel phone.

“Yes, I need an EMT up at room 506. Carl Thompson has suffered severe trauma, blood loss, and mild hypothermia. His back might be broken as well.” As a security guard, he knew how to keep his emotions out of the situation until it was resolved. “Get an ambulance here ASAP.”

Wendy took the notes down, disbelief on her face. She liked the old man, and whatever happened sounded terrible. She guessed it was a heart attack, because her grandfather had already had two of them, but that didn’t explain the broken back or the hypothermia. She’d heard someone screaming about UFOs as they ran by the front desk, but that occurred at every single one of these conferences. It was usually later at night after the attendees were completely soused, but some people liked to start earlier.

She called the EMT and ambulance, relating the information that had been given to her. She knew the medical clinic wasn’t that far away, but she sent a silent prayer to God that he lived.

* * *

Running into the bathroom, Gene put a washcloth under hot water in the sink before wringing it out. He had trained in CPR, but that wouldn’t help Carl right now. The best he could do was to make him feel comfortable and hopefully get the inexplicable blue coloring off of him before other people arrived.

He wiped down Carl’s face before removing most of the blood from his left hand. He couldn’t see his right hand as it was twisted under his body, and he dared not move Carl in case he had broken his back. From the way he was lying on the bed, he couldn’t be sure, but the angle looked wrong.

Then he wiped at Carl’s arm, trying to get the blue off. It didn’t work, but the color seemed to be fading on its own. It was hard to see in the light, but if he turned the hotel room lights off, he imagined it would be clear as day.

“How are you feeling?”

Carl moaned faint enough that Gene almost missed it, his eyes shut tight. His face was a picture of pain, his lips pulled back into a feral grimace. Sweat ran down his face and onto the mattress, and Gene shivered from a strong gust that blew through the broken window. He had no idea how they would explain this, and it would probably be for the best if they didn’t even try.

Leaning down next to the bed, he did his best to calm Carl down. “Help is coming soon, buddy. I promise.” He ran to the door to unlock it, seeing people milling about in the hallway as they tried to figure out what had happened. He recognized a few of the UFO presenters prowling the area, hoping to get something interesting enough to present at the next conference.

Time sped up as Gene frantically cleaned up the room. He didn’t touch the broken glass that covered a good portion of the floor, but he did pack Carl’s clothes, his laptop, and his shaving kit into Carl’s old suitcase, taking everything to his room as quickly as he could.

He had just finished up when a loud knock was heard at the door. Before Gene could reach it, the door opened. Three EMTs rushed in to evaluate Carl. Gene stepped into the divider area between the two rooms so he could watch but not get in their way.

Rebecca appeared outside Carl’s door, and Gene motioned for her to come into his room. He went and unlocked his front door, then closed it as soon as she had entered.

Her face was pale as she struggled to comprehend why Carl was in such pain. “What happened? Is Carl going to be all right?”

Gene didn’t know what to say. Carl had shared his story with Barbara and himself about the unusual things he could do, but that didn’t give him the right to share it with anyone else. “I don’t know. He’s hurt bad. I think his back is broken. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s in severe pain.”

Rebecca gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She eased forward to look into Carl’s room but couldn’t see through the EMTs working on him. She did notice the broken glass, but it was inside the room, as if something had broken through from outside. It didn’t make any sense.

“Why is the window broken? And the glass is on the inside. Did a rock hit it or something like that?”

Gene didn’t point out that they were on the fifth floor of the resort. Logic didn’t matter in times like these. He doubted a bird could have broken the double paned glass, which meant it was something related to the blue waves he’d seen on Carl’s body.

It had to be related to the blue boxes. The only question was how.

The EMTs had pulled the covers back off Carl’s body, revealing masses of dark bruises that covered the front of his body. Gene only caught a glimpse before the EMTs covered him with a Mylar blanket to keep him warm. They took their time getting him on to a hard-backed curved body board that would keep his back in place as firmly as they could manage. From there, they shifted him onto the gurney, then rolled him quickly out of the room.

By then the police had arrived, and Gene could hear sirens wailing through the broken window in Carl’s room.

He was about to update Rebecca on what he knew when she wrapped him up in a hug, her body shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably. Gene wondered where Randy was, but only for a moment. The hug felt good, but not in a romantic way. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her tight in return as tears leaked from his eyes in a steady downward stream. They were both scared they might be about to lose the person who had changed their lives so dramatically.

Chapter 37

“Funny, really,” he said. “You spend your whole life goin’ to school and learnin’ stuff, and they never tell you about stuff like the Bermuda Triangle and UFOs and all these Old Masters running around the inside of the Earth. Why do we have to learn boring stuff when there’s all this brilliant stuff we could be learnin’, that’s what I want to know.”

— Terry Pratchett

Carl stayed awake the entire trip from his hotel room to the hospital. They gave him a shot of something in his left arm, but it didn’t seem to change anything except make his extremities numb. It certainly didn’t lessen the pain that he was sure he would be living with for the rest of his days. He heard the men around him talking, but it was as if they were far away, and he wasn’t able to make out more than a few words.

The EMTs placed him on the gurney, then rolled him down the hallway and into the elevator. He couldn’t move his head, so all he saw was the lights overhead passing him by. He could sense the people watching him and speculating on what had happened, but they became nothing but background noise. He cried in despair that he wouldn’t survive this.

“… he going to be…”

“… a miracle that he’s alive.”

“… going to make for a great story at the next conference…”

The EMTs pushed him through the lobby and into the back of an ambulance, and the overhead lights disappeared. They set up an IV drip in his right arm, then added more and more gadgets to his body.

He ignored it all, as unseen by those around him, the blue box in his right eye wouldn’t go away. He had tried to dismiss it dozens of times, but it was no use. The same message remained, unwavering in his sight line. He tried to think of new ways to get rid of it, and that inspired his next thought.

Fine. I’ll do what you want.

The blue box disappeared, and Carl sighed. The EMTs misinterpreted the noise as pain as they shot him up with something else in his arm. It didn’t help in the least.

The drive in the ambulance was interminable. How far away was the hospital out here? There had to be a good one in Aberdeen, which was the highest population center in the area.

Closing his eyes, the thirst he’d been feeling started to disappear as the IV drip poured saline water and a variety of drugs into his system. He didn’t open them until he heard the rotation of helicopter blades nearby.

If they were airlifting him out, that meant whatever had happened to him was even worse than he thought. He couldn’t help but think back on his life and all the mistakes he’d made as they lifted him up into the chopper.

* * *

When he woke up in a hospital room, his mind was fuzzy, and he couldn’t keep a thought before it disappeared and a fresh one took its place. A dull pain radiated out from the middle of his back, and he remembered the bright lights of a surgical room before they had dosed him with anesthesia.

He thought about repairing the damage with the points he’d acquired, but decided that wasn’t smart. It was better to wait until he was home and do it then.

A voice penetrated the fog, and he opened his eyes, trying to find the source. “Visiting hours aren’t until 10am. You can’t come in until then. Mr. Thompson is very weak and has been through multiple surgeries during the past thirty-six hours.”

He tried to look over at whoever was speaking, but discovered the neck brace he hadn’t realized was there wouldn’t let him do so. He tried to raise a hand to signal it was allright that they come in, but it was no use. He couldn’t lift his arms.

Before he could think any further about it, he was asleep again.

* * *

When he woke up the second time, it was to the steady beat of a machine dinging out his heartbeat one after another. His head felt better, and after a bit of effort he found the device every hospital bed in the country had and called for a nurse. Or so he hoped. He couldn’t see the buttons, so he pressed the only one that didn’t make the bed move up and down.

Someone came through the door, and a bodyless voice spoke. “Is everything all right, Mr. Thompson?”

He tried to shake his head, an ingrained habit from seven decades of living, only to feel a sharp spike of pain run down his back. It took a moment for the pain to fade before he could speak. “No, it’s not. I don’t know what happened to me, or what surgeries they performed on me. I haven’t seen my friends, and not to sound too whiny, but I’m hungry.”

The nurse came into his peripheral view, the frown on her face telling him she had dealt with difficult patients before. “They airlifted you from Ocean Shores to Portland General. We don’t know what the cause of your injuries are, which the doctors would very much like to know. You broke your back in two places, and you came very close to being paralyzed from the neck down. You also broke three fingers, and you had contusions covering your entire body. You lost so much blood that we were afraid you would die during transit.” She paused, realizing that she had perhaps shared too much with a patient who had only just become lucid again.

Then again, she was in the last two hours of a sixteen-hour shift, and she was entitled to feeling a bit cranky. “Your friends are in the waiting room. We will allow one in at a time, and only for fifteen minutes.”

She paused, and Carl felt she was going to say something else. Then again, how much worse could it get? She pointed toward something he couldn’t see. “Counselor Davies will be here for the next few days with you. If I’m not around, feel free to ask her for anything you might need, and she’ll call for it.”

He didn’t see the other person in his room, but that wasn’t as important as why the other person was in his room. “Why is she here? I’m not going anywhere.”

Nurse Rochet sighed. She hated dealing with these situations. “You’re on suicide watch because of the unusual nature of your injuries, Mr. Thompson. Mrs. Davies will be with you during the days, and another counselor will come in at night. They’re here for your protection.”

Carl knew BS when he heard it. “No, she’s not. She’s here to protect the hospital from bad press and a lawsuit should something happen to me while I’m here.”

Mrs. Davies looked sharply at Nurse Rochet. It was easier when patients bought the lie. Shaking her head slightly, she put a single finger to her lips, telling the nurse to shut up.

Nurse Rochet ignored the counselor. “You’re quite right. She is. Should I send one of your friends in?”

Carl answered simply. “Yes, please.”

Mrs. Davies’ eyes flashed hatred at the nurse, but Nurse Rochet didn’t let it bother her. What did it matter if the patient knew the truth? It wasn’t her problem.

Carl heard the door open, and Rebecca stepped inside. She rushed to his side as Nurse Rochet made her escape. “Carl, I was so scared. You were in surgery for a day and a half, and they wouldn’t tell us anything until I told them I was your lawyer.”

Tears threatened as Carl took in a friendly face for the first time. Rebecca had dark circles around her eyes that had nothing to do with makeup, and he thought he saw a few gray hairs where none had been before. “I’m sorry I scared you. Do you know what happened?”

Rebecca glanced at the lady sitting in the corner reading a book and shook her head slightly. “We’ll talk about that later. I’m just glad you’re alive and doing well. You’ll recover quickly, I’m sure.”

Carl wondered if her last words were code that he should heal himself, but he doubted Gene would have said anything. He’d always been good with secrets. “What happened with Todd?”

Rebecca barked out a desperate laugh that was entirely inappropriate for the setting. “You would want to talk business at a time like this.” She wiped a few stray tears from her eyes. “I set up the meeting with Charles after explaining that you were indisposed due to medical issues. Mack and Todd are meeting with us on Friday morning. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Carl gave her the best smile he could manage. “Thanks for taking care of that.” His mind wandered again, causing him to forget what he wanted to talk about. There was an awkward silence for a few moments before it came back to him. “The auction for the bar in Medford is this week. Can one of you go down to bid on it?”

Rebecca took a deep breath. With Carl’s health in limbo, buying new businesses didn’t seem wise. She’d discussed it with Charles yesterday after updating him on what she knew about his medical condition, and they had both agreed to hold off.

However, that didn’t mean that Carl wanted to. He read the hesitation on her face. “You want to skip it, don’t you?” He could see the look in her eyes as she tried to find a way to let him down easily.

She nodded. “I talked to Charles about it, and without you leading the group it just doesn’t make sense. None of us know anything about running a bar, and Medford is a fair distance away from all the other businesses you own.” She didn’t share the rest of her conversation with Charles. They’d talked about the remaining money in the business account, and with mounting hospital bills, it was more prudent to be cautious. Carl might not see that yet, but his advisors did.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, sleep threatening to overtake him. He pushed it back, but knew he wouldn’t hold out long. “I’ll send Gene then. You don’t understand what an opportunity it is, depending on the auction price. If the price goes too high, then I would be the first to back down. But if it stays reasonable, it could be a big moneymaker for us. It would help pay for another law firm, or another coin shop, or maybe…” He trailed off, forgetting what he planned to say. Frustrated that his mind was letting him down, he said instead, “You’re not giving up on the second law office with Donnehy, and that could be looked at the same way.”

If he could, he would have turned his head away like a petulant child, but even that was denied him.

Unknown to both of them, Mrs. Davies had stopped reading her romance novel and started listening in. A hospital counselor didn’t make great money, and not ten feet away from her was an eligible bachelor who owned multiple businesses and was buying more still. It was right out of a romance novel she’d read a few weeks ago, except the wealthy man had been twenty years younger and the meeting had happened in Paris. But who said she couldn’t meet her next man in a disinfected hospital room?

Rebecca folded her arms in front of her. She loved Carl for what he had done for her and her business, but she didn’t plan to back down on this. Sometimes the lawyer really did know best.

Seeing the body stance she had taken, Carl said the first thing that came to mind. After all, he couldn’t really plan his speeches ahead anymore. “If I die, you’re going to regret this discussion until the end of your days.”

Rebecca gasped, then turned and ran from the room. Immediately feeling bad for saying something so insensitive, he tried to call after her, but the door had already shut behind her.

Mrs. Davies shook her head in reproach, unseen by Carl. She knew there were others in the waiting room hoping to see him, but she planned to keep him to herself for the moment. He was hurt, confused, and perfectly placed to fall for her.

The door open, and a second nurse walked in. Mrs. Davies immediately protested. “What are you doing here?”

A familiar voice spoke outside of his vision. “I came to see how the patient is doing. I need to go over some personal information, so I would ask that you wait outside. When I’m done, I’ll call you back in.”

Carl did his best to see who was speaking, turning his head as much as he could without causing himself more pain.

Mrs. Davies stood up, setting her book down on the chair. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. If you’re not done by then, too bad.” She looked at Carl as she walked by, winking at him before disappearing from his line of sight.

With that, she left the room.

Barbara sat down beside Carl. He could only see her hair, but it was enough to lighten a very crappy day. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier. I had to cover someone else’s shift, but I came immediately after.” She ran her hand gently along his forehead, smoothing out his hair.

Carl blinked a few times, a small grin on his face. “It’s fine. I just woke up a while ago. You didn’t miss anything.”

Barbara’s face came into view. She looked just as beautiful as he remembered her. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

He barked out a semi-bitter laugh. “I’m feeling like my heart was broken. And my back along with a few fingers, but mostly my heart.”

Barbara nodded. “I know. I felt the same way after you shared… what you shared with me. I’ve come to terms with it since.”

There was a lot being left unsaid, but Carl already knew the reason why. “You’ve met someone else. I don’t begrudge you anything. We had a good run, and while I hoped it would have lasted longer, our lives are just too different. Even if I wish they weren’t.”

Barbara’s eyes flashed annoyance. “How do you know I’m seeing someone else?”

Carl tried to look away, but the head brace wouldn’t allow it. “I saw you at the diner with him holding hands. I was only there for a moment before I left.” He thought about saying something nice, but his mind couldn’t craft it, and his heart didn’t feel it.

She tilted her head to the side the way she’d done so many times while they were together. It usually meant she was thinking. Or she was angry. “I see.” She looked off in the distance, the normal view of the city clouded by a drizzly rain and low clouds. Sometimes the weather was like that, where it could personify your feelings perfectly.

Turning to face him again, she said, “I’m not seeing anyone else, Carl. That was my brother, who was visiting from Grand Rapids. I rarely see him anymore, but he came out to a conference in Seattle and decided to stop by and see me before heading back. He helped me sort my feelings out. It was a good visit.”

Carl was an ass. Plain and simple, he was the world’s biggest ass. “I’m sorry. I loved you when we were together, and I still love you. But you couldn’t accept me as I am, even if it is no fault of my own that I can do certain things that most people can’t. That hurt me badly. I got drunk for the first time in decades after seeing you with your brother, which is telling in itself.” He thought about saying more, but the ever-present fog in his mind couldn’t pull the words together into anything coherent.

She folded her arms in front of her, shaking her head the entire time. “I loved you too, Carl. And yes, you are the world’s biggest ass. But you’re my ass, and I don’t want to see you like this!”

The door into the room opened, and Mrs. Davies strode in like she owned the place. She had a tight, smug grin on her face for having cut their time in half. Maybe it was petty, but she loved twisting the knife just a bit harder into someone’s back when she could. After all, why else would she have gone through seven years of schooling to get her master’s degree in psychology?

Carl couldn’t see her, and Barbara ignored her. Leaning down, she whispered in his ear, “Heal yourself up tonight. I’ll stop by after my shift ends to clear out the room, and we’ll chalk it up to divine intervention. We need to have a long talk about us, and you can’t do that while you’re on pain meds.”

A tear leaked out of Carl’s eye as he smiled. “I would like that. And I will.” Whispering, he said, “I love you, too.”

Barbara wanted to lean down and kiss him, but not with Mrs. Davies in the room. She was a vindictive, gossip mongering witch, and she wouldn’t give her the pleasure of spreading bad rumors about her or Carl.

Turning away before she cried, she rushed from the room and toward the nurse’s changing room. She doubted anyone was there right now, and it would give her a chance to cry her eyes dry.

Chapter 38

“The business of skepticism is to be dangerous. Skepticism challenges established institutions. If we teach everybody, including, say, high school students, habits of skeptical thought, they will probably not restrict their skepticism to UFOs, aspirin commercials and 35,000-year-old channellees. Maybe they’ll start asking awkward questions about economic, or social, or political, or religious institutions. Perhaps they’ll challenge the opinions of those in power. Then where would we be?”

— Carl Sagan

Time passed in small increments for Carl. Changing the IV, a doctor checking up on him, a nurse making sure he was comfy, and food being spoon fed to him like an invalid. The desire to fix himself right now never left him, but he steeled himself and waited patiently for night to fall. He couldn’t see out the window to gauge the time, but if he flipped through the channels frequently enough, he usually managed to find the channel guide, which had the time in the upper left-hand corner.

Mrs. Davies left at 6pm. She gave him a look like one a cat might give to a mouse held firmly in its claws. It wasn’t a reassuring look in the slightest. Then she opened the door and left, and Carl let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

No one replaced her after she left, perhaps because the hospital realized that an invalid lying in bed couldn’t really cause himself any harm. Or in their eyes, any more harm.

A snack came at 7:30pm, and then it was a long slog of TV reruns to 11pm. He didn’t really care what was on, but some of the dialogue was so inane that he felt his intelligence dropping point by point the more he watched. Why didn’t writers make more of an effort these days? It seemed all they were after were cheap laughs supported by laugh tracks.

He would give a good amount of money if someone walked in and put a movie in from the fifties or sixties. A large amount of money.

That person never arrived.

A hand shook him awake from a wonderful dream where he had played Steve McQueen in The Great Escape and just about to jump the fence to Switzerland. “Carl, wake up.”

“What?” Slowly coming to his senses, he opened his eyes and saw Barbara in front of him. She looked tired, as she usually did after a long shift at work. “You look beautiful.”

She blushed, but only for a moment. She handed him a cup of water from the food tray beside his table, and he greedily sucked it down. “Can you heal yourself, or do you need something from me?”

“I can do it. It’s going to look bad, and I’ll pass out, but it should look like I’m sleeping afterwards. Are you working tomorrow?”

She had left his bedside, doing something he couldn’t see. “I am, and yes, I’ll check on you first thing tomorrow morning before my shift. Now go ahead and heal yourself.” She was worried a doctor might walk in, even if that was unlikely. The next shift wasn’t scheduled until 2am, and a doctor would definitely check up on him then.

Not needing any more prodding, Carl set his intent to heal himself.

DNA acquired: 76

Unallocated points acquired: 750

Points remaining: 4

Do you wish to repair damage caused from foreign drone impacting your body?

Unallocated points available: 23,225

Points required to repair damage caused from foreign skill drone impacting your body: 600

Carl didn’t know which blue box interested him more. Just as he remembered seeing from the last blue box he’d read, when he’d been feeling the worst pain of his life, his DNA acquisition points had been cut in half. Did they not need as many DNA samples anymore, whoever they were?

Then came the foreign drone. Except he didn’t remember a foreign drone. Although he did remember the blue light outside the window, getting closer and closer. And it being so cold inside the hotel room, which was usually a comfortable temperature.

As the pieces came together in his mind, he started to understand what had happened to him. Something, from somewhere, had flown through the skies toward Ocean Shores, targeting him the entire time. When it had impacted, it had broken him badly, like a girl’s doll that a mean brother had stolen to pull the arms, eyes, hair and everything else out before melting the plastic in a fire.

The blinking blue dot in his eye had gone away, but he knew it was there to lead him to a triple helix DNA type. He wouldn’t be able to address that until he was healed, but that must be what they wanted most.

“Carl, why aren’t you doing anything?”

Barbara’s voice pulled him from his reverie, and he mentally accepted the cost to repair his body from the foreign drone impact. He didn’t know if that included his fingernails and all the bruises he still had, but he hoped it did.

Electricity pulsed through his body, forcing every muscle to lock up. Then a second pulse, then a third. They came quicker after that until he couldn’t breathe due to his lungs not working.

He vaguely heard someone screaming, but before he knew what had happened, he passed out.

Chapter 39

“The evidence presented by the ancient maps appears to suggest the existence in remote times, before the rise of any of the known cultures, of a true civilization, of a comparatively advanced sort, which either was localized in one area but had worldwide commerce, or was, in a real sense, a worldwide culture. This culture, at least in some respects, may well have been more advanced than the civilizations of Egypt, Babylonia, Greece, and Rome. In astronomy, nautical science, mapmaking and possibly ship-building, it was perhaps more advanced than any state of culture before the 18th Century of the Christian Era. It was in the 18th Century that we first developed a practical means of finding longitude. It was in the 18th Century that we first accurately measured the circumference of the earth. Not until the 19th Century did we begin to send out ships for purposes of whaling or exploration into the Arctic or Antarctic Seas. The maps indicate that some ancient people may have done all these things.”

— Charles H. Hapgood (Maps of the Ancient Sea Kings: Evidence of Advanced Civilization in the Ice Age)

“What do you recommend we do while he’s out?” Rebecca was biting her nails again, something she thought she’d left behind in her childhood. Pulling her hand away, she took a drink of coffee, the caffeine not calming her at all.

“We hold steady. We keep the meeting with Mack Donnehy because it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. Your firm is projected to bring in twice the revenue it did from last year and turning around a second law firm will only improve that number.” Charles had told his wife late last night that the trip to Europe they’d planned in three weeks was off. She had begged him to reconsider, as they’d never had a honeymoon because tax season was just around the corner after they married. This would make up for that and then some, and they both needed some time together to get reacquainted. The change from imminent partner to quitting the firm had Charles’ mind spinning, and now that their leader was down and out in the hospital, he didn’t see how a trip was possible.

“That makes sense. Do you need any help from me with the mining company?” She sighed. “I think we’re on the same page that the bar in Medford is a no-go.” Leaning back in her chair, she felt wired but could admit that Charles’ stolid leadership had calmed her down a bit.

Charles snorted. “The bar is out. I’ve told Carl it doesn’t fit into the synergies he’s created in his other businesses, but he insisted someone go to the auction. I promised I’d go, so I will, but I don’t plan to bid on it unless it’s free. I’ll see the drilling company while I’m down there, since it doesn’t cost very much for us to drill. If they find gold or silver, then great. If they don’t, then hopefully Carl will give up that dream, and I can pull him back to reality. You can stay here and keep the law firm on track.”

Rebecca leaned forward in her chair. “You don’t believe he’s found gold?”

He would never say this to Carl, but to Rebecca, who he considered a peer, he would. “No, I don’t. No one in the history of the Earth has ever found gold that consistently. His coins are a fluke, plain and simple. Mining companies spend millions each year searching for metals, and they go bust more frequently than restaurants do. It’s common sense.” He felt good getting that off his chest. He loved Carl for how he’d changed his life, but the mining infatuation? He hoped that passed as quickly as the bar in Medford did.

Charles made a lot of sense, he really did. But Rebecca had seen Carl come through against the odds too many times. She’d been proud of him for buying the courier business, but had never expected that company to make much money. According to Charles’ preliminary report, it had turned around completely, and was now third in estimated revenue among all courier companies in Portland. And she doubted Carl would be happy with third.

Rebecca shook her head as she sipped her coffee. “I wouldn’t discount him, Charles. And if he does find gold down in Medford, I expect you to go all out to buy the bar back from whoever wins the bid. It’s only fair. He’s been right about everything he’s bought so far, including you.”

Charles sighed, a bit too dramatically for Rebecca’s taste. “Fine. If by some miracle he does strike gold, I promise the first thing I’ll do is buy the bar back. He’ll certainly have enough money for it, along with Vancouver Life, the credit union, and everything else he wants to add to his empire.”

“What credit union?” She hadn’t heard about that development.

Charles filled her in, admitting in a roundabout way that the credit union was a solid investment idea. Having it based in eastern Oregon was a problem, but not an insurmountable one.

Rebecca could hear the grudging respect as Charles filled her in on the credit union. The fact that it had lost two of its branches in the last year was interesting, and she’d seen enough failing businesses—along with the bitter fallout between business partners that followed—to know that whatever was going on inside the credit union was probably worse than what could be seen from the outside. Banks and credit unions weren’t cheap, but this one would in all probability be on the lower end.

They finished up with their call, neither of them feeling much better about the situation. Until Carl was back on his feet, they would have to soldier on and try to keep things together. She could only hope they could manage it without his guidance.

Interlude 3

“Drone successfully delivered.” The weapons officer wiped the sweat from her face, the heat on the bridge growing each turn around the star. They were diverting all power to the cryogenic chambers, which meant that it was becoming harder to think, sleep, and work as the air processing systems maintained only the basic functions.

“Fine.” The scientist had tried everything he could think of, and a few that no one had ever thought of before. None of them worked. The giant ship was nearly at the point where reversing the ship’s trajectory from falling into the gravity well of the star would be impossible, but they couldn’t change that until they had the correct DNA sequence. That would repair the damage their race had taken during the war, where DNA modification weapons had been used for the first time. The scientist had been far away when the weapon had been delivered, but the weapons officer had not. She’d been in the thick of the battle, and he knew she was already feeling the deleterious effects as her DNA slowly unraveled inside her body.

They were desperate, and desperate people do unthinkable things. Excusing himself while he went and checked on the cryogenic chambers, he kneeled down and prayed to a god his parents had prayed to often during his childhood. It was a silly idea, praying to a deity that existed on a higher plane that not a single scientist had ever found, but he found the idea comforting right now. The last of their race would be dead in twenty-seven rotations, so what harm would it cause?

Kneeling down, he prayed to Elpis.

Elpis, I pray to you as I did when I was young. Please help us find the DNA we need to bring the last remnants of our race out of cryo, so we can live and thrive somewhere else. Punish those who did this vile thing to us and help the beings searching for our DNA. Yours in faith, Epistimonas.

Looking around as soon as he was done praying, he quickly got off his knees. His parents had been true believers, but it was generally accepted that the gods were dead. The game, the same game that had destroyed the people in the back of this ship, had killed them.

Chapter 40

“Gentlemen! I too have been a close observer of the doings of the Bank of the United States. I have had men watching you for a long time, and am convinced that you have used the funds of the bank to speculate in the breadstuffs of the country. When you won, you divided the profits amongst you, and when you lost, you charged it to the bank. You tell me that if I take the deposits from the bank and annul its charter I shall ruin ten thousand families. That may be true, gentlemen, but that is your sin! Should I let you go on, you will ruin fifty thousand families, and that would be my sin! You are a den of vipers and thieves. I have determined to rout you out, and by the Eternal [bringing his fist down on the table], I will rout you out!”

— Andrew Jackson

When Carl woke up, he wiggled his toes to be sure everything was all right. The brace was still on his head, but after leaning up in the bed to be sure no one was around, he managed to reach around to the back and unlatch it. Pulling the thing off, he dropped it on the floor.

He glanced out the window, a dull light forcing its way through the clouds. His best guess was that it was early in the morning.

After a bit of searching, he found his clothes in the closet. His shirt was blood stained, so he rolled the sleeves up so the blood didn’t show as much. Everything smelled of stale sweat, but he didn’t mind in the least. He tippy-tapped his shoes like he was Fred Astaire tap dancing, his rendition sounding not remotely close to the great dancer.

Once he was dressed, he ate everything on the tray next to his bed. The Jell-O was wonderful, while the applesauce was gritty and left a lot to be desired. He ate it anyway.

Opening the door to check that no one was around, he walked out and headed toward the nurse’s desk. He had no illusions that he would get out of the hospital without a myriad of tests, but he would like to try.

A young woman he’d never seen before was sitting at the desk, while two other women behind her were doing administrative work. Carl waited patiently until she finished her work.

“Yes?”

Carl gave her his most winning smile. “I’d like to check myself out.”

The nurse’s head whipped back. This was the intensive care ward, and it was rare for a patient to check out. Instead, they went to rehab until they were relatively well enough to go home. Relative being the operative word.

The nurse stared at him, just to be sure this wasn’t some kind of trick. The man appeared to be hale and hearty, and not bad looking to boot if a bit old for her tastes. “I see. Just a moment while I get your files. Your name?”

“Carl Thompson.” He took a candy from a small bowl on the wide counter that separated him from the nurse. He nearly moaned in delight as he moved it around in his mouth. It was watermelon, and it tasted wonderful.

The nurse found the correct file, her eyes going wide as she read the report. He’d been airlifted in from Washington state, then undergone surgery for thirty-five hours and twelve minutes. His back had been broken in two places, with multiple fractures along his spine. One rib had broken, and others were fractured, and his entire body had been a giant bruise. She’d seen motorcycle injuries that paled in comparison to what this man had been through.

The man who was standing in front of her took a second candy from the candy bowl. He held the candy up in front of him. “These are really good.”

She nodded absently, pulling the phone out and dialing the doctor who had led the surgical team. She knew he planned to write a few papers about his injuries, and he was probably working on them right now if he wasn’t in surgery.

A tired but gruff voice answered. “What is it, Marina? I’m busy.”

“Yes, Dr. Cane. I’m sorry, but I need you at the nurse’s desk immediately.”

His laugh was contemptuous. “You need me?”

Turning her head away from the patient in front of her, she said, “Mr. Thompson is asking to be checked out. He’s walking and eating a candy right now.”

Dr. Cane checked his calendar. April 1st was still a week away, but sometimes the nurses liked to get an early start. “Very funny, Marina. I’m going back to my writing. Don’t interrupt me again.”

Setting the phone down harder than was required, Dr. Cane smiled. He’d had a few good patients in the past, but the man she had just mentioned was going to make him famous.

Marina turned back to Carl, who was now on his third hard candy. He was crunching his way through them, the little bits of candy getting stuck in his molars. He didn’t care as he happily crunched through another one.

She handed him a release form along with a pen. “If you’ll fill this out, you’ll be free to go as soon as you settle your bill. It’s substantial.”

Carl shrugged, taking the form, the pen, and another candy as he went to sit down in a nearby seat. He put it all on the corporate credit card.

Forty minutes later, Carl was whistling a little ditty as he walked through the automatic doors after being wheelchaired to the front. There was a line of cabs off to his left, so he waved at the lead car and it drove forward to meet him.

Getting in, he gave the cabby the address of his home. He didn’t have his cell phone, his laptop, or his suitcase from the UFO conference, so he had to hope that Gene had thought ahead and grabbed them for him.

Thirty minutes later he walked through the front door, using the hidden key he kept under a rock. His car wasn’t here, but that was fine. Maybe he’d rent a fancy new one, just to see what it was like. He knew that the new models had better safety equipment than his old Honda did, and after putting almost three hundred thousand miles on his Honda, it might be time for a change.

He took the twenty-dollar bill from the book before turning on his senses for more, and when he’d found enough, he ran out to pay the cabby on the street. He gave him a nice tip, as he always did.

Using the yellow pages, he dialed up a rental car company that was close by, and they promised to have a car to him within the hour. He’d asked for a newer model Honda, and they said they had plenty in stock.

Hungry but without the means to get to the diner, he waited patiently for the car to arrive. There were no messages on the answering machine, and without his laptop he felt useless. He didn’t want to watch television after the metaphorical horror show of last night, so he reclined in his chair while flipping through the calendar. It was Wednesday today, he realized, and tonight or tomorrow morning he would need to drive down to Medford for the auction.

The car arrived as he made plans for the future. He needed to call Wal-Mart back to accept the job, but he knew he wouldn’t be going back to work for a few weeks yet. That would give him time to drive up to Seattle to look for courier companies, and perhaps a trip down to San Francisco as well.

Walking out to inspect the car, he saw that it was a brand-new Honda painted a shiny green. He’d always liked the British sports cars of the sixties, but had never been able to afford one. This car, even if it wasn’t a drop top, reminded him a little of those cars.

He signed a few papers after walking around it to make sure it didn’t have any dings. It had a few that were marked down, but they weren’t substantial.

He was just about to sign off on it when he got a feeling in his gut. Turning to the rental person, a young man who couldn’t be older than twenty-five, he asked, “How much to buy the car outright?”

It took a trip back to the rental company, a few more forms, and another large charge to his company credit card, but an hour later he drove away in his first new car. He’d bought the old Honda used with fifty thousand miles on it, but this one only had a hundred and forty miles. It was as brand new as he was going to get.

Before he left, he turned the radio to an oldies station, then drove away in his new car straight to the diner.

Since it was late morning, there were fewer people at the counter, and Carl plopped himself down on a seat at the counter before picking up the paper on the seat beside him.

Chloe came over and poured him a cup of hot coffee. “How was the conference, Carl?”

He grinned. “It was great. A bit different from most of the conferences I’ve gone to, but we had a fantastic time.”

Chloe patted him on the shoulder. She thought about bringing him oatmeal, but he was in such a good mood that she decided to splurge and bring him an omelet and hash browns instead. He was a good man, and good men deserved special attention every now and again.

Chapter 41

“You have to think if we’ve been visited by extraterrestrial life, it was like a zookeeper walking into the chimp enclosure: He looks around, takes some pictures, then leaves without interacting significantly with the environment. Meanwhile the chimps have no idea what the fuck just happened.”

— J. Richard Singleton

When Carl got home, he parked his new car in the garage. Maybe he could give his old Honda away to someone who needed it, or donate it to charity. He doubted it was worth much, but it had always gotten him to work and home again without fail. A car like that deserved more than being dumped in the scrapyard.

Walking inside, he saw that he had three messages on the answering machine. Pushing the play button, he sat down in his recliner.

“Mr. Thompson, this is Dr. Cane. I understand that you released yourself from the hospital, and in doing so, from my care. How you managed to do so I have no idea, but I must insist you return to the hospital immediately or I’ll be forced to call the police. It shouldn’t be possible for you to be walking as the nurses informed me, but either way, come back immediately. Your injuries require further testing, not to mention rehabilitation, and I need…”

Carl deleted the message. He’d expected this sort of thing to happen, although he hadn’t expected the doctor to threaten to call the police. He’d checked himself out properly, and as far as he was concerned, that was all there was to it. It was better to leave them wondering what had happened than to actually submit to any of their tests. He pressed play on the next message.

A female voice he thought he recognized spoke. “Mr. Thompson, I’m calling to check that you’re doing all right. I don’t know the details of what happened to you the other day, and management isn’t saying anything, but I wanted to call and check in. My name is Wendy, and I was at the front desk when you asked about the gym. I really hope you’re okay.” A bit of sniffling came over the line. “Management also told me that you owe them for the damage to your room. Your credit card has already been charged. I—I… please forgive me for asking, but I don’t suppose you have a job available? I think I’m ready to leave the hotel business.” She paused and then hurriedly added, “Bye.”

Carl smiled. He did indeed remember Wendy, although he hadn’t known her name until this moment. His first thought was to see if Evan needed a courier, but then dismissed it. Couriers were a special breed, and he doubted someone who wasn’t serious about bike riding would be interested.

But… what about an administrative role? Someone who could coordinate between himself, Charles, Rebecca, Randy, Sue, and all the rest? That person would need an office, and that wouldn’t be hard to find, especially if…

Knowing exactly what he wanted to do, he called Wendy back.

An older male voice answered. “Quinault Resort and Casino. This is Gus.”

“Gus, this is Carl. I was wondering if Wendy is working today?”

“Let me check,” Gus said it as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. “She isn’t. She’ll be in tomorrow. Can I take a message?”

“Yes, please tell her that everything is all right, and that she should call me back early tomorrow morning. Sometime between nine and ten am. After that, I’ll be on the road and I don’t answer my cell when I’m driving.” He gave his name and contact information.

“I’ve got it.” He wrote a quick note and sent an email to Wendy’s account. “Is that all?”

“That’s it. Thank you.”

Hanging up, Carl listened to the last message. “Carl, this is Bill down in Medford. Just a friendly reminder that that auction for the Rustler’s Brand is tomorrow at 3pm. If you need my services, let me know. I have an idea of what the final price might be, and the funds have to be available at the end of the auction in cash or a cashier’s check. I recommend the latter. Give me a ring if you want to talk.”

Carl did just that, calling Bill back right away. He wasn’t much of a drinker, last week’s escapade withstanding, but he did like to make money. And that bar, under the right management, would make a lot of money. His failing business sense didn’t lie.

“Bill here.”

“Bill, it’s Carl. I got your message, and to answer your question, I’m still very interested in The Rustler’s Brand.”

“That’s wonderful. I assume you’re driving down tomorrow morning?” Bill chuckled, although at what Carl had no idea.

“I am. I miss the diner down in Medford as well, and plan to eat there a few times. I should be there no later than 1pm if everything works out.”

“Wonderful. Why don’t you stop by Ashland first, and we’ll get the auction paperwork out of the way first thing? You’ll need to head to your bank and get a cashier’s check, but that should only take a few minutes.”

Carl nodded, jotting it all down on paper. “What do you think it will go for?”

Bill hedged. He wanted a high price because that would pay him a larger commission, but he knew there were only a few people in Medford who could afford to buy a bar that size outright. Some might try to get bank financing, but that was risky as well because the bar’s performance had been dismal compared to the glory days when Paddy had run it. “I’d say half a mill, perhaps more. A bidding war could change things, but I doubt you’re the kind of man to get dragged into one of those. I have the financials for the past three years, and they’re not good. It could be turned around, but it would take time.”

None of that surprised Carl. He would need to stop at the mapmaker shop first to have the mapmaker talk to the former manager of the bar. Without the old manager, the purchase became less of a sure thing.

“That sounds fine. And no, I won’t get into a bidding war.” Another call came in, and based on the number, Carl knew he had to take it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bill. Bye.”

Hanging up, he quickly picked up before the call went to the answering machine. “Carl here.”

“Carl, it’s Wendy. I got an email saying that you had called back.”

Carl grinned. The young woman was checking her work emails even on her day off. It only reinforced to him that she would be a good hire. “I did. Thank you for the kind words, but I’m quite all right. I’m at home now and heading out on a business trip tomorrow.” He paused, thinking about how he wanted to phrase his next question. “Why do you want to leave the resort?”

Wendy talked for a long time, going into her work relationships, how management only cared about the bottom line, and finally that the money she made wasn’t great. She didn’t add that she wanted out of Ocean Shores, but she implied it.

Carl jotted a few notes down before responding. “I see. I might have a job here in Portland if that sounds like something you’d be interested in. I run a number of different businesses down here, and we’re growing. I have a business manager who handles the financials, and a law partner who handles the legal issues. What I need is someone to act as an interface between the three of us, as well as between all the different businesses. Someone to manage meetings, coordinate schedules, learn the business, and maybe even manage one of them when they’re ready. Does that match up with what you’re looking for right now?”

Wendy’s mouth hung open. The kindly old man who’d reminded her of her grandfather was a business tycoon, and now he was offering her a way out of Ocean Shores. Out of the dreary everyday life on the edge of nowhere.

Wendy did her best to restrain her enthusiasm, but it still leaked through. “It does. It really does. But, um, I don’t think I can afford rent in Portland. I’ve heard it’s pretty expensive.”

Carl grinned, happiness filling his heart. “Why don’t you let me take care of that? We’ll call it a signing bonus. I’ll have my lawyer send you an employment form, and you should read it over until you understand it. Then send it back to her, and we’ll get you setup down here. We don’t have an office yet, but let me work on that too. Sound good?”

Wendy was giddy with delight. She’d dreamed of this moment for so long, asking friends and distant family members for any jobs they might know of, only to have a random guest at the resort come through for her. A very nice, gentlemanly random guest.

“It does, but… I don’t have a car. Right now, I’m borrowing my dad’s car, but I know he won’t give it to me. He needs it for work.”

Life was amazing sometimes. The way synchronicities could happen when you least expected it. “If you don’t mind old cars too much, I have one you can have for free. It’s old, but it always got me home every single day. And I believe it’s still at the resort right now as we speak.”

* * *

After he hung up with Wendy, he called Rebecca. He had a feeling this would be an awkward call, because she had to know he’d injured himself badly at the UFO conference.

“Lyon and Hudson. How may I help you?” Carl was so surprised by the new introduction the receptionist had used that he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She repeated, “Hello?”

“Yes, this is Carl. Is Rebecca in? I like how you answered the phone, too. Very professional.”

“C-Carl? Aren’t you in the hospital? I overheard Rebecca, and it sounded bad.”

Carl grimaced. It had been bad. “Is Rebecca in?”

“Oh, yes. Just a moment. I hope you’re feeling better soon, Carl.”

Carl didn’t reply, not because he was withholding information but because it was too difficult to explain in any kind of reasonable fashion.

Rebecca sounded exasperated when she spoke. “Carl? Why in the world are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be resting in bed right now?”

“I’m at home in my recliner right now. I’m doing fine.”

In the end he decided not to tell Rebecca, and by extension Charles, of his abilities. If Barbara had a difficult time accepting them, he doubted it would be any easier for his two primary business partners. He would chalk it up to divine intervention, or a miracle for the less devout.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m stupefied, Carl, I really am.” Rebecca’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all centered around Carl. “I assume you’re heading to Medford tomorrow for the auction?”

He gave a lopsided grin. “I am, but that’s not why I’m calling. I’m hiring a young lady I met at the resort to work for the LLC, and I need a standardized employment contract. She’ll be doing administrative work, coordinating calendars, making calls, that sort of thing. You might have met her at the front desk. She’s very nice.”

Rebecca was sure nothing could surprise her anymore. Absolutely nothing. “I did meet her, and I agree she is very nice. But that’s not why you hire someone.”

Carl tsked before sipping on his coffee. “I disagree. But that’s not the point. She asked me for a job after calling to make sure I was feeling all right, and you have to agree that we need someone coordinating everything. What if I head to Utah to look for gold, or to Seattle to look for another courier company? She can keep everyone aware of what’s happening, including me. You know that relying on me for that isn’t working very well.”

Rebecca sighed. “You’re already planning both those things, aren’t you?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Only the last one. I made up Utah, but Seattle is something I talked to Evan about before leaving for the UFO conference. He already had expansion plans on his list, but he was thinking of Beaverton. I don’t think that will work, so we’ll head to Seattle instead. And San Francisco after that.”

She was surprised, but only a little. “You’re right. I’ll send the employment contract through if you give me her email address. Where are you thinking of putting her?”

“I’m thinking of buying a building or four in Vancouver. They’re beautiful old buildings, and while they need some attention, it would be a great place to put her. It won’t matter for the LLC, will it?”

Rebecca had to think for a moment before responding. “No, it won’t, but if too much business is done in Washington, the state might argue that the LLC should be taxed in Washington. They tax upon gross receipts, while Oregon is a flat rate on corporations up to a million dollars. I don’t think it’s an issue, but pay attention to it, just in case.”

“Got it. And thank you again, Rebecca. I won’t pry, but I do hope you had a fun time at the UFO conference.”

Unseen by Carl, Rebecca’s face turned a deep crimson red. She had in fact had a lot of fun in Ocean Shores, more fun than she’d had in a very long time. Her partner was uncouth, distrustful of government in all its guises, believed most of the speakers at the UFO conference were telling the absolute, unvarnished truth, and ate like he had a bottomless pit inside of him, but he was damn good in the sack.

She gulped involuntarily. “I did. Thank you for asking. Gotta go, bye.”

Carl stared at the phone as Rebecca hung up on him. Then he grinned. He didn’t need to check in with Randy, not just yet anyway, but he would in due course.

His last call was to Gene, because he knew that one would take the longest. Gene would understand what had happened, but that wouldn’t stop him from speculating endlessly or asking questions that Carl had no answer to. Still, he was Carl’s best friend, so he would put up with it all in the name of friendship.

The call rang until it went to voicemail, and Carl left a long, detailed message to forestall as many of his friend’s questions as possible.

Hanging up, he called Sarah at Wal-Mart back. He wanted the job, and despite the runaround he’d received from them, he would still take it.

“Sarah here.”

“Sarah, it’s Carl Thompson. I’m back from my trip and wanted to call and confirm that I will accept the position as manager greeter.”

Sarah tried to hide the happiness that was flowing through her. After a long and very difficult call with corporate legal, it had been spelled out to her in horrifying detail what kind of position she had put the company in. Not only could Carl sue for discrimination during the fake interview, he could sue for inappropriate termination. He hadn’t been given any kind of proper notice, and the jackass store manager Terry hadn’t asked Bryn to inform Carl that he would no longer be required, leaving a massive hole in their paperwork trail. The financial estimate should Carl pursue both lawsuits ran in the millions, and whether he won or not, both Terry and Sarah would be looking for new jobs.

Sarah might survive the fallout, but then again, she might not.

She’d tried to explain this to Terry, but it was like talking to a wall. Everything bounced off, and nothing stuck. She couldn’t wait to get out of Portland and back to Bentonville, Arkansas. Things made sense down there.

She spoke in a happy but modulated voice. “That’s wonderful, Carl. We’re excited to have you back. You’ll still need to come in to sign some paperwork, and we’ll share the salary information with you at that time.”

“How about now? Which store are you at?”

“I’m at your old store on 82nd. If you agree, we think it’s best that you come back to your job here. Bryn is in full agreement, as is the new store manager who moved up from Eugene.”

He had no doubt that Bryn would be in agreement. He would still have to visit Terry’s store with this job, but that didn’t mean that he’d have to talk to the man himself. In fact, he planned to go out of his way not to.

“I’ll be there in a half hour or so. See you then.”

Changing into something more professional, he got back in his new car and drove the familiar route to the store. The air conditioning was ice cold in this car, while in his old Honda it took a long while for the car to cool down.

Pulling into the same parking space he’d used so many times before, he walked inside, taking time to visit every entrance and evaluate the greeters. A few recognized him and said ‘hi’ before letting them get back to work, but the rest were new. He had his work cut out for him.

Heading to the back, he walked upstairs to the managers’ offices. The store manager’s door was closed, while Bryn’s was still open. He tried to pass by as silently as he could, but she looked up before he escaped.

She called out just as he passed the open entrance. “Carl? Is that you?”

Turning around, he stepped into the frame of the door but not into her office. “It is. How are you, Bryn?”

She shook her head, her hair bouncing in an entrancing way. “I’m so sorry about the call we had. It made me sick to tell you didn’t have a job, and I hope you can forgive me in time.”

Carl had gotten better at reading people, and looking at Bryn right now, he didn’t believe her. The words coming out of her mouth were the right ones, but the emotion behind them was wrong.

He studied her face before speaking. “You were afraid you’d get fired if I sued.” She pulled back as if slapped. “You still are.” Carl tilted his head to the side, watching Bryn’s reaction. Her face went through a flurry of emotions, and he recognized anger, fear, and loathing. “You don’t want me here. Having me here puts you on your back foot, and you hate it when someone has something to hold over your head.”

Bryn protested, but Carl didn’t want to hear it. “Just because we’re working at the same store doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other. I’ll admit that it hurts that you see me this way, after everything we’ve been through. I guess you’re not the person I thought you were.”

With that, Carl turned and walked further down the hall until he came to an office with Sarah’s name on it. He knocked, and a voice from within asked him to enter.

As his hand reached for the doorknob, he heard crying behind him. He liked Bryn, but he didn’t like to play games. He didn’t feel sorry for speaking the truth.

Sarah stood up from behind the temporary desk as Carl entered. A stack of papers along with a pen were on his side of the desk. “It’s great to see you, Carl. If you’ll sit down, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to get everything signed. There are a few boilerplate indemnities, just to clear up some of the confusion of the past.”

They shook hands, Carl’s face neutral. He’d thought of this company as a beacon of light after the darkness he’d gone through with his ex-wife, but he didn’t feel that way any longer. Bryn was different, and Sarah looked like she was going to pass out if Carl didn’t sign the papers on his side of the desk.

He almost sat down. He came close, but his gut was telling him no. This job was the past, and it wasn’t what he needed to lead him into the future. Having the points was great, as were some relationships he’d built here. But it no longer felt right for him.

Standing back up, he folded his hands in front of him. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I’m not going to sign any indemnities. If that’s a requirement for this position, then I won’t be taking it.”

Sarah’s hands trembled, and she moved them under the desk to hide that fact. “I’m sorry? I thought you were interested in this position. If it’s a matter of salary, I’m sure we can work that out.”

Carl shook his head. “It’s not the salary. This company put me through the meat grinder, and so far, I’ve only received a half-hearted apology from Bryn just moments ago. Maybe I should sue.” He paused, taking a half step forward toward the desk. “Or you can offer me a package to go away forever. Make it a good one, because I don’t plan to negotiate.”

With that, he turned and walked back down the hallway. Bryn’s office door was still open, but Carl didn’t bother to look inside. He headed straight back to his car, then sat inside for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts.

Driving away from the store for the last time, he felt lighter inside. His mind was already running ahead to what he needed to pack for the auction tomorrow. Maybe he’d take a long weekend in Medford, because he didn’t have any obligations other than the ones he’d made to his friends now.

Chapter 42

“It is no coincidence that the century of total war coincided with the century of central banking.”

— Ron Paul

Instead of heading home, he drove to the law offices to talk to Rebecca. He needed to fill her in on his last conversation with Sarah, and despite Charles’ reservations, start the process to buy the mineral rights to the mines he’d discovered in eastern Oregon.

“Is she in?”

The receptionist nodded in answer to his question, a phone cradled in the crook of her neck. She pointed towards the conference room, and Carl took the hint. He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a new magazine he hadn’t seen before on corporate mergers and acquisitions.

He read for close to a half hour before Rebecca’s door opened. Poking her head around the corner, she said, “You do know we take reservations, don’t you?” She grinned as she stepped into the conference room.

Carl chuckled at he stood up. “What would be the fun in that?”

Sitting down across from him, she opened her notepad, a quizzical look on her face. “You’re looking quite well. Nothing like the man I saw carried out on a gurney to be med-evacked to Portland General.”

Carl shrugged noncommittally. “What matters most is that I’m fine now, doesn’t it?”

Rebecca sighed. She’d let Carl keep his secrets for now. She hoped that in the future he would feel comfortable enough to share whatever it was he was hiding. “What problem can I solve for you today?”

“Did you hire the associate we talked about?”

Rebecca tried to keep a poker face but failed miserably. “That was who I was just got off the phone with. She’s been with Donnehy for almost five years now, and it seems that word has gotten out that the firm is in trouble. Now she’s looking for something better in California. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

Just the implication got Carl’s hackles up. “I keep the secrets I’m supposed to keep. If I had to guess, it was Todd. As the managing partner, he’s the best placed to know what’s happening with the firm and the most likely to talk out of turn.”

Rebecca nodded. “I’ve yet to meet him, but his personality precedes him. I’ve heard from others that he thinks highly of himself. I’d like Mack and him to be the first to go.”

Carl didn’t want to speak out of turn. Yes, Todd played games with people when he’d get further being honest, but some people were like that. He ignored Rebecca’s statement when he responded. “I hope you manage to hire an associate soon.”

Rebecca leaned back in her seat. “You won’t even commit to firing them? Mack has to go eventually, even if you keep him on retainer for the transition. He’ll expect it, and it will be tougher to turn the company around with him still on board. I’d like to see Todd gone, but that’s your call. I’ve said my two cents’ worth.”

Carl smiled. “We’ll discuss it when the time comes. Now, let me tell you about the conversation I just had at Wal-Mart.” He told the story in reverse, starting with the conversation with Sarah and working backwards. Rebecca had heard some of it before, but she wasn’t aware of the trick Sarah had pulled while pretending to be a human resources specialist.

Shaking her head in disbelief that such a large corporation would try something so silly, she said, “You’re right, they would be on the hook for millions if they lost. Not only that, but the bad PR would be tough to overcome. Firing a disabled man for no reason? That’s bad. Asking a potential hire to perform psychic tricks? It’s odd, but still terrible.”

“Do you think they’ll make an offer?”

Rebecca snorted. “Once corporate legal finds out, they’re sure to. From their perspective, they want to contain the liability, which right now is open-ended. You could go to the newspaper tomorrow and tell them everything, and it would go national. That’s how bad this situation is for them. They’ll make an offer, but it will be low. Internal corporate legal tends to think that way. They have a budget like every other department in the company and spending millions to shut you up means they can do less for the rest of the year on other cases.”

Carl protested. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Rebecca held her hands up. “They don’t know that. And they’ll think the worst. Let’s see what the offer is and decide what we want to do after that. There’s no point getting worked up about hypotheticals.”

“Agreed.” Carl was about to stand up, but Rebecca motioned for him to sit down.

“Have you talked to Charles yet?”

Carl shook his head. He’d thought about it, but decided against it because it would be one more difficult call trying to explain the impossible. “I haven’t. Wasn’t planning to, either.”

Rebecca seemed to understand. “Send him an email, then. He’s planning to head down to the auction in Medford tomorrow, and he won’t be bidding. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, but there you go. And before you get angry, we were both worried that you would be laid up for months if not years with your medical issues. It seemed safer to not buy it.” She coughed, giving him the stink eye. “After all, no one expected you back at work a few days after you went into surgery.”

His first reaction was disbelief. “He wasn’t going to buy it? Do you know how much money it could make us?”

She shrugged. “I know, and I’m sorry. We did the best we could in a tough situation. You have to admit that some of the things you do defy explanation, Carl.” Rebecca paused as something clicked in her head. “You’re going to find gold in every single one of those plats, aren’t you?”

He returned a devilish grin. “Yep. Some are silver, but the original ones we bought will all strike metal. And not a little.”

Rebecca’s mind was racing to catch up. She was discovering that she knew Carl less than she’d thought, and that scared her. Because he seemed to be capable of far more than a retired man should be able to do. “And the ones you found in eastern Oregon?”

Carl handed her a piece of paper with all the plats written out. “Every single one of them will have metal. One in particular will strike it big. Really big. The others will be similar to what I found in Medford.”

She took the list in her hand, his cursive spelling neat and tidy. “I’ll get right on this.” She slipped it into a secure pocket in her leather folder. “What about the credit union?”

Carl had always known Rebecca was smart, and the last few minutes of their conversation only highlighted that. “It’s a fantastic deal. I don’t know what the price is yet, but it could fund the expansion for every single one of our businesses.”

It was as if the master plan had just been unfurled before her eyes, and she saw the disparate pieces coming together for the first time. It was unbelievable, yet she’d watched it happen in slow motion, never realizing until just now.

She stared at him as if she were just now seeing him for who he was. “Not that you need my permission but go ahead and buy the bar in Medford. I trust you.”

If Carl could have reached across the table and hugged her, he would have. Since he couldn’t, he got up out of his chair and went around the table to do it.

He hugged her tightly, thankful to have her on his side. It only lasted a few seconds, but it made a world of difference to Carl.

Releasing her, he headed toward the door. “I don’t have my laptop with me at the moment, so would you mind sending an email to Charles explaining what we decided? He’s more than welcome to head down to Medford, but he should stay away from the bidding.”

She gave him a warm nod. “Will do. Maybe the three of us should have dinner when you get back. Call it a business managers’ meeting if you need a reason. Charles may not be on board yet, but he will be soon. Once he is, I have a feeling that things will move very quickly.”

“Why don’t we include Evan, Sue, Randy and Gene as well? We can have a smaller meeting with just the three of us whenever we need to, but it would be good to get everyone together for the first time. Wendy can come if she’s down here by next week.”

She nodded. “I sent her the employment contract, by the way. I didn’t fill out the salary, because that’s not my decision.”

Carl hadn’t really thought about it until this moment. “Is eighty thousand a year too much?”

Rebecca’s first thought was that it absolutely was too much. Her first job had paid all of thirty-three thousand dollars a year, and she had worked her tail off for that paycheck. But that was twenty-some years ago, and inflation was a bitch. “It sounds perfect. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Do you mind sending that to her? Along with a few recommendations on where to look for an apartment?”

“I’ll send the salary, but I’ll have Amy send the apartment information. She’s closer to Wendy’s age, and she’ll know where the best locations are at.”

“Great.” They said their goodbyes, and Carl headed to the diner. Maybe he’d have breakfast for dinner. That had always been one of the most fun meals when he’d been growing up, his mother serving him pancakes and bacon with Aunt Jemima syrup. He’d looked forward to it every single time.

Chapter 43

“In a study, scientists report that drinking beer can be good for the liver. I’m sorry, did I say ‘scientists’? I meant Irish people.”

— Tina Fey

The next morning, he packed using a spare suitcase that hadn’t seen the light of day in over twenty years. He wiped away most of the dust, then sprayed the inside with Lysol to get rid of the mustiness. His clothes would be lemony fresh, but he could live with that.

He’d seen a message from Gene when he got back from the diner, and it was still blinking this morning. It wasn’t that he was avoiding his friend, but he wanted to get on the road, and talking to Gene could delay that an hour or more. He promised himself he would call his friend back later tonight, once he’d settled in at the motel.

He did make a different phone call, however. He didn’t know which shift she was working, so she could be at work right now or asleep to the world in her bed. Either way, she didn’t answer.

“Barbara, it’s Carl. I wanted to thank you for spending time with me in the hospital. If you have some time in the next week or two, I would very much like to go for a walk, or eat at a new restaurant, or anything else really that would let us spend some time together.” The last few words were choked out, his throat constricting with emotion. “I’ll be in Medford for the weekend, so call my cell. I… lov-miss you. Greatly.”

He didn’t say goodbye. The word sounded too final, and after everything they’d been through, he didn’t think his heart could suffer any more than it already had.

Skipping the diner, he got in his new car and motored down to Medford. The radio in this car worked perfectly, so he relaxed into the drive while listening to an oldies station, singing along with the songs he still remembered the words to. He hadn’t realized when he bought the car, but apparently it was a hybrid. A hybrid of what, he didn’t know, but it got terrific gas mileage.

His first stop was to check in at the motel, the same one as last time.

“Kat, the psychic is here!” The manager grinned at him, motioning Carl to put his bag down. “We’ll take your bag to your room.” Pulling a drawer open, he was presented with room 101. “Best room we have. You’re guest of honor.”

Carl couldn’t place the thick accent and honestly hadn’t noticed it last time he’d stayed. Tipping his head, he said, “Thank you. I’m very honored.” He wanted to say that he was in a hurry, but it didn’t feel right to turn these people down.

He had a dozen phone camera photos taken with the manager’s wife, whose name he learned was Kateryna. When the photo session wound down, she kissed him on the cheek, then turned to her husband and explained. “I be psychic now too!”

The husband and wife team did a little jig around the room, so Carl grabbed his bag and the key on the counter and escaped to his room. He usually unpacked everything into the drawers, but he didn’t bother this time. There was too much to get done and too little time.

* * *

Carl pulled into an open parking spot just a few doors down from the mapmaker’s shop. Minutes later he opened the door, finding the shop empty just like it had been the last time he’d come here.

Carl spoke loud enough that he could be heard anywhere in the shop. “Hello?”

A voice came from the back room. “Just a moment. I got a pot of coffee that’s just about done. You want a cup?”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Carl perused the maps on the walls while waiting for the mapmaker. He recognized a few of the mining maps, but in his haste last time he’d missed some exquisite maps detailing the Rogue river and Ashland at the turn of the previous century, and the area between Medford and the Pacific Ocean that had to be from the early 1900s. Most had browning along the edges, and a few had tears that had been carefully taped over, but they were all interesting in their own ways.

“I wondered if you’d come back. The auction’s in a few hours, you know.” Setting a second cup on the counter, he lifted his to his lips.

Carl reached out his hand to shake. The habit had become so ingrained that it felt wrong, edging on impolite, not to shake hands with someone. “Thanks for the coffee.” Taking a sip, he sighed. There was nothing better than a hot cup of joe after a road trip.

“I’m here because of the auction. If I recall correctly, you are friends with the former manager of the bar. I was hoping you could contact him for me.”

The mapmaker squinted. “You planning on hiring him back? Because if you’re not, I think our business is done here.”

Carl grinned. “Do I look like that big of a fool to you?”

The mapmaker chuckled. “Don’t ask a question you don’t want an honest answer to.”

They both laughed long and hard at that. Once they settled down, Carl’s tone turned serious. “I do want him back. If the bar is to succeed, I’ll need his skills to turn it around. To make it into something Paddy would be proud of if he were still here.”

The mapmaker nodded. “You’re dead on there. And to answer your question, his name is Ted Anderson. I’ll give him a call and put in a good word for you. Not a single investor interested in the bar has asked about him, and in my eyes that puts you a cut above the rest. Let me talk to him while you get ready for the auction. If you win, then I’ll make sure the two of you can talk.”

Carl held out his hand a second time. “It’s a deal. Wish me luck, and I’ll talk to you after the auction’s over.”

The mapmaker shook his head slowly. “You don’t need my luck. You’re the kind of man who makes his own.”

They shook on that, and Carl left the mapmaker’s shop with a feeling of inevitability. That the cosmos above was looking down on him, and it was up to him to do right by the people of Medford.

Chapter 44

“Beer’s intellectual. What a shame so many idiots drink it.”

— Ray Bradbury

Instead of driving to the auction house, he drove further south to Ashland to see Bill the broker. He wished in hindsight that they had arranged in advance to meet in Medford, but they hadn’t. It was just after 1pm, and his stomach rumbled. Today it would have to go hungry a while longer.

Pulling into the industrial park where the brokerage was located, he parked his car right out front.

The receptionist greeted him warmly. “It’s good to see you again, Carl. I put a fresh pot on less than fifteen minutes ago. You want me to bring you in a cup?”

Carl didn’t need to be asked twice. “Please and thank you. That sounds wonderful.”

“I’ll just be a moment. Why don’t you head in and see Bill? I know he’s been expecting you.”

Carl walked down the carpeted hallway until he came to a door with Bill’s name on it. He knocked twice, and when he heard a faint “Come in,” he entered.

Bill stood up and grinned, his voice just shy of stentorian. “Carl! I didn’t think you’d be cutting it this close. I was expecting you an hour ago.”

They shook, Bill’s hand sloppy with sweat. “There are still a few hours until the auction. I thought I was doing fine. I had a few other things to attend to first, anyway.”

“You have the cashier’s check?”

Carl nodded, but didn’t move to get it out. “Why don’t you explain what the auction process is first, and then we can discuss money.”

Bill nodded like that was fine, but Carl could see the hunger in the man’s eyes. “It’s fairly simple. You’ll register when you get to the auction house, and they’ll give you a number. You’ll use that number to bid. They’ll have an auctioneer there, and while the Rustler’s Brand is the main event, it’s not the only thing up for auction. There will be houses that have unpaid taxes, undeveloped land, and I think another business or two as well. You can skip all that, but you should be there before they start. Just because the bar is at the end doesn’t mean you should wait until later to arrive. The auction can be completely done in half an hour, or it can take as long as two or three hours. It just depends on the bidding, and if there are any problems with the winners. Some people don’t have sufficient funds, and that will cause the next highest bidder to have the right of first refusal.”

The words flowed out of Bill’s mouth like a glacier fed stream hurtling down the mountain, some words blending together because he spoke so quickly.

Bill paused when he saw Carl just sitting there. He took it as an invitation to press on. “I have some paperwork for you to fill out to make me the broker of record. It will only take a few minutes, and then we can drive back to Medford and the auction.”

Something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Going with his gut, he said, “No.”

Bill pulled back so fast Carl worried about whiplash. “What do you mean, no? You’re not going to bid for the auction?”

Carl shook his head. Just then the door opened, and the receptionist brought in two cups of steaming hot coffee. She was smart enough to see that something was going on between the two men, so she made a quick escape.

Once the door closed, Carl said, “What I meant is that you won’t be the broker. Why would I pay you upward of fifty thousand dollars for an auction where I’ll be doing all the bidding?”

Bill blustered. “Well, it’s not as simple as I made out. The bidding can get fierce, and with me in your corner, I’ll make sure you’re on top of it at all times.” He took a deep breath, hating what he was going to say next. “What if I dropped my fee to 5 percent? Would that be more amenable?”

Carl pushed his chair back and stood up. “If I’d been able to purchase the bar from Paddy’s widow, then you’d be entitled to your brokerage fee. But that didn’t happen. Now it’s at auction. Don’t ruin the relationship by pushing for a few extra dollars. If I buy the bar, I’ll be in Medford often, and I might end up purchasing something else that would be suitable for your services. That won’t happen if you keep pushing.”

Bill would normally agree, but he’d gotten himself into a tight spot by playing poker last Saturday night at the local casino. He must have had one too many drinks, because he ended up losing nearly six months’ worth of commissions. He couldn’t afford to let Carl get away.

Pushing his chair in, he walked around his desk. “Carl, I really must insist. It’s in your best interest to have me by your side. I have years of experience, and—”

Carl walked to the door and didn’t look back as he shut it behind him. He only wished he’d taken his cup of coffee with him.

The receptionist turned her seat to face him. “Is everything all right, Carl?”

Carl didn’t like to speak badly about anyone, but he didn’t appreciate having the hard sell turned on him. “It’s nothing. I’m afraid I won’t be back, and that troubles me greatly because you make a fine cup of coffee. I’ll miss that.”

Heather blushed at the compliment before her mind processed what Carl had just said. What in the world had Bill done to drive away a potential client? He had been off this week, spending more time on cold calls than she could remember him doing since… well, ever, she supposed.

Taking a deep breath, Carl drove back up I5 to Medford. The clock in his car read 1:27pm, which gave him enough time to get registered and ready to attend the auction. He was still excited, but the dark cloud Bill had left dimmed it a little.

Chapter 45

“Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza.”

— Dave Barry

He found the auction site easy enough, because Medford wasn’t that big of a town. The parking lot was full, and many cars had parked nearby on an empty lot, so Carl did the same. He could only hope he didn’t get towed.

Walking inside, he was greeted by three men in business suits with cowboy hats on their heads. The tallest man spoke first. “It’s twenty-five dollars to register for the auction.”

Saying nothing, Carl signed and gave his name and address before pulling the money out of his wallet and paying the fee. The shortest man took it, placing it in a metal cashbox similar to what you saw at county fairs. “Your paddle number is 71. You raise it during the bidding, then you’re on the hook for it. If you can’t pay, you’ll be barred from the auction for the next year.”

Carl nodded. He was about to leave when the tallest man spoke again. “Which business you bidding on?”

Carl turned his head to the side as he considered the request. “Do I have to tell you?”

The tall man blinked a few times. “Well, no, I suppose you don’t, but most people do. As long as you have the cash or a cashier’s check to cover your bid, you’re good to go.”

Carl gave the man a half smile before leaving the registration table and heading inside. Refreshments were for sale in the back, and a platform had been set up in the front. Groups of people were milling around, but he wasn’t in the mood to meet new people. He was just about to take a seat when he spotted Charles on the far edge of the room.

Walking over, Carl held his hand out. “Charles.”

Charles took it. “Carl. I thought you were laid up in the hospital with a broken back?”

Carl shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “Apparently not. I’m surprised to see you here.”

Charles sighed. “You know I don’t want to bid on the bar, but I promised I would come down, anyway. When I received Rebecca’s email, I almost changed my plans, but then decided against it. You being well does change a few things, but not this. If you want to buy it, I won’t get in your way, but I thought you might appreciate a friend while you’re here.”

Carl gave his colleague a somewhat surprised look. Charles was excellent at finance, and Carl felt safer knowing he was taking care of that side of the business. What he hadn’t expected was for his business manager to drive four hours out of his way just to help out. “I do appreciate having you here, whether as a friend or a business associate. We’re still learning each other’s styles, and this auction will help with that.” He paused, waiting for Charles to respond. He didn’t. “I take risks, but they’re educated risks. That’s something you’ll have to come to terms with. On the other hand, you tend to be cautious. I need to learn that from you. Deal?”

Charles grinned. “Deal. And you’re right. Being an accountant is all about minimizing risks. Usually tax risk. A lot of what you’ve already done is new to me, and I’ve been spending my time catching up on that. You want to know what I’ve learned?”

Carl rolled his hands in a forward motion as he nodded.

“Everything you’ve done has become profitable. Some more than others, but every single one. Do you know how uncommon that is, even in the best of economic times?” Charles answered his own question. “Very uncommon. FastCycle will earn your investment back in two years, probably less since they’re still growing month by month. That’s amazing for a courier business. The advertising agency will take longer, but on the flip side it’s improved all your other businesses. That would have happened if you hadn’t bought it, but having what amounts to in-house advertising is improving their bottom line too. They’ve taken on over thirty new clients based on the advertising done for FastCycle, Lyon and Hudson, and Randy’s coin shop. Which, you should know, the coin shop is going to triple their earnings next quarter. Triple!”

Charles shook his head. “All of that is to say that I’m learning. I didn’t believe it until I saw the numbers, but it does lend credence to the idea that the bar will do well. It all depends on the purchase price.”

Carl couldn’t be happier. He knew Rebecca was on board, and now it seemed that Charles was too. “Thank you for that. I’ll be very interested in reading the report you’re preparing.”

Charles winked. “You have no idea.”

An announcer spoke through the microphone on the stage, a loud squeal of feedback getting everyone’s attention. “Just a quick announcement that the auctioneer will be out in a few minutes. If you need to run to the bank for another cashier’s check, now is the time to do that.” A nervous laughter from the crowd followed the statement.

Charles leaned into Carl. “How much did you bring?”

Carl held up seven fingers. If it went higher than that, then the bar wasn’t for him. It would still make good money to whoever ended up buying it, but overpaying didn’t excite him. Getting a good deal did.

The first few auctions were small slivers of land in various parts of the county. The largest sale was for less than half an acre, but they all had heated bidding, even if the price never went very high.

While all that was going on, Carl tried to get used to the auctioneer’s patter. He was fast, so fast that if he wasn’t paying attention, he would miss a bid or two before he caught the thread again.

Once the land was sold, houses came on the block. Some were mobile homes, a few were cabins, and some were houses just outside of town. All of them owed taxes, and when the liens didn’t get paid, they went up for auction. Sometimes a picture of the house or an overhead view of the land was presented, but not always.

Charles started fidgeting about midway through the houses. Carl did his best to ignore him while he focused on his scents, on the off chance that there might be something worthwhile under the ground. He didn’t receive even a faint scent.

The auctioneer called for a refreshment break before they got into what he referred to as the ‘big ticket’ items. Carl took the opportunity to make a run for the facilities, standing in line while he waited his turn. It seemed the coffee had caught up with him after all.

He came back out as the auctioneer was at a bid of forty-five thousand dollars for an empty store just off I5. He could have looked at his brochure to get a sense of where the store was located, but he didn’t really want to bother.

Another store came after that one, and when that one sold for thirty-seven thousand, eight hundred dollars, a laundromat went up for sale. Carl chuckled, which confused Charles to no end.

He glanced over. “What’s so funny about the laundromat?”

Carl blinked a few times, not really having a good answer. “Nothing, really. It just tickled my funny bone is all.”

Charles checked his watch. They’d been standing there for nearly an hour and a half already, and there were still a number of sales to go before they got to the bar. Carl seemed to be in fine shape, but Charles was having trouble adapting. Nothing in his accounting career had prepared him for an auction in southern Oregon filled with farmers, a few industrialists, cherry pickers, and people hoping to get rich quick.

The lots seemed to blur together for him, each auction the same as the last one. The same cadence, the same people bidding more often than not. The locals were joking around and enjoying the festivities, while Carl waited patiently for his opportunity to bid.

Charles needed to clear his head. “I’m going out for a breath of fresh air.”

Carl waved as he left, his attention fixated on the auctioneer. He’d noticed the fourth or fifth time it had happened that reserve auctions always hit their reserve, but rarely a penny more. He couldn’t figure out how they were managing it, but it was too odd to discount as serendipity. The bar didn’t have a reserve since it was being sold to cover attorney fees, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t try to get away with some funny business and buy it out from under him.

There was a second break after the last of the sales before the bigger-ticket items started, and Carl took the opportunity to walk outside to talk to Charles. A beautiful yellow and orange sunset filled the horizon, with dabs of red visible in a few spots.

“It’s a beautiful sunset tonight, isn’t it?”

Charles shrugged, a cup of coffee in his hand. “I guess. I mean, yes, it is, but I’m not in the mood to notice.”

Carl nodded, although it went unseen by Charles. “I know.” Carl lowered his voice, even though the nearest person was at least a dozen feet away. “There’s something funny going on with the auction. The reserves hit exactly the right amount to make sure everything sells. I don’t know if the reserves are fixed in advance, but it happens too frequently to be coincidence.”

That caught Charles’ attention. “You think they rigged the auction?” He spoke in a louder than normal voice, and Carl motioned discreetly for him to keep his voice down.

“I don’t know, and that’s the point. I don’t mind losing the bar, but I want to lose it fair and square. Do you really think the locals want some guy from Portland coming down to buy their businesses?”

Charles was taken aback. “Why would they care? Business is business, and it shouldn’t matter where you’re from as long as you have the money.”

Carl canted his head to the side. “It is to you, but not down here. I’m going to ask that you pay attention and keep an eye out for anything that doesn’t seem right. I’m not too worried, but I’d rather not receive a nasty surprise.”

Charles didn’t know what to say to that. If he’d felt out of his element before, he very much did now. He nodded, not sure of the specifics he was supposed to look for during the auction. “Sure, you got it, Carl.”

Carl could feel in his gut that something was wrong. It had nothing to do with his senses, just a feeling that he couldn’t shake. “Belay that order. Go into town and pull out another three hundred thousand in cashier’s checks. If you hurry, you should get there in time. Get back as soon as you can because I may need those checks if I go over my limit.”

Charles wanted to argue with Carl, so much so that it caused him pain not to. Cursing, he turned away and jogged toward his car. He hated the auction, he hated the idea of the bar, and he hated overpaying for something that might not pay out. After all, past success was no guide to future returns. It was the mantra printed on every investment guide.

Putting his car in drive, he spun the tires until they got traction, his car darting out of the parking lot and toward the bank they used. It was a national bank and was sure to have a branch here somewhere. He’d get the money, but he’d argue with Carl until he reached his last breath on what a foolish idea this had been.

Carl walked back inside, throwing his empty coffee cup in the garbage. He caught a few people sizing him up where none had before, and the gut feeling turned into something closer to dread.

Chapter 46

“When the leaders choose to make themselves bidders at an auction of popularity, their talents, in the construction of the state, will be of no service. They will become flatterers instead of legislators, the instruments, not the guides, of the people.”

— Edmund Burke

The first big-ticket item of the evening was a ranch out near the Rogue river that had gone bust. After some heated bidding back and forth, it went for five hundred and ninety-four thousand dollars, plus the seven and a half percent auction fee. Carl had no idea if that was a fair price, but it was a substantial price. The winning bidder seemed thrilled, while a number of other people left the humid room before the next auction had started, disappointment etched into their faces.

The next auction was for one hundred and forty acres of grazing land, and another bidding flurry resulted. It petered out around four hundred thousand, then picked up again until it reached just shy of six hundred thousand dollars. Just as before, a number of people left as soon as the auction was over.

This continued for a few more auctions, and a knot of worry started to build in Carl’s stomach. Charles was nowhere to be seen and according to the auction list on the wall there were only two auctions left before they got to the last auction of the night: The Rustler’s Brand.

The first auction went for three hundred and eighty thousand, and Carl heaved a sigh of relief. Not a single auction had gone for more than what he was willing to spend on the bar, and while that was reassuring, it also made no logical sense. Still, he felt better knowing it.

Then the penultimate auction came up, and it was a doozy. It was for a ranch that had stayed in the same family since first being homesteaded in the 1840s and had only grown larger since that date.

“Next up we have the Longstead ranch. Six hundred and eighty acres of ranch land, including an orchard, twenty outbuildings, a five thousand square foot home, and three wells, two for irrigation and one for the home itself. The cattle aren’t included in this auction, as they sold at last month’s auction. Do I hear one million dollars for the ranch?”

The auctioneer did, and a lot more besides. The auction dragged on a long time, the bids coming quick sometimes and then slowing as the bidders considered what they could afford. By the time it ended, Charles still hadn’t returned, and the winner was out three and a half million dollars, which they gladly handed over with a four-million-dollar cashier’s check.

The auctioneer shouted, “If that ain’t one for the record books, then I’ll be damned!” Hoots and hollers went up from the small crowd, a few of them glancing back at Carl with grins on their face.

“The last bid today is for The Rustler’s Brand. Locals well know that when Paddy Byrne came to Medford after growing up in Ireland, he turned the old watering hole around into something the entire town could be proud of. I drank there myself more times than I can remember, and I’d like nothing more than for it to return to its original glory.” He paused. “Do I hear five hundred thousand dollars for the bar?”

In fact, he did, but it was a single person. A tall man in a ten-gallon hat standing off to the side raised his paddle. He wore a finely tailored shirt with a tanned leather jacket across his back. His hair was longer with graying tips at the temples, but he seemed to be in a world unto himself. Carl doubted anything fazed this man most days.

No one moved until a voice from the back broke the quiet. “Five hundred and fifty.”

At once, heads turned around to see who had spoken. Carl stood his ground. He knew he could do right by the bar, even if the locals didn’t believe that.

“Do I have six hundred?”

The tall man raised his paddle, just a little too high and a little too fast in Carl’s estimation. Maybe he had expected to get the bar without a fight, but he would be disappointed if that was the case.

“Six-fifty.” This time no one turned around. Carl wished he knew who the other man was, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter.

“Seven hundred.” The tall man didn’t raise the paddle, instead croaking out the words in a deep bass tone. The bright lights overhead reflected a sheen of sweat, but there was nothing Carl could do. He was tapped out. He might have brought more, but who knew what would have happened if he did?

“I have seven hundred thousand dollars going once. Do I have seven hundred and fifty thousand?”

The room was silent, except for a few people congratulating the tall man by patting him on the back. He had an unsteady smile on his face, but he accepted the congratulations nevertheless.

“I have seven hundred thousand dollars going twice. Do I hear seven hundred and ten thousand?”

Charles came through the door, his hair matted to his scalp and his clothes dirty and disheveled. Despite this, he grinned, patting his breast pocket.

Carl didn’t hesitate. “Seven hundred and ten.”

A gasp went up from the crowd, half the crowd’s eyes on the tall man and half on Carl. Charles wandered over, pressing his mouth to Carl’s ear. “I got into a car wreck just before I got to the bank. Some assholes in an old truck rear-ended me before driving off. I barely got in before they closed.” His ragged breathing slowed down a bit, and he continued, “I had to call a cab to drive me back. I paid him a hundred dollars if he could get here under ten minutes, which I’ll be expensing.”

Carl wrapped him up in a hug. “Thanks, Charles. Unless I miss my guess, we just bought ourselves a bar.”

The auctioneer, as surprised as anyone, asked, “I have seven hundred and ten thousand. Do I have seven hundred and fifty thousand?”

The tall man angrily turned away, kicking dirt up with his cowboy boots as he left the auction house. How the other party had known how much Carl had to bid with, he had no idea, and he doubted he would ever return to this auction house in the future. Still, it seemed they would be coming away winners.

“… going twice. Do I have seven hundred and fifteen thousand dollars?”

Carl blinked rapidly, not realizing that he had missed the auctioneer speaking. No one spoke, and more than a few people wandered away. The fireworks were over, and they’d gotten a good show for twenty-five dollars.

“Sold! To bidder number 71.” The auctioneer banged the gavel, closing out the day’s auctions. All that remained was to pay his money and receive the deed to the bar.

An older man wandered over, tentatively at first, before approaching. “Congratulations.” He held his hand out, and Carl took it. “We rarely get to see Loris Snerling lose something he wants.”

Charles took the cashier check from Carl, approaching the line set up to pay for the winners.

Carl blinked, still dazed by the auction outcome. “Is that who that was?”

The man nodded. He had deep lines in his face, and his hands were full of calluses. His hair was thinning on top, but his eyes were still sharp as a tack.

Carl held his hand out as he said, “Carl Thompson.”

The other man shook. “Dean Roberts. I expect you already know this, but I hope you do right by the bar.”

Carl nodded but didn’t answer. “What line of work you in, Dean?”

Dean blinked a few times, the action much slower than Carl was used to seeing. “I was a foreman for a mining crew. Except the company had legal troubles, and ended up laying most of us off, including me.”

Carl grinned. “You hungry?” The man across from him had deep lines around his eyes and smile lines around his mouth. His forehead was sunburnt, and the few hairs he had left on his head were matted down from the afternoon heat.

Dean scratched his head. “I could eat.”

Carl nodded, a wide smile on his face. “Good man. I need to wait for my partner to get back, and then we can head over to the diner. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Dean grinned. “That sounds mighty fine, Carl.”

Chapter 47

“I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country... corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed.”

— Abraham Lincoln

Charles had begged off dinner, citing that he wanted to rent a car and head back to Portland for the meeting tomorrow with Donnehy and Associates. Carl wanted to go but trusted that Charles and Rebecca could do just as well without him. He had too many things to accomplish down here before he could drive back up to Portland.

Once they sat down, Carl ordered a large plate of fried chicken with homemade biscuits and honey, with a slice of pie to finish.

Dean ordered the same. The two of them said nothing as they sipped hot coffee, so Carl took it upon himself to break the ice.

“I know we just met, but I like a man who works hard to provide for his family. I hired a drilling company and will be meeting with them this weekend. I’d like to hire you to help me understand what I’m not seeing and make sure I’m asking the right questions. Drilling is something new to me.”

Dean put on his best poker face. Barnum had it exactly right when he said that a fool and his money were soon parted, and if that was true for circuses, it was twice as true for drilling, whether it was for oil, gas, or gold.

Dean sipped from his coffee. “You sure about this? No offense, but I’ve seen more people go broke trying to mine for gold than I have who got rich. A few break even and count themselves lucky for the experience. Where I’m sitting right now, you don’t look like a winner.”

Their order came up, and Carl dove into the fried chicken instead of arguing. They talked about this and that, small talk between men getting to know each other before Carl got him to agree to meet him at the drilling office the next morning.

By the time their meal wrapped up, it was too late to catch the movie playing, so he went to his motel instead. It had been a long day, and the excitement from the auction had wrung him out.

He called his answering machine with his fingers crossed, but there was no message. Trying not to let the disappointment get to him, he got ready for bed. There wasn’t a single good movie on, so he watched an old rerun of The Bob Newhart Show. It was just as funny now as it had been back in the ‘70s.

* * *

He had agreed to meet Dean early the next morning at Reeves and Reeves’ drilling offices. Carl pulled in at 7:45am, having gotten up at 5am before going for a run. He stopped at the diner for a muffin and a cup of coffee to go, not feeling hungry after the run.

Dean was already waiting for him inside. They shook while they waited for the two owners to arrive.

“Can I get you boys a cup of coffee?”

Dean tipped his hat. “That’d be mighty fine, Missy.”

The older woman smiled, and Dean turned to Carl. “Her name’s Missy, in case you were wondering.” He pointed at a name plate half hidden underneath a stack of papers.

Carl nodded. He had wondered about that.

The back door opened, and two brothers walked out. They had muscles on them, but not the kind you show off. The older brother pointed at Dean with a crooked smile on his face. “I know you, so you must be Carl.”

Carl nodded. “Guilty as charged.” Everyone shook hands all around, and a platter of coffees were brought out with little creamer packets. The oldest brother’s name was Chuck, and the younger brother’s name was Billy.

Chuck took charge of the conversation. “Why don’t we head into the meeting room? We have a few thoughts we want to run by you and clear up a few things that we didn’t cover with your business manager.” The older man eyed Dean, asking a question with his eyes. Carl noticed but didn’t react, wanting to see how this played out.

Carl nodded. “Sure, sounds good. Lead on.”

All four men walked into a small room that barely seated four. It took some positioning, but in time everyone had a seat at the table.

Chuck cleared his throat before speaking. “Carl, we had a few things we feel obligated to go over with you before we start drilling. First, if we don’t strike gold within ten days, we give up on that mine. If you don’t want that, you’ll pay our daily rate for every extra day we’re there. If we don’t find anything in two mines in a row, you’ll pay our daily rate, no questions asked. We’ll take a chance on the first mine only because of the number of plats you purchased. It made quite a ruckus when that news broke down here.”

Carl nodded. Although he didn’t know the daily rate, it made a certain sort of sense. “And what if you find gold or silver in every mine I point you towards? I don’t think 7 percent is fair if that happens. I’d be overpaying.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but only Billy saw him. He did his best to keep a straight face, but a small laugh leaked out.

Chuck ignored the professional indiscretion. “We’ve never negotiated something like that because it’s never happened, but how about this? Every mine after two that strikes gold drops our rate by 1 percent for that mine.” The brothers laughed, but Carl didn’t.

Carl leaned back, trying to act casual but not quite able to pull it off. This wasn’t something he was familiar with, and it showed. “So that means on the seventh mine that strikes gold or silver, you’re working for free. You’re okay with that?”

Billy wanted to say something, but his older brother cut him off. “If a miracle like that happens, we will. Free for the seventh mine and every one after that that strikes metal.”

Carl shook his head. He didn’t like taking advantage of people, and he knew he would be if he let this deal go through. “What’s the minimum percentage you need to make a profit? It’s not 7 percent, because that’s what you’re taking to cover the work that strikes nothing but rocks.”

This time Billy spoke before his brother could get a word in edge wise. “Three percent. Lower depending on the volume that’s been pulled out. Remember that these hills have been mined for the last hundred and fifty years, so there can’t be much left out there.”

Dean watched in fascination. He’d worked with some nut jobs, but Carl didn’t seem to fit into that category. The man might not know mining, but he hadn’t taken the free deal. That told Dean he knew something the rest of the room didn’t.

Dean mulled it over before speaking. “How about this? If you hit seven mines straight, the rate drops to 2 percent flat. No fees, no daily rates. Seven percent on the first, six on the second, and two percent on the seventh and everything after that. If you hit rock after that, it resets to seven percent and we start over.”

Carl nodded. Billy seemed out of his depth, and Chuck was deep in thought, like he was doing calculations in his head. A solid minute went by before the older brother spoke. “Before I agree to anything, what’s Dean’s role in this?”

Taking a sip of coffee, Carl said, “He’s my eyes and ears. I’ve admitted that I don’t know mining, so he’s on my salary to cover that for me. He takes 1 percent from everything we find, plus a salary before you hit metal.” Carl paused, setting his cup down. “I’d like this all drawn up so we can sign. I’d rather not argue about it after the fact. That work?”

Chuck nodded. “That works. We’ll have it written up today. You staying in town?”

Carl smiled, setting his coffee down. “I am. I’ll be here for a few days. I’ll mark out where you should drill, just so you don’t miss it. I’ll start with three mines, and I’ll come back after those are set up and running.”

Dean knew he was either a fool for signing on with this man, or he’d be very rich when it was all over. He just couldn’t decide which was more probable. They hadn’t discussed a salary yet, but it gave him comfort knowing money would be coming in and soon. His mortgage was two months overdue, and he needed that debt off his mind. He had attended the auction with a friend who’d hoped to find something cheap but came away empty handed.

Ironically, Dean hadn’t come home empty-handed but with a job in his back pocket.

Chuck stood up, pushing his chest out as he stretched. “We’ll give you a call when the paperwork’s ready. Come on in and sign it, and we can get going the next day. It takes a day to set up, but after that we should know whether you’re right about these mines or not.” Chuck was happy for the work, but something about this deal bothered him. Most of his customers were either long time miners who’d made enough money to keep trying, or dreamers hoping for the best. The company always made its money, but this man didn’t fit into any anything he’d seen before. He was too self-assured, too confident to fit into either category.

It was enough to make a man nervous.

Carl and Dean excused themselves, promising to come back when the paperwork was ready. They walked out to their cars, but Carl stopped him before he drove off.

He turned to face Dean, keeping his voice down because this wasn’t something the Reeves brothers needed to know about. “I meant what I said in there. I’ll pay five thousand a month until they strike gold. Your job is keeping tabs on everything, making sure the operation is running smoothly. You do a good job, and there will be more work in the future. It’s up to you.”

Dean kicked the dirt, dusting his already scuffed work boots. “These guys know what they’re doing. Are you expecting me to babysit them? Or make sure they’re not stealing? I doubt they’d try anything funny. Chuck inherited the business from his father, and the lineage goes back three generations. Billy joined fifteen or twenty years ago, and he’s good at what he does. They all are.”

Carl studied the scrub brush surrounding the drilling company. He turned his scent on for gold and silver but didn’t smell anything. “Let me paint a scenario. The first mine strikes gold, and the second one does too. And not in small amounts. How rare is that?”

Dean snorted. “Damn rare. Like hen’s teeth, really.”

“What if it wasn’t two mines, or seven mines, but twenty mines, all in a row? They all strike gold or silver. How will the brothers react to that?”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. If two mines in a row struck metal, the news would spread like wildfire, kicking off another gold rush from the smaller outfits and people hoping to get in on the action. Five in a row? It was hard to envision. There would be break-ins, people trying to find a large nugget and escape with it before getting caught.

But twenty mines? It would make national news. And even the stoutest hearted man, the most honest man in the county, would be tempted to do something silly. Gold had that effect on people. He’d seen it enough times to know.

He turned back to Carl. “It would make the national news and kick start another gold rush. You’ll have loners trying to steal nuggets, and…”

Dean shook his head. He hated to think it, but saying it seemed worse. “They might try something. Anyone would, really. I’ve seen it before, where people get gold crazy. If you had twenty mines up and running, producing gold every single day, someone might figure you won’t miss a couple thousand dollars’ worth. Maybe even a couple hundred thousand dollars’ worth.” He spat. “I hate even thinking about it, but it’s true.”

Carl said nothing for a long while, the two men lost in thought.

Dean checked the time. “Look, I got other things I need to do. Thank you, Carl. I think I understand where you’re coming from, even if I have no idea if you’re right.”

They shook, and Carl handed him a card for the law firm. “Send your contact information to this email address. She’s my lawyer. We’ll get you set up on a salary starting today, if that’s all right with you. She’ll also send you an employment contract to sign.”

Dean pocketed the card. “It is. I won’t be able to join you today, but I’d like to go out tomorrow to visit the mining sites. If that’s all right with you, that is.”

Carl grinned. “That’s perfectly fine, Dean. Meet me at the diner around 8am?”

Dean gave a wolfish grin. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Chapter 48

“You are a den of vipers. I intend to rout you out and by the Eternal God I will rout you out. If the people only understood the rank injustice of our money and banking system, there would be a revolution before morning.”

— Andrew Jackson

Instead of going back to his hotel, Carl went into Medford proper and parked in front of the mapmaker’s shop. His new car already looked dusty, but he’d lived with an old car long enough not to worry about it.

Heading inside, he found the man himself rolling up maps in tubes. Seeing who had entered, he said, “I think congratulations are in order.”

Carl couldn’t hide his grin. “Thank you. It was close at the end, but we came through.”

“That you did. And you’ll be happy to know I spoke with Ted Anderson yesterday. He’s understandably cautious since you’re not a local, but he is willing to meet with you. Mrs. Byrne hurt him bad when she kicked him out, and he’s been doing odd jobs ever since. It would do him good to get back to the position he held for so many years.”

Carl’s eyes strayed to the maps on the back wall as he spoke. “That’s what I want as well. I wouldn’t have purchased it if I didn’t think there was a possibility of having him run it for me.”

The mapmaker hid his smile beneath his mustache. “Good. Give him a call, and you two can talk. My part is done now, I think. Unless you need more maps, that is?”

Carl almost said no. “Have there been any large concentrations of mining in this half of Oregon beyond what I already know?”

The mapmaker’s mustache twitched. “Well, now that I think about it, there have been a few locations. You interested in some more maps?”

Carl chuckled. “You already know I am. Show me the areas, and we’ll pick out a few.”

Chapter 49

“I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies.”

— Thomas Jefferson

Carl ended up commissioning three more maps. Two of the areas looked quite promising, while the third was more of a long shot. Still, if he ever felt bored, he could always go for a long drive and see what he could find, all the while claiming to be working.

Climbing back into his car, he dialed the number for the former bar manager. It rang five times, and Carl was sure it was going to go to voicemail before it picked up.

“Ted.” The voice of an older man answered, his tone edging on weary.

“Ted Anderson? The former manager of the Rustler’s Brand?”

There was a pause before he responded. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Carl Thompson, and I won the auction last night for the bar you used to manage. I’d very much like to meet with you and discuss the possibility of having you come back and turn the bar into something we can all be proud of, just like Paddy would have wanted.”

The other end of the phone was silent until Carl picked up a faint sound reminiscent of sniffling. His first thought was that he had come on too strong, but he didn’t think so anymore. He thought he’d hit it just right.

Ted cleared his voice. “Did you know Paddy?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get the chance to meet him. I’ve heard wonderful things about him, however.”

Ted blew his nose before speaking. “He was a great man. An inspiring leader, and a man you could rely on in the most difficult circumstances. He was like a brother to me. I miss him every day.”

Carl kept a respectful silence. He was getting the feeling that this man had been tossed out of the bar without so much as a thank you after Paddy passed, and the pain was still raw. “I believe that. Would you be interested in meeting? I could drive out to your place, or I could meet you in Medford. Whatever works best for you.”

“You really bought the bar? I was sure someone local would win it.”

Carl could be patient. He’d asked his question, and he would wait for an answer.

Ted blew his nose again and tossed the tissue into the trash. The way he’d been treated hurt, but to know that Lizzie had murdered Paddy? That was a pain he would carry with him his entire life. “Um, yes. I would like to meet. Not in the bar, not yet. There’s a local bar just outside of town called Bert’s. Meet me there in thirty minutes? I have a few things I need to finish up first.”

“I’ll find it. And thank you, Ted. I don’t think I could make this work without your help.”

An emotional “Yes” followed, and Carl hung up. He’d gotten himself a meeting, and that was the first critical step. Now to secure the deal.

* * *

Instead of trying to find the bar on his own, he ran inside to ask the mapmaker. Less than five minutes later he was on a two-lane road heading out of town toward the suburbs, and after that he was driving across open ranch land.

When he found the bar, only two cars were parked outside. One was an older Ford pickup, and the other was an older Dodge pickup. He had the feeling that was a theme down here near the ranches.

Parking his new Honda between the old trucks, he walked inside. The lighting was dim except for the neon signs behind the bar, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. The two pickup truck drivers were in a booth, and he doubted either one was Ted.

Sitting at the bar, the barkeep wandered out of a room. He could see the glow of a TV back there, but the volume was low enough that he couldn’t hear anything.

“What’re you having?”

It was a nicely stocked bar, with a few local beers on tap. Taking a chance, he asked, “Do you have a porter? A really smooth porter?”

The man nodded but said nothing, going to the end of the line of taps and pouring a deep brown liquid. It foamed slightly on tap, but Carl was afraid to hope that this could be the beer he craved. He knew he’d be having a pint or two at the movie theater tonight if everything went to plan, but having one earlier than that? Now that would be a fine treat.

Sliding the beer on to a coaster, he said, “Here you go.”

Carl put his credit card down to start a tab. He carefully hefted the beer, already smelling the sweet aroma of malt, hops and yeast. The first sip was electric, then smooth as it slid down. Carl had to close his eyes while he enjoyed it, that’s how good it tasted.

Turning back to the bartender, he said, “This is the best porter I’ve had in my entire life, but I’ve only found it at the discount movie theater in Medford before now.”

The bartender grinned. “That’s because it’s local. A new brewery opened up just outside of town, and this was one of the first beers they made. Most people don’t know about it, but those that do rarely drink anything else. It’s that good.”

The door opened, but Carl needed the name of the brewery before he sat down with Ted. Maybe he could entice them to send a few kegs up to Portland. “What’s the name of the brewery?”

A voice came from his left. “Cave Junction Brewery.” The older man tipped his hat at the barman. “I’ll have the same, Clyde.”

Carl got off his stool, already holding his hand out. “Ted Anderson?”

The older man had a thin nose, a wide forehead, and piercing blue eyes. He looked like a man who worked outside every day of the year, his skin thicker than most people’s. “One and the same.” His grip was firm as he took Carl’s hand, not showing his strength but shaking like men should do. “Why don’t we take our conversation over there?”

Nodding, Carl took his beer as they settled into a booth. Ted said nothing, so Carl remained silent as well. Once Ted’s beer arrived, he took a deep draught, wiping away a beer mustache with his other hand.

He looked up at Carl, cautious but hopeful. “I was surprised to receive your call. You mind telling me who gave you my number?”

Carl set his beer down. “The mapmaker. I don’t actually know his name, but we’ve done some business together. I asked about the bar, and he mentioned you.”

Ted shook his head back and forth. “His name’s Cyris. He’s my brother. Brother-in-law, actually, but my sister left him years ago. He might as well be my brother since I never had one before him.”

“He’s a good man. He’s getting a few more maps together for me as we speak.”

Ted held his beer up. “That he is. You prospecting or researching? There doesn’t seem to be a third option really for someone who wants custom maps made.”

Carl kept his voice low. “Prospecting.”

Ted grunted. “Why don’t you tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine. After that we’ll discuss the bar. I like to know who I’m getting into bed with, although it’s been a while since I’ve had that pleasure.”

Carl snorted into his beer. “I know the feeling. I was lucky recently, but then I screwed it up. It doesn’t get any easier at our age, does it?”

Ted smiled, but just barely. “No, it doesn’t.” They both took another sip of beer, and then Carl launched into his story.

He told of finding gold coins, buying the courier business, and everything worth telling after that. He ended with his trip to Medford to purchase mineral rights, when he stumbled on to the bar after figuring out it wasn’t doing so well.

All the while, he watched Ted’s reaction. He didn’t seem to appreciate people who prospected, but he respected good business.

Ted remained still, following the story but not reacting. “You left one thing out.”

Carl blinked. “I don’t think so. I have future plans, but those are a separate discussion.”

Ted shook his head. “You found Paddy. Allowed him to be laid to rest properly. Just because I’m a working man doesn’t mean I don’t read the newspaper.”

Carl took a sip of beer. “I omitted it because I thought it might be insensitive to include it. The reason the bar was sold was because his… ex-wife needed money for attorney fees.”

Ted finished off his beer, then raised his hand with two fingers outstretched. Turning back to Carl, he said, “I appreciate what you did. Most of the town does, even if they don’t come right out and say it.”

Carl said nothing. A question hadn’t been asked, and he had a feeling it was better to keep his thoughts to himself.

The beers were delivered, and each man took a drink. Ted set his down. “What do you want from me? From the bar?”

Carl leaned forward. This was a question he could answer. “I want the bar to become profitable. Very profitable. But I want it to be a place where people can go in to talk over a few beers, or play a few games of pool. Throw out the TVs and make it a place people want to visit after a long day at work. A bar that will ease the troubles from their day.”

Ted pointed at him. “You’re too eloquent for your own good.”

Carl grinned, his teeth just showing through. “I want you to run it. We can talk salary later, but I want you to run it like you owned it. Where Paddy’s spirit can live on, a place where you’re proud to work.”

Ted hung his head low, so Carl took a drink to give him time to think. When he looked up, there was a fire in his eyes. “You’ll let me hire the staff I want?”

Carl chuckled. “I’m sure as hell not going to do it.”

Ted continued. “I control the beers, the food, everything inside the bar?”

Carl started to protest, but Ted cut him off. “Don’t worry, I was planning to carry Cave Junction, anyway. You’ll have your favorite beer every time you step in the door.” Carl smiled widely at that.

“I can run the events I want to?”

Carl turned his head slightly to the side. “What are you thinking of having?”

Ted shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted to see what I could get away with!”

Both men howled with laughter, and Ted slapped the table a few times. Once they calmed down and a third round of beers was ordered, Ted turned serious. “Do you have the means to invest in the bar? Because it’s going to take some money to turn it around. Taking down the TVs will be easy but refinishing the wood floors won’t. The glass windows haven’t been washed since the day I left, and the upstairs apartment is trashed. Or so I heard from a few sources.”

The beers were served, but Carl ignored his. Three beers before lunch was a bit much for his constitution. “There’s an apartment? Like one I could live in when I’m visiting?”

Ted shrugged. “How about we check it out tomorrow? I haven’t been up there in a long time, and I only heard it was trashed through the grapevine. It will need sound protection, or you won’t get to sleep before 2am most nights, but otherwise I’d say yes, it probably will be suitable once it’s cleaned up.”

Carl tapped his fingers on the table. He did it when he was nervous, and firing people made him nervous. “You want to fire the people you don’t want, or should I? I can see it both ways, so I’d like your opinion.”

Ted shook his head. “I’ll do that. I’m a local, and they won’t take it badly if I fire them. They might if you do.”

Carl felt relief flood his system. “Good. Why don’t we come by tomorrow afternoon? I’m busy in the morning, but can we stop by say around 3pm? And in the meantime, I think you should come up with a list of what you want done. We can then place a budget next to it.”

Ted grinned. His happiness was complete. The beer only made it a slight bit better. “Can do.”

Carl leaned forward. “Once the bar is set up and running, I want you to find out if there are any other bars or breweries that aren’t doing well, either in Medford or Ashland or the surrounding areas. I’ll help, but like you said, you’re a local.”

If Ted hadn’t already taken his hat off, he thought it might have popped right off his head. Paddy had been a wonderful boss and a good friend, but he wasn’t the kind of man who thought ahead very often. The man of front of him did, and Ted had a feeling that very soon he would be busier than he’d ever been before.

Chapter 50

“Let me issue and control a nation’s money and I care not who writes the laws.”

— Mayer Amschel Rothschild

Leaving the bar, Carl went out to his car. Not wanting to drive when he was still feeling a little tipsy, he pulled out his flip phone and called his answering machine. The first message was from Gene.

“Carl, sorry for not getting back to you earlier, but I’ve been busy working with the contractors to install a security system in the building you bought. The security system I picked is a little pricy, but it will protect all the businesses from theft and whoever lives upstairs will feel like they’re living in a fortress. It’s that good. All the doors are being replaced including Olivia’s, and the new triple pane windows are already in. It’s really coming along nicely.

Oh, and I forgot to give your stuff back to you after the UFO conference. I have your laptop along with your clothes. I basically grabbed everything I could from your room before the EMTs arrived. I talked to Charles, so I know you’re down in Medford, but give me a ring when you get back, and I’ll get it back to you. I want to hear in minute detail what happened that day.” He paused before enunciating every syllable distinctly. “Minute detail. All right, I have to go. See you soon and stay safe down there.”

Carl didn’t call back, and he didn’t delete the message. He punched the code to listen to the second call.

“Mr. Thompson, it’s Wendy. I just wanted to tell you that I signed the employment form and sent it back to the lawyer. I’m ready to head down whenever you need me. If you can let me know where the office is located, I’ll get started on researching apartments.” A voice in the background asked who Wendy was speaking to, and she quickly added, “Call me back when you have a chance. Bye.”

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about Wendy, but the drama and tension of the auction had turned his focus in that direction. It would be great if she could start work today, but that wouldn’t happen.

Scrolling through the numbers in his flip phone, he found a 360 area code which meant it was for Washington. Oregon’s area code was 503. He dialed the number, the euphoric sensations from two beers starting to fade. He’d watched Ted drive off a while ago in a newer pickup truck.

“Wakefield, Rogers and Johnson. This is Kelly.”

“Kelly, this is Carl Thompson. I called a few weeks ago about the buildings I wanted to lease. Have you had a chance to visit one to understand what kind of shape they’re in?”

“Mr. Thompson, I’m so sorry. I didn’t visit the building, but one of our underwriters did. She agreed that the building was overpriced, and I have the new rates for you if you’re interested.”

“What about purchasing the building? Is there any news there?”

“Unfortunately, there is not. One of the partners—my manager, in fact—reached out to the owner but hasn’t received a response back yet. He’s pursuing it, but it will take some time.”

Carl ‘hmmd’ to himself. “Would it be forward of me to ask for the owner’s name?”

“No, not at all. It’s public information, and you could easily find it at the county courthouse. The owner’s name is Julian Hodges. He’s an expat from London, who retired to an estate just outside of Battleground.”

Battleground? Carl knew he’d heard of that town recently but couldn’t remember where or why. It seemed the beer was taking its vengeance a different way this time, causing memory loss instead of unpleasant physical reactions. “Thank you, that’s very helpful. If anything changes, please let me know. Oh, and instead of reading the leasing rates, can you email it to me at…”

Kelly was amenable to all his requests, and even though he didn’t know the lease rates, he knew he would still rent a few of the spaces. What better way was there to get a feeling for the building than to rent it and discover all the hidden secrets? The things that didn’t work right and the areas that needed upgrades.

Hanging up, he called Rebecca. His beer buzz was pretty much gone by now, and he was back in control of his faculties. “Lyon and Hudson. This is Amy.”

“Amy, it’s Carl. Instead of interrupting Rebecca, can you take a message for me?”

“Sure, Carl. What is it?”

“Tell her that a list of lease prices is being sent to her for an office building in downtown Vancouver, and that I’d like her to check the lease agreements and make sure they’re reasonable, especially if we decide to make upgrades. I don’t want to have to pay because I improved the building.”

“BC?”

It took a moment for Carl’s mind to catch up. “No, Washington. Across the river. Just have her get back to me when she has a moment. Oh, and you can tell her we won the auction. I own a bar in Medford.”

“You do? Congratulations, Carl. That’s fantastic news. I’ll be sure to tell her. Anything else?”

“Just one last thing. The drilling company is preparing paperwork after we negotiated with them yesterday. I won’t sign it until she reads it over.”

“Got it.”

“Great. Thanks again, Amy.”

Closing his flip phone with a snap, he stuffed it into his shirt pocket. The clock in his new Honda said it was well past noon, so he started the car and headed back into the city. A certain diner was calling his name, and he was eager to find out what the lunch special was for today.

Chapter 51

“History records that the money changers have used every form of abuse, intrigue, deceit, and violent means possible to maintain their control over governments by controlling the money and its issuance.”

— James Madison

The special was homemade Italian lasagna, with a wonderful, spicy sauce and thick layers of meat. It was delicious, and so filling that he didn’t bother to get dessert. A pair of Medford police officers came in as he was paying the bill, and they nodded at him before sitting down in a booth.

Not wanting to spend any more time than was necessary in the motel, he drove over to the movie theater to get the list of what was playing. It was Friday night, so he hoped it was something good.

Pulling up in front, he saw that it was a double feature of Operation Petticoat and Kelly’s Heroes. Carl couldn’t have been any happier. He hadn’t seen the first movie in ages, and the second movie was a classic that didn’t play on TV very often.

Tomorrow they were playing The Guns of Navarone, followed by The Secret of Santa Vittoria. Whoever was picking the movies for this theater was doing a hell of a job, as every single movie was a winner in his mind. He noted the start time for the first movie tonight, which was only five hours away. That gave him time to rest up and get ready for tonight before settling down with some of the world’s finest films, along with a rich porter. And maybe a burger.

* * *

“He’s leasing a building in Vancouver?”

Amy shrugged. “That’s what he told me to tell you. I don’t know why.”

Rebecca let out a frustrated sigh. The workload kept building every week, and while she’d had a good meeting with an associate in Donnehy’s firm, they hadn’t agreed to a deal yet. Apparently, there was a rumor making the rounds that a buyout was imminent, and everyone would be getting a nice bonus if they stayed on.

In fact, she and Charles had had a meeting with Mack and Todd this very morning in a hotel near the airport. Mack had insisted that the meeting be far away from downtown to keep any rumors from spreading. It was obvious it hadn’t worked.

Mack had set at the head of the table as if it were manifest destiny that he should take charge, not seeming to understand the nature of what was happening. The meeting went on for hours, both sides explaining to him in simple terms that they were looking to acquire Donnehy and Associates.

Mack’s face took on granite tones. “Two million, cash. You want the firm I built, the most prestigious firm in the whole of the Pacific Northwest, then two million is my price. You get all the clients, the employees, and the lease on the two floors we occupy. But you don’t get the partners, and you don’t get me.”

Rebecca shook her head, her frustration with this man apparent, so Charles spoke instead. He kept his voice calm, knowing that a tipping point had just appeared. Push too hard and the deal wouldn’t happen. “I’m sorry, but no. You’ll be on retainer for at least a year, and you’ll leave no sooner than that. The partners will have the option to stay, and if they choose not to, they’ll sell their shares at a price that reflects the current reality of your firm’s financial state. As for the buyout price, I’ve calculated out a generous two and half times earnings, which comes to just under a million dollars. That’s where we start, and it will only go down from there when we receive the audited financials from your accountants.” He looked over at Todd before continuing. “All I have so far are your company accounts, and they’re barely worth the paper they’re printed on.”

Charles sat back, all the while staring at Mack. “Or your firm can go under, and you and all the partners get nothing as your law firm implodes upon itself in a very messy, and very public, debacle. Your clients will be gobbled up by other firms, including ours. Your legacy will be gone.”

Mack growled, the sound coming from low in his throat. It was the kind of sound you heard from a predator late at night in the woods just before seeing two yellow eyes reflecting the low light back to you, and it caused most people to run for safety as fast as they could.

Charles didn’t even blink. Rebecca blanched, just a little, and Todd was sweating profusely. He needed this deal to go through, but he’d never been confident when dealing with authority figures.

Mack sneered. “We’ll look elsewhere. You think the global law firms don’t want a piece of us? You’re wrong.”

This time Rebecca laughed, the sound loud and sharp, which was more than a little unusual in the tense room. The air conditioning had been turned on shortly after they started, and everyone was close to shivering. “They won’t because they already have. You’ve reached out to every firm that might be interested, and they all turned you down. Yes, we’re smaller, much smaller. But we have the funding and the experience to turn your company around.” She leaned forward, hugging her arms to her body for warmth. “We’ll include a clause that we won’t change the name for at least ten years. Donnehy and Associates will live on, even after you leave.”

Mack felt impotent. He’d gotten into some bad habits as he got older, playing golf with clients and spending time gambling at the casinos instead of watching the financials. The first time he noticed they were lower than expected, he didn’t think much of it. Earnings rose and fell all the time, and this was just another downturn. It wasn’t until he received an early copy of the last year-end report that he knew the firm was in trouble. A partner had left, as happens sometimes, but he’d taken five of their largest clients with him despite a non-compete that prohibited him from doing so. They were suing that partner right now, and a few of the clients had come back, but three had not. Then a few other clients left after hearing what had happened, and by then it was too late to turn the sinking ship around. He’d been divorced seven times because of his tendency to sleep around, and he didn’t have the cash reserves any longer to bolster the company’s financials with his own.

Even worse, he didn’t want to. The little money he had to his name was now targeted toward retirement, not bailing out a sinking ship.

Which reduced him to this meeting with a puny little law firm that didn’t even have a presence downtown, where the big money was. It was beyond pitiful. He would be remembered as the man who lost his company.

But it was also inevitable. He’d taken his eye off the ball, and now he was paying for it.

He wouldn’t cry, but his head was downcast. “I agree, in theory, to a buyout. Todd will send over the audited accounts, along with a full roster of our clients and their annual billings going back five years. I’ll help in any way I can, as will the other partners. I would prefer if we kept this negotiation under wraps until it’s finalized.”

Everyone agreed. Rebecca pumped her fist under the table, unable to resist the urge to gloat just a little.

Mack wasn’t done yet, however. “I’d also like to meet the person who is buying my firm. Have him give me a call when he gets back from his trip.” Mack stood up. He thought he might spew up the eggs Benedict he’d had for breakfast rumbling around down below. That was what he thought about this buyout.

Charles took notes. “We’ll arrange the meeting as soon as he gets back.”

The group stood up and shook hands. Todd was doing his best to hide how happy he was, because none of his contacts in other cities had come through with job offers yet. Rebecca was on cloud nine, the dreams she’d had as a young college student coming closer to fruition. She hadn’t thought she’d be a lawyer back then, but she had known she would be running a large company on her own. She was a large step closer to that now.

Charles was tired from the drive last night and getting up early this morning. If that wasn’t enough, his wife was pushing harder for the European vacation he’d promised her years ago, and he didn’t know what to tell her now. The kids were excited too, which almost never happened. He didn’t know what to do any longer.

As the group walked out of the cold room and into the warmth of the main hotel, he tapped Rebecca on the arm and led her toward the hotel bar. “You up for a celebratory drink?”

She grinned. “I haven’t felt this good since passing the bar. You bet your ass I am.”

Chapter 52

“The issue which has swept down the centuries and which will have to be fought sooner or later is the people versus the banks.”

— Lord Acton

Carl was feeling good. He’d gotten Ted to agree to manage the bar, and he would be meeting Dean tomorrow morning to visit the first few drilling sites. With his expanded senses, he wondered if anything would be different the second time around.

That was all for tomorrow. Tonight, he had a pint of his favorite porter in front of him, and an au jus sandwich on thick French bread on its way to him. He wasn’t very hungry yet, but he figured he might as well eat now so he wouldn’t be hungry in the middle of the night.

Leaning back in his chair, he watched Anthony Quayle as he delivered the news of their next mission to Gregory Peck. He’d seen the movie three or four times already over the decades, but that didn’t bother Carl at all. Taking a sip of beer, he settled in for a double header of old war movies.

* * *

The next morning, Carl went for a run. He’d been eating and drinking more than he considered normal, and he needed to burn some of it off. He was still trim, but he thought his work jeans had felt a bit tighter around the waist last night when he got home.

Warming up in the pre-dawn light, he stretched his legs into a full, loping run. Sweat started pouring within the first mile, the smell ripe and disgusting. He kept running, his shirt soaked at three miles in.

By the time he got back, he peeled the running shirt from his body, wringing it out as sweat dripped on the ground.

A whistle caught his attention. Turning toward the sound, a young woman in her thirties waved with only her fingers. “Looking good. Join me tonight in the bar?”

Carl’s mind took longer to catch up than he was used to, attributable to the fair-haired beauty staring at his bare chest. “Maybe?”

She winked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Just say yes. Yes, you’ll join me in the bar.”

Carl shrugged. As a reply, it was terrible, but it also didn’t commit him to anything. “Maybe. I’m here on business, and the meetings go late.”

The woman’s smile grew wider. “I suppose you’re a wealthy industrialist who likes to stay in touch with his roots. There’s no other explanation of why you’re staying at this dreary motel.”

Instead of responding to a verbal battle he was fast losing, he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He escaped inside before she could push her attack any further.

* * *

Showered, shaved and ready for breakfast, Carl exited the motel. Only to find the woman from earlier waiting for him outside his door. Her hair had changed into a loose bun, and she had eyes so green that they had to be contact lenses. They were too green to be anything else. She was also much younger than he was, by a good four decades.

Pushing a few stray hairs behind her ear, she stood up and took a step toward him. “Oh, you’re back. Wonderful. If you don’t like the motel bar, all you had to do was say so. I’m not a fan either, but it was the easiest option. Maybe we can go to the fancy hotel bar in town. Or one of the pubs if that’s what you like, but I’d be surprised if that’s your taste. You seem like a man who likes rye whiskey, single malt scotch, and maybe the odd Dark and Stormy.” She giggled. “Your eyes say no, but your body says yes.”

Her eyes traveled down his body, resting amidships. Carl looked down, seeing that his body had indeed betrayed him. Even if he wasn’t interested, he couldn’t deny she was attractive.

Carl coughed as he eased around the woman. “I need to go. Please don’t bother me again. I’m seeing… please don’t bother me.” With that, Carl ran to his car, having started it with his remote as soon as he took the first step.

Checking the time, he saw the clock turn over to 6:33am. Taking a deep breath so he didn’t drive while emotional, he took his time reaching the diner. He had no idea what the woman had been doing out in the parking lot so early in the morning, but he wanted no part of it. She was a beauty, but he was holding out hope for another woman.

Carl entered the diner, seeing it was already close to full. He sat down in the last booth. “You can’t sit here.”

“Why?”

“It’s reserved. Says right there in the middle of the table.” Looking down, he saw the reserved sign for the first time. It was reserved for a Dean Burnet at 7am.

Carl pointed at the reservation sign. “That’s who I’m meeting. Dean Burnet, he used to work with a drilling company before he was let go. He’s working for me now.”

The waitress put her pencil in her hair. “You know Dean?”

“I just met him at the auction the other day. He’s a good man and a hard worker. That’s what I needed.” While Carl spoke, he couldn’t help but stare at the coffee mug the waitress was holding. It was calling to him, over and over.

She tapped her finger on her chin. “Hmm. I suppose that sounds right.” Her eyes glazed over until something jogged her memory. “Wait, are you saying that you own the R—”

Carl cut her off. He didn’t need the news getting out too early. “I’ll have two eggs over easy, hash browns and three slices of bacon. And a couple slices of buttered toast.” Then he said under his breath, “I’d rather you not say that out loud for everyone to hear. Yes, I do own the bar. And if you keep this quiet, I’ll promise you and your friends a free round of drinks on me when it reopens. Deal?”

The waitress nodded so quickly that her pencil was flung from her hair. “Deal.” Leaning down to pick it back up, she said, “I have a lot of friends. Just so you’re not too surprised.”

The day didn’t seem to be on his side. “Fine. Can I have some coffee now?”

She giggled, very reminiscent of his earlier run-in with a woman. “I’ll have it up in a moment. This one has gone cold.”

Carl sighed.

Ten minutes later, with a hot cup of coffee in his hands, Dean showed up, shaking his head as he sat down across from Carl. “I should have known you’d arrive earlier. No offense, but out-of-towners are usually considered lazy. I debated it this morning, and my girlfriend told me to be on time, and not a minute earlier.” He shook his head. “I should have listened to my gut.”

Carl grinned, finishing off his coffee. “No offense taken. And yes, I’m an early riser. Always have been, always will be.”

The waitress came over, filling his cup before taking Dean’s order. “Hi, Dean. Haven’t seen you in here in a while.”

Dean sighed. “Hi, Diane. How’re you and the girls doing?”

She put a hand on her hip. “They’re doing great. Misty is going to college next year, first time anyone in our family has ever gone. She got a scholarship from Southern Oregon State.”

“That’s great. It really is.” A silence hung in the air, and Carl thought he knew why. He said nothing, not wanting to come between whatever was happening. He suddenly found the coffee too good to ignore.

“What’ll you have, Dean? The usual?”

Dean only nodded. A cup of coffee was slammed on the table, but the liquid inside didn’t slosh out. It seemed Diane was talented in more ways than one.

Looking up at Carl, Dean’s face was grim. He started to say something, but Carl held his hand up. “I don’t want to know. I can guess, and that’s as far as it needs to go. Do good work, and we’ll leave it at that.”

Dean sighed. “Thank you. I’ve never had much luck with women, but my luck changed after Diane.” He knocked on the table, and Carl raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think knocking on linoleum counted for guaranteeing luck.

“I understand. I was married for a long time, and I thought we would stay together until the end. We argued a lot about what retirement would look like, but I didn’t think she would leave until the moment she finally did.”

Dean nodded. It was the sad look of men who didn’t understand women and might never understand them.

Their food came out, and the discussion ground to a halt. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

When the bill came, Carl paid it without a thought. “You want to follow me up, or take your truck? I drive a Honda, and it won’t go where your truck will.”

Dean chuckled at that. “You need to get a truck if you’re going to spend any time down here. The bigger, the better. A three-quarter ton at a minimum, but a full ton is the way to go.”

Carl didn’t understand the references, but noted them to research later. He’d never owned a truck in his life, not feeling the need to pay for a vehicle he would rarely use. His father had once owned a Ford F100, which he’d driven around doing odd jobs before heading to college. He wondered what had happened to that truck. He hadn’t seen it on his parents’ property after they passed. Maybe they’d sold it for a few bucks when they got older?

“Got it.” Carl pumped quarters in the meter, then walked over to Dean’s truck. It was beat up on the outside, but clean if dusty on the inside. Carl buckled in, and off they went.

“Head to the airport, then up into the hills. I can direct you from there.”

The blue sky above them was clear of clouds, and the further they drove, the hotter the inside of the truck became. Carl rolled down his window, the cool air refreshing. “Right up that road. Slow down when I tell you.”

Dean nodded, saying nothing. He knew these hills like the back of his hand and knew they didn’t have a flake gold left in them. They’d been explored dozens of times over the years, leaving people poorer for trying them. His estimation of Carl fell, then bottomed out as Carl told him to slow down after a steep one hundred and eighty degree turn.

“Park here. We need to go on foot.” Carl pulled a can of spray paint, the color a bright orange that wouldn’t be missed by anyone. He’d picked it up at Wal-Mart late last night after the last movie ended.

Dean kept his own counsel, not voicing his doubts to his employer. He would when he felt the time was right, but not yet.

They hiked up the hills as Carl turned on his senses. He could smell gold, but it was faint. Stopping, he sniffed again, then turned to his right and kept walking. Cresting the rise, he picked a trail down the hill, his nose directing him.

Stopping when the scent got the strongest, he uncapped the spray can and marked a large X where the gold was located. The scent was stronger than he remembered, which meant that the gold was deeper here than he had first assessed.

“Here?” Dean asked in wonder. Not forty yards from here were the tailings from a drilling, one that he knew had failed.

“Right here. It’s deep, but it’s there. It won’t be the richest mine, but it will earn its drilling fee back and a lot more than besides that.” Carl turned to Dean. “I won’t tell you your business, but you’re going to be a wealthy man soon. When the money starts rolling in, pay off your mortgage first before you spend it on anything else. If you want to purchase a business of your own, I’d be happy to help.”

The man was delusional. The salary Carl was paying him was fine, and sixty thousand dollars a year was more than enough for his needs. But wealthy? A very small number of men were born to be wealthy, and many, many more were not. Dean knew which category he fell into, and he was fine with his place in life. He had a good woman by his side, and he made enough to get by. That was all he needed.

His father had been the same way. Poor more often than not, but happy. “I won’t dispute what you say, Carl. It’s not my place.” He pointed at the tailings. “You see that pile of rocks over there? Those are the results of someone else who thought there was gold here. They found nothing but rock. You’ll see those mounds of rocks covering these hills, and only one in a hundred, if that, found metal.” He shook his head. “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

Carl capped the paint can. “I understand.” Sniffing, Carl headed further down the hill crest. A good number of the mineral rights he’d purchased were on this hill. Some others were on the opposite side of the valley, but those were silver. These were all gold.

They walked the better part of the morning, until Carl had placed three orange Xs on the land. He checked the map he’d brought with him to ensure he didn’t go outside of the plats he owned, and he hadn’t.

As they walked back to the truck, Carl resigned himself to the fact that Dean wouldn’t believe until he saw the results. He hoped the man didn’t go crazy when the money started rolling in. He’d seen that happen to others, and the results were never pretty. It was like they were incapable of holding on to money, that they needed to get it out of their wallet as soon as possible. They’d gamble it away or spend it on useless things that soon broke and rusted away in the yard.

Hopping back into the truck, Dean didn’t turn the key. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I don’t know how you’re so confident, but it made me wonder. Why those spots?”

Carl shrugged. “Ask me again after we have all the mines drilled. If I tell you now, you won’t believe me, but you’ll have a different perspective on things when all the mines are going.” He grinned. “Remember, pay off the house first. You start doing crazy things with your money and it affects your work or the business, I’ll cut you loose. I won’t want to, but business is business.”

Dean nodded. The truck roared to life, and after a quick one-eighty they drove back down to Medford. He had a lot of thinking to do. Just like Diane’s family had never sent someone to college, his family had never owned anything outright. The concept was so ingrained that it was difficult for him to wrap his head around it, but if it was possible, he knew it would change his life forever.

Forever.

Chapter 53

“Banking was conceived in iniquity and was born in sin. The Bankers own the earth. Take it away from them, but leave them the power to create deposits, and with the flick of the pen they will create enough deposits to buy it back again. However, take it away from them, and all the great fortunes like mine will disappear and they ought to disappear, for this would be a happier and better world to live in. But, if you wish to remain the slaves of Bankers and pay the cost of your own slavery, let them continue to create deposits.”

— Sir Josiah Stamp

Dean dropped him off at the diner. Carl said goodbye, his mind already focused on the Rustler’s Brand. Walking instead of driving over, he saw more than a few people nod or tip their hats at him as they walked by. He didn’t understand it until he passed a newsstand and saw his face on the front page.

Portland Man Buys Local Bar

The Rustler’s Brand, formerly owned by the recently convicted art patron Elizabeth Byrne, was sold at auction recently for seven hundred and ten thousand dollars to Mr. Carl Thompson of Portland. Mrs. Byrne was forced to sell the infamous bar to pay her attorney costs, as she is currently being charged for the murder of her late husband.

Carl Thompson is the owner of a number of other businesses, including the law firm Lyon and Hudson in Portland, a courier business, and an advertising agency. Said Mr. Thompson, “I’m excited to turn this bar around into something all Medfordians can be proud of, as I’m…”

The line cut off, the little window for the newspaper not revealing anything further. He was sure he hadn’t provided any quotes to the newspaper, which left only a few options. Either a local had spoken to the newspaper on his behalf, which was unlikely as the one employee who would know the most already worked for him, or Sue had placed the ad as part of an advertising campaign.

Fishing in his pocket for spare change, he found none. He’d spent it all at the meter so his car wouldn’t be towed.

Realization dawned as he thought back on his day. The young woman hitting on him in the parking lot hadn’t been an accident. He was certain of it. She’d read the paper, maybe placed a call or three to find where he was staying, and waited for him until he appeared.

Sighing, he kept walking while he wondered what other surprises might be waiting for him today.

Ted greeted him at the door. The bar was open and operating as usual. The former bar manager had been charged for accessory to murder, which he’d seen on the nightly news weeks ago. As had the butler to Mrs. Byrne.

“Good to see you, Carl. I’m not sure who leaked the news to the paper, but it’s not too surprising. Businesses changing hands will always make the news down here.”

Carl shook his hand. “I have a good idea of who it might be. I know we haven’t talked of anything but the bar, but I own a few other businesses as well. One of which is an advertising agency. I didn’t instruct them to place a story, but they’re enterprising and creative. It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

He pointed at the bar while holding a dollar bill in his hand. “Do you think I could get change in there to buy a copy for myself? I spent all my quarters on the meter.”

Ted broke out in raucous laughter. When he calmed down enough to speak, he said, “You own the place. I think they’ll make an exception for you. Come on.”

Heading inside, no one seemed to notice him. They did notice Ted, and more than a few patted him on the back. Ted led them around to the manager’s office, which was in a state of disrepair. The desk was on its side, and papers littered the floor. Shaking his head, he said, “It was too much to hope for that everything would be in order.”

An idea occurred to Carl. “We should audit the records and the financials. It wouldn’t surprise me if the manager was skimming off the top.”

Ted was shocked. Not by the accusation, but that he hadn’t thought of it first. It seemed he had lost his touch in the time he’d been away. “You’re right. I know some good accounting firms down here, so let me handle it.”

Carl thought about arguing and using someone from Portland but stopped himself. It was better to use a local firm, or people might complain that he was stealing business to send it up there.

Carl patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave that with you. Before you dive into his mess, you mind showing me the upstairs?”

Ted grinned. “Not a problem.”

They walked to the back of the bar, past the restrooms until they came to a wide door that said ‘Do Not Enter. Authorized Personnel Only.’ Carl handed him the keys he’d received at the auction, along with the title to the business.

Ted took the deed, a question in his eyes. “I thought you would want to keep this?”

Carl shook his head. “You hold on to it. You’ll be running the place, so it’s better if you have it in case you need it.”

Ted was stunned. He was grateful for getting his old job back, but despite their earlier conversation he’d expected that he’d be running the place while Carl made all the key decisions. He’d been wrong and felt silly for not taking the man at his word.

He folded it until it fit in his pocket. “Will do.”

Finding the right key, he turned the lock. It was gritty but gave way with a bit more pressure. Pulling it open, he flipped on the light switch, revealing a set of wood stairs heading up into the darkness above. Cobwebs littered the area, and the stairs were dusty, but he didn’t see any sign of vermin.

Taking the lead, he walked up the stairs, noting where the wood was soft. He’d have to hire a contractor to come out and repair it, especially if Carl was intending to use the upstairs apartment when he was in Medford.

A second door appeared in the gloom, a burned-out light bulb overhead keeping the area dark. It took him longer to find the key to this door, but when he did, the lock turned easily.

Pushing the door open, both men started coughing. Ted didn’t know what he was looking at, but Carl did. Despite his love for old movies, he’d watched a few of the more modern shows with his ex-wife before she left him. One of them had been Breaking Bad, and what he was seeing in front of him looked too close to the meth labs on that show to be an accident.

“Close the door and let’s get out of here. That’s a meth lab.”

Both men ran down the stairs, Ted locking the lower door behind him. He turned to Carl for help, completely out of his element. “What do we do?”

Carl had been hoping to use that space by transforming it into a comfortable, quiet area he could work in when he was in town instead of staying at the motel. The diner was in walking distance, as was the theater if he was willing to walk a bit farther.

He knew he’d be waiting a long time for that to happen until the mess upstairs was cleaned up.

“Call the police and tell them what you found. It seems the manager’s been up to more than just the accessory to murder charges.”

Ted blanched. Then he spewed vomit onto the old wood floor.

Carl patted his back a few times before going to get a waitress to clean it up. He found one talking to a customer.

“Excuse me, but I need vomit cleaned up back there.”

She sneered, not even turning to face him as she flirted with the customer. “Clean it up yourself. You puke, you do it.”

The man she had been speaking with recognized Carl and whispered in her ear. Recognition dawned, and she nodded. “I’ll get right on it, Mr. Thompson. I’m so sorry.”

Sighing, Carl went back to Ted. It seemed he’d be firing someone sooner than he’d expected.

Chapter 54

“Behind the scenes, high-ranking Air Force officers are soberly concerned about UFOs. But through official secrecy and ridicule, many citizens are led to believe that unknown flying objects are nonsense.”

— Former CIA Director, Roscoe Hillenkoetter, public statement, 1960

The Medford police arrived first, then the state police. They were followed by a group of men in yellow hazmat suits, and it was that group who were first to enter the upstairs room.

Carl nursed a coffee while he waited, reading the newspaper he’d picked up after changing a dollar for four quarters. After the first waitress had been informed of who he was, news had traveled like lightning throughout the entire bar.

An older man with graying hair at the temples walked over, his hazmat suit disposed of in a black bag. “You’re the owner?”

Carl nodded. “Just purchased it yesterday at auction. I had no idea what was up there until an hour ago. That’s when we called the police.”

The man nodded, taking notes on an electronic pad. “Breaking Bad?”

Carl grinned. “Yep. I wouldn’t have known what it was if I hadn’t seen that show.”

The man nodded like he heard it every day. “You got lucky. The fumes you smelled were from the raw chemicals. Whoever set the lab up didn’t know what they were doing. They had the wrong chemicals, and before you ask, I won’t tell you what they got wrong.”

Carl held his hands up in defense. “Why would I want to know? I just want to run the bar and turn it around.”

The man grunted. “Either way, you got lucky. It will take time to dispose of the chemicals, then sweep the area to make sure we have everything. You’ll be required to pay for the entire bar to be disinfected, and you’ll need to use a state approved company to do the work. It won’t be cheap, but once you’re done the bar can open back up.”

Carl didn’t argue. He didn’t even think of arguing. Instead, he stood up and shouted, “The bar’s closed until further notice. Everyone out. Now!”

The customers were slow to react, until the man next to him shouted, “Right now!”

Then everyone evacuated, except for Carl. He was asked to provide a statement after being assured that the downstairs was safe. That didn’t reconcile with what the other man had said, but he didn’t question it. He gave a complete statement of everything he’d done since arriving, including the trip into the hills to find gold.

The policeman sneered. “You really expect to find gold?”

Carl didn’t take the bait. “I do.”

The policeman shook his head. “I know you just bought the place, but do you know of any suspects who might be responsible?”

Carl nodded. “I would look into the previous manager. He’s currently on trial for accessory to murder.”

The policeman noted it down, asked a few more questions, and that wrapped it up. Carl was free to go.

Walking outside, he found dozens of looky-loos trying to peer inside. He spotted Ted off to the side, so he headed in that direction.

Ted had a grim look when he asked, “How bad is it?”

Carl nodded. “Bad. They’ll take all the equipment out, then we need to disinfect the entire building. I’ll take care of that.” He handed Ted a card for Lyons and Hudson. “Email Rebecca at that law firm, and she’ll send you an employment contract. If you don’t mind me asking, what did you make before you were fired?”

Ted winced at the wording. “Forty grand a year.”

Carl was too distracted to notice. “I’m upping it to eighty grand. I’m hiring a new assistant, and she’ll reach out to you for your bank information. We’ll get you set up on automatic payments once I get back to Portland. Sorry I didn’t think of it earlier.”

Tears sprung to Ted’s eyes. He didn’t mind odd jobs, and he wasn’t too proud to work for a pittance if that’s what it took to pay his expenses. But doubling his salary? In this town, that would make him richer than eighty percent of the residents. Medford was a nice town, but it wasn’t a wealthy one.

“Thank you.”

Carl’s flip phone rang, which it almost never did. Most days he forgot he had it on him.

“Carl here.”

“Carl, it’s Rebecca. I need you back in Portland tonight. The state passed the found money issue to the FBI, and the FBI called in the Federal Reserve to check the numbers on the bills. They have demanded a meeting with us first thing Monday morning in San Francisco. Get back here ASAP because we need to prepare. I can do some of it on my own, but I need you for the rest.”

He’d regretted going after the money a few times since he’d found it, but never more than he did right now. “I’ll head back within the hour. Oh, and you should know that the bar I bought had a meth lab upstairs. We just found it and the police are evacuating all the chemicals.”

Rebecca sighed. “Of course you did. Because my week isn’t shitty enough.” She paused, a loud sigh breaking the silence. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that out on you. I’m overwhelmed with work, and Robert is too. The associate we planned to hire didn’t work out, and I’m tired and cranky. That’s not your fault.”

Carl disagreed. It was his fault, at least in part. “Let’s talk about it when I get back. See you soon.”

He hung up, his mind already swirling with ideas to help his law firm. Buying Donnehy would get them there, but that was a future solution. He needed one now.

Putting his flip phone in his pocket, he turned to Ted. “What’s the best law firm in Medford?”

Ted shrugged. “I don’t know. Paddy dealt with the lawyers, not me.”

Carl sighed. It had been worth a try. “I have to head back to Portland. I’m sorry, but I have issues I need to deal with up there. Let’s talk next week, and if I have time I’ll head back down. If you feel something has to be done, or purchased, or anything else, then do it. I’ll have my assistant send you a corporate credit card as soon as we can get to it.”

Ted could tell Carl was overwhelmed by whatever he’d heard on the phone, but he didn’t know what that was. And didn’t want to know. “Just go. The bar is closed for the near future anyway, so we’ll worry about it later. And thanks, Carl. You’ve turned my life around, and I couldn’t be more grateful to you than I am right now.”

The two men shook, and a blue box blinked in Carl’s vision. He’d been ignoring the boxes over the past few weeks, not caring as much as he used to about gathering DNA. The fact that the points had been cut in half didn’t help matters.

Jogging back to his car, he pulled out his flip phone, dialing a number he’d only recently acquired. “Dean here.”

“Dean, it’s Carl. I’m sorry, but I’m heading back to Portland, so I won’t be there when they start drilling on Monday. I need you to cover for me. My security lead will drive down over the weekend, so if you have any questions feel free to ask him.”

“That’s fine, Carl. By the way, I saw the newspaper article. It looked good, but—”

“Sorry, Dean, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

Slamming the flip phone shut, he jumped into his car. Starting it up, he pulled out of his space and headed toward I5. His gas tank was just below full, which should get him to Portland without a problem. His mind couldn’t stop replaying the message from Rebecca, that the FBI had been called in. Sure, he’d found the money, but why would that involve him? And the Federal Reserve were involved. Carl had a sinking feeling that his run of good choices was going to be over on Monday morning. He regretted the bad decisions he’d made, but he was resolved to fight this thing. Let them do their worst, and he would fight back with everything he had.

Chapter 55

“Most Americans have no real understanding of the operation of the international money lenders. The accounts of the Federal Reserve System have never been audited. It operates outside the control of Congress and manipulates the credit of the United States”

— Barry Goldwater

He went home first, to drop off his things and change clothes. He still hadn’t met with Gene to get his laptop back, along with the clothes he’d packed for the UFO conference.

Throwing the dirty clothes into the laundry hamper, he got back in his car and drove over to the law offices. Amy wasn’t at the front desk, but the lights inside were on. Parking out front, he walked up to the front door. It was after 5pm, but the late hour didn’t seem to matter much right now.

Knocking, he saw Rebecca poke her head out of her office. Instead of smiling, she gave him a relieved look as she came over to unlock the door.

“Thank God you’re here. How was the trip?”

Carl wrapped her up in a hug. She looked like she needed one. “Fast. The new car gets great gas mileage.”

Rebecca pulled away from his hug. She didn’t know what had prompted him to hug her, but she had needed it. “You bought a new car?”

Carl pointed out the window. “Yeah, that one. I was going to rent, then I decided it was time to buy a new one. So I purchased it instead.”

Rebecca almost commented, but she didn’t have space in her brain to think about it. “Come into my office. The problem with this is that we don’t know what the FBI and Federal Reserve want. The email I received is vague, insisting we arrive in San Francisco for a meeting at 8am Monday morning.” She shook her head. “This is going to screw up my schedule even more, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Carl kept his voice calm when he spoke next. Rebecca was all over the place, and it didn’t seem like she realized it. “Yes, there is. Give the work you and Robert don’t want to Donnehy’s firm. You might as well get in the practice of doing so. I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the meeting yesterday, but I would like to hear what happened when you’re ready to talk about it. Maybe on the plane down to San Francisco?”

Rebecca’s eyes turned into twin white orbs. “Yes! They could do the work, and we’ll present it to the client. That’s brilliant!”

Carl sat down across from her. “Now that you know there’s a solution to the workload issue, let’s discuss the letter they sent. I still haven’t seen it.”

“But I sent it to your laptop?”

Carl shook his head while looking around the office for the coffeemaker. He knew there had to be one here, but he couldn’t find it. “Gene hasn’t brought it over yet. I called the resort, and they didn’t have it, which meant that Gene must have gathered it before I was hauled away to the hospital.” Carl grinned. “It’s the kind of thing he would do.”

The trip to the UFO conference felt like it was a year ago. Carl getting injured, Carl healing, Carl getting subpoenaed by the Federal government. It was one giant blur.

Rebecca turned her laptop around after bringing up the email version she’d received. “Read it while I order food. I haven’t had lunch yet, and I’m famished. You want anything?”

“Where are you ordering from?” He wasn’t hungry, but if this was going to be an all-nighter then he would order.

“The pizza place down the block.”

“Yeah, get me a medium pepperoni, black olives and onion pizza.”

Rebecca blinked. “Really? You’re going to stink up my office with that?”

Carl grinned. “Then I’ll eat in the conference room. Why, what are you having?”

Rebecca straightened her spine as she leaned back. “Three cheese. Extra sauce on the side.”

Carl thought of a pithy comeback but said nothing. Rebecca was stressed out, and insulting her choice in food wouldn’t help her any. “Sounds good.”

Leaning forward, he started reading the email.

ATTN: Ms. Rebecca Lyon, Mr. Carl Thompson

This letter is in response to the Oregon State Claims Form BR-13a-CF where the claimant (Carl Thompson) found $3,840,000 United States dollars at a location near the Willamette river. The claimant and his legal counsel are required to attend a mandatory meeting in the San Francisco Federal Bureau of Investigations office, where they will be asked questions relating to the found money. Attendees will include members of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, the Federal Reserve, the claimant, and his legal counsel.

Location: 450 Golden Gate Ave, San Francisco, CA 94102, Room 122-C

Time: 8am

Note: No electronic devices of any kind will be allowed in the meeting room. Please deposit your electronic devices with the officer in charge as you enter the building. Refreshments will be provided.

Signed,

Mr. Fox Scully

Carl wiped a light sheen of sweat from his forehead. He wanted to ask Rebecca about it, but she was on the phone with the pizza place.

“… that’s right, a medium pepperoni, black olives, and onions.”

“What?”

“Just a sec.”

Covering her mouthpiece, she asked, “Do you want red onions or green onions?”

Carl couldn’t hide the smirk as he said, “I’d like both.”

Shaking her head, she picked the phone back up. “He’ll have both.”

When she finished ordering, she hung up before pointing the phone at him. “Just so you know, you’re paying for this.”

“That’s fair. If you want a slice, you’re welcome to it. And I’ll have a slice of three cheese pizza. That way we can compare the two.”

Rebecca shook her head. She should be angry, but Carl was a difficult man to be angry at. He was polite, dressed nice, and was always respectful of others.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she asked, “What did you think of the letter?”

He glanced at it to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “Vague, just like you said. If they were going to accuse me of stealing, the Federal Reserve wouldn’t be at the meeting. That means it has more to do with the money than anything else. I’m not saying I’m not in trouble, but I’m not as worried as I was before.”

Rebecca took her laptop back. “I think you’re right. Stolen money could be handled by the state, unless it’s from across state borders. But that doesn’t make sense because it was found on the banks of the Willamette.”

They both spoke at the same time. “Unless the money was carried up the river from somewhere else.”

They were silent as they considered the possibilities.

“Washington is most likely, but California works. And it can’t be an accident that we’re traveling to San Francisco instead of Washington D.C.” Rebecca paused. “Or Seattle, which has a Federal Reserve office, too.”

“I agree. The question is, what do we need to have ready before we go? You filed the claim, and I signed it, and if they ask questions about when and how I found it I know the answers to those questions.”

Rebecca raised a thin eyebrow. “Really? What day did you find it?”

Carl didn’t hesitate. His improved memory could replay the scene of that night in excruciating detail. “March 14th.”

Rebecca canted her head to the side. “How do you know that?” Her stomach rumbled, distracting her train of thought for a moment. “Anyway, even if you know that, it doesn’t mean you remember everything about that day. We’ll go over it all tomorrow to make sure you have instant recall.” She took a deep breath, and some of the tension in her neck relaxed. “You coming in today helped calm my nerves, and some food will do me good as well. We’ll go over the Q&A tomorrow until you’ve got it memorized. And just like the pizza, you’re buying the plane tickets. You might as well get them for tomorrow night, so we can head to the meeting well rested Monday morning.”

Carl wrote it down on a piece of paper to ensure he remembered. That was just for show, because he knew he would do it as soon as he got home tonight. There was no possible way he could forget.

The pizza came twenty minutes later, after Carl had recounted his adventures in Medford. Between the rigged auction, which he was almost certain had happened, and the meth lab, it truly had been an adventure.

In the end, Rebecca stuck to her pie and Carl stuck to his. The pepperoni was spicier than usual, and all the better for it.

It was dark out when Carl said good night. “Thanks, Carl. For everything. I’ll leave a message with Charles to call Mack on Monday since I can’t do it myself. If they agree, my life can get back to normal. There is no price too high for that.”

“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry I didn’t take action sooner.” Carl thought about saying something about her and Randy but decided against it. Her nerves were too tightly wound to appreciate jokes, especially personal ones. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 56

“Mr. Chairman, we have in this country one of the most corrupt institutions the world has ever known. I refer to the Federal Reserve Board and the Federal reserve banks. The Federal Reserve Board, a Government board, has cheated the Government of the United States out of enough money to pay the national debt. The depredations and the iniquities of the Federal Reserve Board and the Federal reserve banks acting together have cost this country enough money to pay the national debt several times over. This evil institution has impoverished and ruined the people of the United States; has bankrupted itself, and has practically bankrupted our Government. It has done this through defects of the law under which it operates, through the maladministration of that law by the Federal Reserve Board and through the corrupt practices of the moneyed vultures who control it.”

— Rep. Louis T. McFadden, former Chairman of the Committee on Banking and Currency. Congressional Record 12595-12603 (10 June 1932).

The flight to San Francisco Sunday night was uneventful. Carl splurged and paid for business class seats, but the difference between business and economy was minimal for such a short flight.

Rebecca was reading the inflight magazine when she asked, “You still remember all the facts?”

Carl had already skimmed the same magazine, seeing nothing but advertisements for fancy hotels and fatuous articles on celebrities. Still, he didn’t put it down because he had nothing better to do right now. “Yes, and you know I do. We went over all the facts multiple times yesterday. I doubt I’ll ever forget after this.” Rebecca had no idea just how true that statement was, and if he had his choice, she never would.

“Good. Just checking. Sorry, I get nervous dealing with the FBI. There was a case five or six years ago before I met you where a small corporation had defrauded customers across the country and in a few foreign countries. It was being tried in Portland before all the facts came out, and I was replaced once the Feds came in because I didn’t have experience dealing with them.”

Carl was reading an article on the hot places to eat in El Paso, Texas. Almost anything could distract him. “What happened?”

“The company went bankrupt, but that was a given. The CEO served time in a minimum-security prison and was released for good behavior three years later. The CFO is in a medium security prison and has five or six years left to go assuming he doesn’t get paroled.”

“Who were you defending?”

She turned in her seat to look at him. “Who do you think? The CEO. The CFO should have had the same attorney after I was fired, but the CEO wouldn’t allow it. He pinned a lot of unsubstantiated claims on the CFO, and he ended up taking the fall.”

Carl shook his head in disbelief. It appalled him that people could do such terrible things to each other, even though he knew it was an everyday occurrence.

* * *

The next morning, he met Rebecca in the hotel lobby. The blue light in his eye kept coming on after he turned it off, over and over again, but he didn’t have time to look at it right now. Under different circumstances he might have, but with an important meeting less than an hour away, he couldn’t be bothered to look.

They walked to the FBI building in San Francisco after breakfast. The sun was out, but the temperature was brisk. They passed a few tourists who ignored the two people dressed in business suits as they walked toward the austere stone building in the distance.

Entering the building, they went through a metal detector and then underwent a pat-down. Once that was over, they deposited their phones and Rebecca’s laptop with the officer in charge, who led them to a room with an attendant out front.

“Leave your things in one of the lockers and take the key. We accept no liability if you lose the key.”

They both nodded. Carl was sweating, different scenarios playing through his mind. They might freeze his assets, causing severe problems for his companies. Or they could simply arrest him, claiming that he was part of the group that had hidden the money along the river. It didn’t make logical sense, but logic went out the window as soon as they had received the summons.

The officer in charge asked, “What room is your meeting in?”

Rebecca told the officer, and he agreed to lead them to that room. Carl doubted he was doing it out of kindness, but to ensure that their path didn’t deviate into secure areas. There were cameras at every corner, with the black half domes hanging down in the middle of each hallway.

They walked up the stairs, the line for the elevator too long. The building had a few nice touches, but he imagined most of the original features had been deleted in favor of additional security, expensive cameras, and making more room for the people who worked here every day.

Coming to the door, the officer knocked, then opened the door for them. “Come see me before you try to retrieve your electronic devices.” With that, he turned and left, marching back the way they’d come.

Carl held the door open for Rebecca, then followed her in. It was a small room, no larger than twenty feet by ten feet. A medium-sized table took up space in the middle, with modern chairs surrounding the table. Name placards had been placed, and they found their names on the opposite side of the table.

Sitting down, Carl rubbed his hands on his trousers to get some of the sweat off. An old wall clock to his right ticked the seconds and minutes off, the sound just loud enough to notice. They were a few minutes early, but only a few. Two or three minutes more and the Feds would be late—

The door opened, and three men entered. The first had thinning grayish-white hair and a slouch while standing, his clothes rumpled more than Carl would have expected.

The second man was portly, his shirt tight around the middle with white cloth gloves on his hands. He unbuttoned his jacket before sitting down where the table hid his paunch. However, that wasn’t the most noticeable thing about him. The man was an albino. His head was bald, but his hair had in all likelihood been white before he shaved it off. His skin was pale, and despite his weight Carl thought he looked frail.

The third man looked the part of a G-Man. He was tall, at least 6’5” if not a bit taller, with broad shoulders and a stern look on his face. His suit was spotless, and Carl imagined his shoes were polished to perfection, even if he couldn’t see them on the other side of the table. This is what Carl had expected from an FBI officer.

The man with white hair leaned over the table, his hand extended. “Thank you both for coming. I’m Fox Scully, leading the fraud investigations unit for the Western region of the FBI.” Fox smiled as his eyes focused, and Carl’s mind spun, a blue light blinking in his eye.

Mental attack resisted.

You have been afflicted with a thought-based attack. Current resistance vs. thought-based attacks: 11%.

Outcome: Resistance exceeded thought form attack strength. +4% to thought-based attack resistance. Your own mental attack capabilities have increased to 20%. All mental and thought-based attack and defense DNA previously acquired have been activated.

Carl stood on wobbly legs, shaking with the man. Despite his age, Fox’s grip was firm. “Carl Thompson. Pleased to meet you.” Fox blinked, unsure why Carl wasn’t crying or curling up on the floor as expected. As a young boy, Fox had found that if he concentrated hard enough, he could affect those around him. It didn’t take long before he had taken out the bullies at school and become one himself. He liked using it in situations like this, not at full force of course, but as an intimidation tool it couldn’t be beat. It put suspects on their back foot and made them more susceptible to interrogation techniques.

Except it hadn’t. Carl looked unfazed as he sat down, and his lawyer stood up to shake hands with him. Unsure what to do about it, he sat down, his mind lost in thought as he played the last few seconds over again.

The older man sat down, and the portly man stood. Carl failed to notice this, because the blue boxes were in all practical terms screaming at him right now. He’d only had a few seconds to process the mental attack before the next blue box screamed at him.

DNA acquired: 357

Unallocated points acquired: 3570

Points remaining: 1

Triple Helix DNA candidate acquired. Touch is required to acquire triple helix DNA samples.

Acquire sample now!

Acquire sample now!

Acquire sample now!

The ‘Acquire sample now!’ notices continued, scrolling down in front of his right eye. He knew he’d been ignoring the blue boxes, but he’d never expected this to happen.

He focused his mind to close the boxes, and they did for a second or two, only to pop back up again with the same message.

Rebecca nudged him with her arm. He looked over, only to see the portly albino man with his arm outstretched.

Carl stood and reached his arm across the table, his hand outstretched. He had no idea what would happen if he managed to touch the man. Would he die like the man he’d battled at Wal-Mart? Or would something else happen?

He very much did not want to do this, but the blue boxes wouldn’t shut up about touching this man to acquire his DNA.

The albino man nodded, a slightly cruel smile on his face. “Langston Winterbach, Federal Reserve Department of Investigations.” The two men shook, then Carl lengthened his middle finger until it reached the edge of the white glove and went under the full-length sleeved shirt. With a small tap, he touched the man’s wrist. Releasing, he sat down so fast his chair skittered backward.

Langston looked down in confusion. He’d grown up with a weakened immune system and had suffered greatly as a young boy. He’d never made lasting friends, never dated, never gone to the school dances. It was only in his later years that he found a woman who could live with his restrictions. Their marriage was strong, but physical relations were… strained. Wealth overcame other shortcomings, he had found.

Carl was oblivious as more text scrolled by his right eye.

Triple Helix DNA sample: acquired.

+50,000 unallocated points.

One free upgrade to any current skill.

Continue to acquire additional Triple Helix DNA samples for further rewards.

Carl didn’t notice Rebecca shake Langston’s hand. He was exhausted but had no idea whether it was a result of the mental attack or from the triple helix DNA he’d just acquired. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them when Fox spoke again. He was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to lie down and take a long nap.

Scully spoke, giddy that Mr. Thompson looked quite pale all of a sudden. Perhaps the attack had caused a delayed reaction? “The third man with us is Agent William Bowner. He will act as the stenographer for this meeting. A copy of the notes taken will be circulated to all parties by the end of the day.”

Carl thought he might pass out. He was that tired. He looked up at Scully, clearing his throat to get the man’s attention. “Excuse me, but would it be possible to have coffee brought in? And maybe a few cookies? I’m diabetic, and it seems I have low blood sugar right now. It’s not fatal, but a few cookies would be very helpful.”

Fox blinked a few times, trying to hide the thrill of the battle. He smirked. “Really? Our records indicate no history of diabetes.”

Carl shrugged.

Was Mr. Thompson lying to hide the fact he’d been mentally assaulted, or did he really have diabetes? If he did, Scully would be annoyed that the information hadn’t been listed in the background information. “Fine. William, could you run down to get coffee, tea and cookies delivered? We’ll wait until you return.”

The wait was interminable, but not because Carl was bored. Whatever the blue boxes had done had sapped his energy, and he vowed to never touch a triple helix DNA person ever again. His head bobbed up and down a few times as he struggled to stay awake.

William opened the door, his other hand holding a platter filled with different kinds of cookies, along with three carafes of what he hoped were coffee, tea, and water.

Setting the carafes down in the center of the table, he handed the plate of cookies to Carl. He took them but did his best to remain polite. “I only need a few. Would anyone else like one?”

Fox smiled. He liked people with good manners. It spoke to a good upbringing with true bred American values. “We don’t mind in the least. They’re all yours.”

Carl nodded gratefully, popping half a cookie in his mouth. The sugar hit was instant, and a small spark of energy went through his body. It fizzled within seconds, but it pointed to the answer. Carl needed to eat more cookies.

Rebecca poured herself a cup of coffee, then a second which she passed to Carl. “Would anyone else like something before we get started?” She was familiar with the old boy’s network, and pouring the coffee for them might cause them to underestimate her. She didn’t know what was up with Carl, but she needed all the advantages she could get.

She poured another two cups of coffee, and water for the handsome stenographer. She might be in a relationship with Randy, but the hunk of steel to her right was finely sculpted eye candy. She planned to drink him in as much as she could before the meeting came to an end.

Fox cleared his throat. “Thank you both for coming in. I asked you here because of the money Mr. Thompson found back in March. We have Ms. Lyon’s statement, and based on our own investigation the facts as stated appear to be correct.”

Rebecca jumped in. “Then may I ask why we are here?”

Fox inclined his head. “The money is legitimate US currency, which is why our esteemed colleague from the Federal Reserve is here. The bills Mr. Thompson found were stolen from a shipment of new bills heading to…” Scully looked to his right, and Langston shook his head. Fox continued, “The location doesn’t matter. They were headed to a bank and were intercepted along the way. As I hope you both understand, this is a grave matter of national security. I’ll let Langston fill you in on the pertinent details.”

Langston inclined his head in Fox’s direction. “Thank you, Mr. Scully. The shipment was indeed intercepted, the drivers and security guards killed, and the money stolen. We know how they did it, but that isn’t why you’re here.”

Rebecca didn’t ask the unspoken question a second time.

Mr. Winterbach’s lips opened, but it wasn’t a smile. Rebecca had no idea what it was, something close to a grin but less appealing. “You’re here because the three point eight four million Mr. Thompson found was part of that shipment.”

Carl was stuffing cookie after cookie in his mouth, then washing it down with coffee. He felt a bit sick from eating so many cookies at a little after eight in the morning, but he had more energy now because of it.

Leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, he asked, “How much in total was stolen?”

Langston smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That is the crux of the matter. We’ve had our investigative teams searching for this money far and wide ever since the theft occurred. Recovery of all funds is imperative.”

Both Rebecca and Carl waited for Langston to answer the question.

Langston sighed. “One hundred and twenty-four million dollars was stolen. Your find is the first lead we’ve had thus far.” He looked over at Fox, and Fox nodded. “We brought you in, Mr. Thompson, to help us find the rest.”

Rebecca laughed. Langston and Scully frowned, while William remained as stoic as ever. “The find Carl made was an accident. He saw the box poking out of the ground, and he pulled it out. End of story.”

Carl knew that wasn’t entirely true, but now wasn’t the time to split hairs.

Langston continued. “We disagree.” He changed his focus from Rebecca to Carl. “Will you assist the Federal Reserve and the FBI in this matter?”

Carl paused, the penultimate cookie on its way to his mouth. “What’s the reward? Both for what I found, and what I might find in the future.”

Langston and Fox grinned. Carl was eating the last of the cookies and washing them down with coffee. Rebecca was incredulous, and William was busy taking shorthand.

Langston leaned forward toward Mr. Thompson. Finding the money was important, not because the bills had any intrinsic value to the bank but because one theft was sure to lead to two, then three, then an unknown number the further it went on. Better to nip it in the bud now in any way possible. “We’ll pay ten thousand dollars each time you find another package of money. We believe the shipment was divided up, although I admit that is only a working hypothesis.”

He drank the rest of his coffee as he mulled the idea over in his head. Ten thousand dollars wouldn’t get him anywhere close to what he was hoping to achieve in the future.

He shook his head, his eyes meeting Mr. Winterbach’s. “I’m afraid that won’t be enough. Is that your final offer?”

Rebecca nudged him with her knee, but he ignored it as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

Winterbach leaned closer to Scully, hiding his mouth behind his hand. Whatever they were discussing took a while, but eventually they parted.

Mr. Winterbach cleared his throat. “Finding the money is of the utmost importance. Because of this, we will pay half the funds but only if you find all the money. If you come a dollar short, we’ll pay one million dollars.” Mr. Winterbach smiled, his eyes narrowing. “Is that more to your liking?”

Carl nodded as he smiled. “That is acceptable.” He paused as another thought crossed his mind. “And what if I find other monies, money not related to what was stolen from the Federal Reserve? After all, if I’m searching it’s more than likely I’ll find something along those lines.”

Langston drew a blank. He didn’t care about anything but returning the Federal Reserve money that had been stolen.

Fox tilted his head to the side, considering. “We can’t promise anything, but—”

Carl didn’t have to think about it more than a split second. “Then the answer is no.”

Fox blinked a few times. He wasn’t used to being told no by anyone in the FBI, and even less so a civilian. His wife told him no quite often, but he considered that part of the equation that was domestic bliss. He thought about trying a second mental attack, but each one sapped his own strength. He decided to wait.

“Please understand our position, Mr. Thompson. Money that wasn’t stolen from the Federal Reserve could relate to anything. It could have been buried in the ground and then forgotten, or it could have been specifically put in a certain location and you stumbled across it. There are too many scenarios to give an answer that satisfies all possibilities.”

Carl refilled his coffee a third time. He was feeling much better now, more like himself again. “I’m talking about lost money. Where there are no active claimants. As you stated, the money may be lost and forgotten, or stolen, or some other scenario. But the key here is there are no current claimants. If I find money like that, what reward are you offering?”

Langston cleared his throat, getting Fox’s attention. He was tired of this meeting and wanted to get back to business. “Would you please step outside with me for a moment, Mr. Scully?”

Fox agreed. “We’ll be just a moment. William, would you please bring in new carafes and more cookies?”

All three men left the room, and Rebecca rounded on Carl. “What the hell happened to you right there? One second you’re right as rain, and the next you’re sinking to the floor.”

Carl put a gentle hand on Rebecca’s forearm. “I know, but not now. We’ll discuss everything when we get back to the hotel. Not here.”

She nodded, but it didn’t lessen how irritated she was with him. She had feared the worst, but instead they had been presented with an opportunity. She didn’t know if Carl had any hope of completing it, and his delaying tactics asking about other found monies was concerning. But for a meeting with the FBI and Federal Reserve, it was the best outcome she’d heard of in a long time. Most ended in incarceration, or worse. She didn’t know what worse was, but she was certain it existed.

The three men reentered the room, tall, dark and handsome taking a seat to her right. He didn’t make eye contact, remaining completely professional, which seemed hotter to her.

Fox sat down, folding his hands in front of him, while Langston remained standing near the door. Carl picked up the cigarette smoke on Fox’s clothes. He was surprised. The man seemed too smart to be a smoker.

“We’ve thought about your issue, and we concur that it is a very real possibility. Mr. Winterbach’s interests lie only with the funds stolen from the Federal Reserve.” Langston nodded. “Which means the decision falls to the Bureau. What I propose is this: if there is a reward for any money you find outside of the prime directive, then you receive the reward. If there is no reward and no claimant after a period of sixty days, you will receive fifty percent of the money. Is that satisfactory to you?”

Carl nodded. “That’s quite acceptable, Mr. Scully. With that out of the way, what can you tell us about the shipment? It seems reasonable to assume it occurred in the western United States, perhaps in the Pacific Northwest. What I need is something that helps me narrow down the search area. Can you help with this as well?”

Langston cleared his throat, pouring himself a cup of tea before speaking. “That’s correct. The shipment originated here and was headed north. The truck was found just south of Portland.”

Carl was already putting the pieces together. South of Portland wouldn’t have been his first choice, but the robbers must have had their reasons. It seemed obvious to him that a boat had been used, but that could be a misdirect, where they let them find a part of the shipment while holding on to all the rest.

He turned to Rebecca, who was staring at William out of the corner of her eye. “Do you have any further questions?”

Rebecca folded her hands in front of her. “I do. I assume a contract will be drawn up for my client to sign?”

Langston nodded sagely. “Indeed. I believe there will be two contracts, one with the Federal Reserve and one with the Bureau. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Scully?”

Fox inclined his head. Carl had been a suspect until a thorough background had been undertaken. A divorced retiree, he had stumbled on to a few rare gold coins which allowed him to purchase a couple of local businesses. He didn’t smoke, a vice Fox very much wanted to quit but hadn’t managed to yet, and drank irregularly. He’d had his share of medical scares, but had come through them with flying colors.

Carl almost poured himself a fourth cup of coffee but stopped himself at the last moment. “I agree to help any way I can. To that end, I can tell you right now where two caches of money have been placed. I don’t know if they’re the stolen Federal Reserve funds, but they are substantial amounts of money.”

Langston blinked a few times in succession. “Really? We haven’t even signed the contract yet.”

How in the world can he know that? Rebecca kicked him under the table, but Carl didn’t react. That annoyed her even more. She cleared her throat before speaking. “My thoughts exactly. Let’s wait until the contracts are signed, and then you can reveal what you know.”

Fox leaned forward. “If we had the contracts drafted and agreed in the next hour, could you give us exact locations?”

Carl pursed his lips. “For one, yes. For the other, it’s only a general location.”

Langston was exhausted by this charlatan. “You realize this points to your guilt?”

Taking a sip of coffee, he shook his head. “I don’t believe it does. I’m acting in good faith with both of you, and I want to help any way I can. I found the Federal Reserve money by accident, but it was an educated accident.” He paused for effect. “I’m a psychic.” He turned to Fox. “Perhaps you read about the murder I solved in Medford a few months ago?”

Fox wrote something down that Carl couldn’t read before turning to Langston. “It’s true, or at least that is what was reported. And the facts of that case were quite peculiar. A bar owner was murdered by his wife, who kept the head of her husband in an old grandfather clock. You have to agree it’s more than just a good guess, and it’s the primary reason we invited him here. Our… specialists have not had the success that Mr. Thompson has.”

Langston didn’t have to agree with anything. He turned back to Carl and Rebecca. “Find the Fed’s money, and you’ll be rewarded. We may even use you for other cases, but solve this one first. Then we’ll talk.” With that, Langston left the room.

Fox stood up as well. “If you don’t mind waiting, I can have the contract prepared in no more than thirty minutes. If you’d like, I can have food brought in while you wait?”

Rebecca declined, but Carl didn’t. The hotel breakfast had been a bit anemic for his tastes. “Would a sandwich be too much trouble?”

Fox shook his head. “Give William your order. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Rebecca couldn’t resist another look at William. In fact, she did feel a tad hungry.

* * *

Fox returned forty minutes later, just as Carl had finished off a roast beef sandwich with horseradish sauce. It wasn’t as good as what he could get at the diner, but it was passable.

Fox handed Carl and Rebecca each a copy of the contract. “The Federal Reserve contract will be here in a few minutes. Despite Mr. Winterbach’s departure, he is eager to start the search for the lost money.”

Rebecca started reading, marking up the contract as she went. Carl perused the legalese, but the dry language combined with food in his belly caused him to nod off a second time.

Fifteen minutes of silence passed before she handed the contract back to Mr. Scully. The contact had been very straightforward, surprisingly so, and the only thing she had changed was the payment timing when a reward was involved for non-Federal Reserve stolen money. They had wanted sixty days, and she’d reduced it to thirty. She’d expected extended negotiation from the Bureau but had been pleasantly surprised.

Fox read over the changes and agreed that they made sense. “Let me have our legal team look these over, which should only take a few minutes. I’ll have fresh copies back in fifteen minutes tops.”

True to his word, Fox entered the room twelve minutes later, the paper still warm from the printer. Rebecca did a second complete review to ensure they hadn’t slipped anything new in, which was a common lawyer tactic. Let the client think they had everything they wanted, then add a few clauses in a later draft. If the opposing legal team weren’t on their toes, the client would suffer. She’d never done something so dastardly, but she knew of other lawyers who had.

“This looks fine.” Turning to the back page, she signed on the correct line. She passed it to Carl, who signed as well.

Fox signed moments later, and the Bureau contract was in place. All that remained was the Fed contract.

A knock came at the door, and a young woman entered with her blond hair pulled back so tight that Carl was sure she would faint. She handed out contracts all around, then sat down in Langston’s empty seat.

Carl was bored. He wanted to go home, or maybe play tourist and visit the waterfront, Chinatown, and the Ghirardelli chocolate store. Anything was better than sitting in this small room signing legal contracts.

Rebecca couldn’t find a single thing she wanted to change in the Federal Reserve contract. If the Bureau contract had been plain and straightforward, this contract bordered on simplistic. It was all of two and a half pages long, double spaced, and spelled out the terms in a clear manner. The only new piece of information was that Carl would have to look at least three days a week for the money, and he would be paid an extra 10 percent if he found all the money in under ten days.

She leaned over and asked, “You fine with the contract?”

Carl nodded. The ten percent bonus was nice, but not important. If he found all the money, he would have another sixty million dollars to invest in his businesses. He could buy Vancouver Life, La Grande Credit Union, and a lot more besides that. Searching would take up almost half his week, but he thought he could manage it. After all, the contract hadn’t specified how many hours he had to work each day, just that he had to search for three days out of the week. And with a new car to get him around, he was excited about exploring some new areas where money—and failing businesses—might be found.

The contract was signed, and the young woman took the completed Fed contract with her as she left.

Fox eyed Carl. “So…?”

Carl gave an enigmatic smile as he scratched his cheek. “One is at the corner of North Drummond and North Houghton Streets. It’s under a sewer cover, which I didn’t breach. I know it’s down there, but you’ll have to find where.”

Fox wrote it all down. “Good. And the other one?”

“That one’s going to be harder to find. It’s in a field to the east of Gwinnet drive. It’s a gang area, so all I can tell you is that it’s in the field past the houses. Not far from the street, less than a hundred yards in, I would say. It’s been there a while, I believe, so it’s probably not related to the Federal Reserve theft.”

Fox dotted his note pad. “We’ll get on both of these leads right away.” He stood up. “I believe that concludes our business. Thank you both for your time and assistance.”

Carl held a finger up. “If I do find something, who should I contact? You or Mr. Winterbach?”

Pulling his wallet from the jacket pocket, he gave a card to Carl and another to Rebecca. “Call me first. I’ll coordinate everything from here. Local agents may contact you as needed, so I ask that you cooperate with them.”

Rebecca nodded, while Carl looked offended. Fox sighed. Dealing with civilians was tedious in the extreme. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Thank you again for your help.”

They collected their electronic devices on the way back out, and Carl took a deep breath of fresh air when he was outside, the sun beating down from above. It would be a warm one today, but he was fine with that. He’d packed a pair of shorts just in case.

He turned to Rebecca, eyeing the cable car in the distance. He hadn’t ridden one of those in decades. “What do you want to see first? Chinatown, the cable cars, or Ghirardelli?”

Rebecca sighed, giving him a look that spoke volumes. “What do you think, Carl?”

Chapter 57

“Don’t wreck a sublime chocolate experience by feeling guilty.

Chocolate isn’t like premarital sex. It will not make you pregnant.

And it always feels good.”

— Lora Brody

In the end, they visited the Ghirardelli store at the airport. Rebecca needed to get back to work, and while Carl wanted to stay and research courier companies, he owed a lot to Rebecca. Letting her fly home on her own, despite how capable she was, didn’t seem very fair.

Rebecca didn’t speak until after takeoff. “What happened in there after you shook hands with Fox and Langston?”

He waved it off, chewing on peanuts that came inside a small, foil pack. “I got dizzy. Not many people get to go inside an FBI building, and I think it went to my head.” He looked at her tray table, which had another small pack and a second gin and tonic. It seemed she wouldn’t be doing as much work as she thought when she got back.

He pointed at the peanuts. “You going to eat those?”

She tossed them his way, and he popped them open. “If I do find all the money, what should we buy?”

In fact, Rebecca had been thinking about that. She knew this year would give her the biggest partner payout she’d ever received, but it would be five figures at best. Four figures in a good year, and three or no figures in a bad one.

“You should buy Vancouver Life. That will give both law firms more work. And the credit union. I don’t know banking, but even Charles admitted it was a good idea.”

Carl paused as he thought about the future, a handful of peanuts held in his fist. “If we buy Donnehy, there will be only one law firm, even if there are two names. Would you like to be the CEO for both?”

Rebecca almost spilled her drink. It was a poor way to start the week, but she needed to relax, and a gin and tonic was her go-to relaxing drink. Turning to face him in the awkward airplane seats, she said, “Are you serious?”

Carl grinned. “Most of the time. Right now, I am. And before you answer, let me explain my thinking. I don’t trust Todd. Mack will be leaving after a year of helping us sort things out. I don’t know the Donnehy partners, and a few are sure to leave once the deal is announced anyway. You’re an excellent lawyer, and you can turn them around while keeping everyone in line. What do you think?”

Two drinks for a nondrinker most of the year made her lips looser than usual. “Does it come with a bigger salary?”

Carl turned to face her. “What’s the most you’ve ever made at Lyon and Hudson?”

She estimated instead of trying to figure it out. “Two hundred and thirty thousand, including bonus.”

“How does four hundred thousand sound? Not including bonus. And before you answer, that will include leading any other law firms we buy, along with hiring and firing, and client relations. It will be a big job, and big jobs get paid well.”

Rebecca nodded, her mind swirling as she thought about it. “What about Robert?”

“What about him?” He popped the peanuts in his mouth. They were salty and delicious, if a bit stale.

She frowned. “If I take this job, what happens to him? You have to remember that it was just the two of us for a long time. I took over the management because he didn’t want to. He likes being a lawyer.”

Carl took a drink of water to wash the saltiness out of his mouth. “What if we dissolve Lyon and Hudson? Move everything to Donnehy and make him a partner along the way. He would have to do more than just work, but it’s one answer.”

Will I be comfortable losing the company I built with Robert? That was the question she couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to answer. “Give me a couple days to think about it, Carl. You’ve done so much for both of us, but before I answer I need to find what he’s comfortable with. Let me talk to him first.”

Carl nodded. He was hopeful for the future, and he couldn’t imagine doing what he did without Rebecca by his side. And Charles, Randy, Sue, Gene, Evan, and all the rest. But Rebecca was who he leaned on when he got in trouble, even when she was too busy for him. He needed someone to run the law firms, and she was the candidate he wanted.

The plane landed, and they hugged outside the airport before driving back into the city in their own cars. Carl had a job ahead of him, but before he did that, he had one last task.

He needed an office for his newest hire.

Chapter 58

“In the absence of the gold standard, there is no way to protect savings from confiscation through inflation. Deficit spending is simply a scheme for the ‘hidden’ confiscation of wealth. Gold stands in the way of this insidious process. It stands as a protector of property rights.”

— Alan Greenspan

“Kelly, it’s Carl Thompson again. Have you had a chance to look at the buildings we discussed last week?”

“I did, and I can’t apologize enough. We had no idea the buildings were in such disrepair. The lease prices have been reduced again by thirty percent because the offices need internet lines installed. I don’t know the technical jargon, but that’s what they said. If you lease, you would be responsible for that.”

“And if we made changes, would that be fine?”

Kelly hesitated. “What kind of changes are we talking about? If it’s paint or new carpet, that’s fine. Security systems that don’t change the historic look of the buildings are also okay.” She paused, shuffling through papers on her desk. “We have a form for design changes, but I can’t seem to find it right now. As soon as I do, I’ll send it over to you. Fill that out, and we’ll look it over.”

“And the sales price?”

“You’ll be pleasantly surprised to know that I have that information now. The seller is willing to sell a single building, or all four at once. Three buildings have the same price, but the fourth has a view of the Columbia river on the top floors and is priced higher.”

Carl said nothing. A view was nice, but not something he needed to spend money on right now. He had just shy of two million dollars coming in from the Federal Reserve, so he had some money to play with.

“Buildings 1, 2, and 3 have an asking price of two point one-five million dollars. Building four is three point three-nine-nine million.”

He thought the prices were a bit high considering the cost of renovating the buildings, but he didn’t know commercial real estate very well. And she had said it was the asking price, not the final price. “Thank you, Kelly. That’s very helpful. Let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you.”

He spent the rest of the day calling around about office buildings, but didn’t find anything he liked. They were either too far away from where his businesses were, too expensive for the size, or lacked amenities he thought were important.

Then he slapped his hand on the table. Yes, he wanted the buildings in Vancouver, but that was for the future. Wendy needed a place to work now, and he knew where an opening was located. One that wouldn’t leave her alone working on her own with no one to speak to during the day.

He called Rebecca, unsurprised to get her voicemail. “Rebecca, I’ve been thinking about the spare office you have. If you don’t mind, could I put Wendy there for the foreseeable future? I think it’s better if she’s working in an office with people she knows, and Amy can help her out if needed. Anyway, call me back when you have a chance. Thanks.”

That done, he went out to start his old Honda, which Gene had brought back from the resort while he was in Medford. Just like it always did, it started on the first try. The inside was a bit grubby and the seats were worn, but it was clean. He’d drive it through the car wash before giving it to her, or…

He made a second call, the deal coming together in less than fifteen minutes. He gave his corporate credit card over the phone, and they promised they would have it there tomorrow.

Setting the phone down, Carl grinned. It was time to call Wendy.

* * *

Wendy squealed with delight, unable to hide her excitement. “Seriously?”

Carl smiled into the phone. “Yes, it will be there tomorrow. I won’t spoil the surprise, but I was told on good authority it was something you would like. I assume you have a valid driver’s license?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I believe I have where you’re working figured out, so all that’s left is for you to drive down after your new car arrives and we’ll put you up in a hotel while you search for an apartment. Once you’ve settled in, give me a ring. I know a young man who would be willing to show you around Portland as a favor to me. He runs the courier company, so he knows all the little places most tourists ignore.”

Wendy wanted to scream, to let the world know how happy she was right now. She would be leaving Ocean Shores behind, and once she was set up, her parents could come down and visit her. Not only did she have a new job that paid six times what she made at the resort, her manager had just given her a new car. It was the kind of story that only happened in the movies.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Thompson. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for something like this.”

Carl chuckled. Making other people happy made him happy. “It’s quite all right and please call me Carl. The car will be delivered to the resort because I didn’t know your home address. They’ll call once they’re close and you can head over to meet them.”

Teardrops wobbled on her eyelids before plopping down to the floor in big splats. “Thank you again, Carl. I should be there on Wednesday or Thursday. Do you know which hotel I should stay at?”

Carl didn’t know, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. He’d seen it in the inflight magazine on the return flight home. “Why don’t you stay at the Fairmont? I’ve heard it’s a pretty decent hotel.”

They talked a bit further, but he could tell Wendy was in a hurry to get ready. They said their goodbyes, and Carl hung up. He had a feeling Wendy would be helping his life more than Charles did on a day-to-day basis. She would keep everyone informed of what he was doing, take care of business issues while he was traveling, and that was valuable to everyone he worked with, including himself.

He knew there were emails out there waiting to be answered, but without his laptop he wouldn’t be able to. Unsure of where Gene was right now, he gave him a ring but got the voicemail. He left a short note, asking if Gene wanted to stop by tonight for a few beers after dropping his stuff off. It felt like they hadn’t caught up in a while, and he felt a bit bad about that.

He shouldn’t have.

Gene called back a few minutes later. “Carl, how’re you doing?”

He could hear loud machinery in the background. “Where are you?”

Gene laughed. “I’m in Medford setting up the security perimeter for your mines. And let me be the first to tell you that you hit gold. No one down here can believe it.”

“Already?”

The machinery noises faded as Gene walked a distance away. “Yep. Oh, and Dean is a great guy. He’s all over the drillers to make sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to. And you won’t believe the security gear I bought. An electrified fence was too expensive, so I got lasers that will catch a small bird, along with night-time cameras that will catch anyone trying to sneak up here. You won’t believe how cool they are, they’re—”

Carl didn’t want to hear about the security features Gene had come up with. “Gene! Tell me about the gold.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, they found a vein this morning, and a second vein this afternoon, right where you marked them. I don’t know what it’s worth, but Dean couldn’t believe it.”

Carl had no doubt that was true.

“Where is the gold being taken?” He felt ashamed that he hadn’t thought of this earlier.

“To a separator that the drilling company owns. Dean’s overseeing everything, going back and forth from the mine to the business. After the separator, it goes to the smelter just outside of town. It will be melted down into whatever you want, I guess, because—”

Gene covered the phone as Dean held out his hand for it. “I need to talk to him.” Gene handed it over. He liked Dean, but knew he was outclassed by the other man.

“Carl, it’s Dean. Look, you need to get back down here. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you last week, but there is so much gold coming out of the first two mines that you’re going to have people coming in from everywhere to find more of what you found. Or steal it from you. Probably both. It’ll be another gold rush.”

Carl wanted to. He really did. But he’d just signed a contract with two Federal agencies. Or one, as he didn’t believe the Federal Reserve was truly part of the US Government. Not that he would say that to their face. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. And I can’t tell you why. It’s a long story. Do the best you can, and you have my blessing to hire as many people as you need to keep things under control. Gene can help too.”

Dean cursed as he spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the ground. “I guess that’s fair. I’m already richer than I ever expected, so I suppose I’ll have to pay some of that back by working harder. I’m used to it.”

Carl grinned. “Good man. Call me if you run into trouble, and I’ll help where I can.”

Dean had said his piece, so he handed it back to Gene. “Carl, you still there?”

“I am, Gene. Look, you’re going to have to stay in Medford for a while to help Dean out. Based on what Dean said, people are going to try to dig on land where we own the mineral rights, so you’ll need to keep them out without hurting them.” Carl paused. “You can hurt them, but only a little. Maybe it’s worth buying the electrified fences.”

Gene gasped. “Are you serious?”

Carl groaned. “How expensive are they? And you can take them down when one mines done to move them to another?”

Gene felt giddy inside, and a little lightheaded. He’d always wanted the expensive security gear, but knew it was out of his reach. That might not be true for very much longer. “They’re expensive, but they’ll keep everything out. Between the fences, the lasers, the lights, and the other security systems I’ve ordered, nothing will get through.”

Carl hated giving Gene carte blanche to buy anything he wanted, but he had a feeling he would still come out on top. By a good measure. “Do it. Just promise me you won’t turn the electricity up to the max.”

Gene said in a meek voice, “Can I test it out?”

Carl didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. “How do I get my laptop back from you?”

All Gene heard was his boss not telling him no. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. There’s a key hidden under a flower planter at the back door. It’s taped to the bottom, so if you lift it up you won’t see it.”

“Thanks, Gene. And have fun down there. I’ll try to get down there as soon as I can.” Carl had a feeling that the next few months would the busiest of his life, from chasing down stolen money to ensuring his businesses stayed liquid and moving forward.

Beyond that, he was excited about the future. Whether it was buying new businesses or searching for more gold mines, he was busier, and happier, than he’d been in a while.

He knocked on wood for jinxing himself with that thought. Yes, he missed still Barbara, but she had made her decision. It was time for him to move on.

Interlude 4

“A triple helix DNA sample has arrived!”

The scientist wiped sweat from his brow. He was exhausted. “I’ll start sequencing it right now. Divert power to the engines as soon as I give the all clear and get us out of here.”

Hope blossomed in the weapons station officer for the first time in ages. “Understood.”

The wait was interminable. Whatever the scientist was doing, it was taking too long. Their orbit had decayed so much that it would take all their thrusters at 100 percent sub-space power to pull out, and even then, there were no guarantees. Warping out was possible, but dangerous this near to a star. It would be better to wait until they were back to their original orbit before warping.

“The DNA sample has been sequenced. It has errors, and has been spliced with double helix DNA, but it will work. Get us out of here. Now!”

The weapons officer didn’t need to be asked twice. Pushing the thrusters to full power, the ship groaned as it changed trajectory away from the star. Their shields were holding, but the radiation damage was growing as the weapons officer tried to slingshot them around the star.

The colony would survive. She would will it to survive. After an endless war with another race, their species had lost. This ship held the final memories of a race now thought to be extinct.

The ship shuddered as the engines pushed against the star’s gravity. Cemit after cemit passed, the ship just brushing the photosphere of the star before flying away into space. When they cleared the worst of the danger, the weapons officer warped them ten light years away into a wasteland void of solar systems, civilization, or anything else.

“Engines stop. Power being diverted to the cryo chambers.” The weapons officer set the repair drones to fix the worst of the damage from the decaying orbit and the pass around the sun.

“Excellent. DNA sequencing complete. DNA repairs underway. You should head back as you’ll need to have your DNA strands repaired, too.”

“Understood. Bridge out.”

Epilogue

Carl took the rest of the day off, going for a run early in the afternoon to relieve the stress from earlier this morning. He had his flip phone with him, just in case someone needed him, which was rare for him to think about. For so long he’d been on his own, not a single person needing him besides Gene.

It was awe-inducing how quickly the world could change.

The combination of the afternoon heat and the exertion needed to push himself caused sweat to flow, soaking his shirt and hair. He stopped to stretch in the park, because it was such a nice day out.

He was just about to walk home when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Carl, it’s Barbara. How are you feeling?”

Carl didn’t know whether to be angry at how long it had taken her to call him or grateful that she had done so. Quelling his emotions, he answered, “Good. I just finished a run, and now I’m walking back to the house. How are you, Barbara?”

“Lonely. And angry at you, but I’m working through it. I didn’t understand until you told me that what you could do wasn’t of your own choosing. That was what changed my perspective, although it took a lot of introspection on my part.”

Carl sighed. This was more painful than he had envisioned. He had pictured Barbara running back into his arms when he thought about it late at night. It seemed life didn’t work like that. “I’m glad.”

Barbara gave a faint sigh. “I’m sorry, Carl. Will you forgive me?”

Carl didn’t respond, his face turned up to the sun and his eyes closed. He’d waited so long for this moment, but…

Instead of answering, he asked, “Will you forgive me?”

“For what?”

He sighed. “For putting you in an awkward situation. For questioning your beliefs by doing things that medical science can’t accomplish yet.”

Barbara poured herself a cup of iced tea. “I think so. I’ve already admitted that I don’t understand it, but if you’ve just finishing up with a run after breaking your back, I won’t question it any further, as difficult as it is to accept.”

Carl started walking. “Am I the kind of man you could see yourself spending time with? Knowing what I can do?”

She laughed. It was faint, but he heard it. “I do. But I want to start over. There is too much old pain between us to pick up where we left off. I think we need a fresh start.”

Carl chuckled. “We can start over, but you should know I never stopped loving you. The pain of not having you in my life hurt, but it faded over time. If we start over, I think you’re only going to get a few dates before I make a move.”

Barbara giggled, the sound like water dripping on cymbals. “I can agree to that. Assuming I don’t make the first move myself.”

“Good. May I ask if you are free for dinner tonight? I happen to know an excellent little restaurant downtown called the Proof Reader. What do you say?”

“That sounds wonderful. How about—”

Carl never noticed the silver Lexus pull up behind him. Jenny had been called a lot of things in her life, but one of them was absolutely true. She never gave up until she got what she wanted. Leaning out her window, she shouted, “Carl, is that you?”

Carl turned around, frozen in shock as he saw the woman with blonde hair waving at him from her car. She winked and blew him a kiss.

Barbara asked, “Carl, who is that?” Her voice was probing, hard and far from kind.

Wanting to get away from the Lexus and the woman driving it, Carl said, “Barbara, I need to go. Please meet me at the restaurant and I’ll explain everything. I promise.” Flipping the phone closed before she answered, Carl took off at a sprint. The Lexus roared as Jenny took off after him, but he cut through the park and into an alley before she could follow. From there he ran down small walkways, cut across a two-lane road, and into another alley. He could hear her car in the distance, searching for him.

Slowing to a stop, Carl cried. Well and truly cried like men do when their lives come crashing down around them. He’d been so close to seeing Barbara again, only to have this flaky woman from the school bond drive find him again. Sitting down on a cinder block, he wrapped his arms around his head, his body wracked with sobs. Their relationship was over, he knew it in his gut. And it hurt like a bitch.

Author’s Note

Thank you for taking the time to read this book. This second book in Carl’s adventures was a labor of love, and I had a lot of fun making him suffer, as odd as that sounds.

If you could take time to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it. Whether it is on Amazon or Goodreads, all reviews help me as an author in letting others know this might be a book worth their time too.

I will also add that if you’ve ever thought of doing something creative, whether it is writing or painting or playing an instrument, I encourage you to try it. Or start doing it again if you’ve been away from it for a while. This year hasn’t been easy no matter how you look at it, but spending time creating has made this year a little better than it would have been otherwise.

Thanks again, and I’ll see you again in book 3 of Biomedical Self-Engineering. I write part time while working a full-time job, so please be patient if books aren’t dropping as quickly as you’d like. The sooner my writing income matches my full-time job income, the sooner I’ll be writing full-time.

If you feel like dropping me a line, you can contact me on jonbsvenson@gmail.com.

If you would like to learn about new books being launched, updates on artwork, and other book related information, you can stay in touch by joining my email list here: https://forms.aweber.com/form/13/1509939713.htm

My website is JonSvenson.com which doesn’t get updated as frequently as it probably should.

Author Recommendations

Here are a few author recommendations that I’ve enjoyed reading myself.

Craig Anderson https://www.amazon.com/Craig-Anderson/e/B00D9FXE7O/rson/

His Level Up and Grow Up books are excellent.

Shane Walker https://www.amazon.com/Shane-Walker/e/B07TYFDZG5/

I have thoroughly enjoyed his All Trades books, which are also focused on financial gain.

Seth Ring https://www.amazon.com/Seth-Ring/e/B07M96FBQQ/

His Titan series is a lot of fun.

About The Author

Jon Svenson grew up in the Pacific Northwest just north of Seattle, on one of the many islands in that area. Along the way he’s lived in Portland, Oregon; Bentonville, Arkansas; London, England, Dublin, Ireland and Philadelphia, along with a few other places in between. He trained as an actuary out of college and has been working in that field ever since. He now lives back in the area he grew up in, turning an old cattle farm into an heirloom apple orchard. He writes with his rescue dog Moby sleeping by his side.

Notes

1. Employee stock ownership plan. These plans are a way to minimize corporate tax rates, maximize cash preservation while maintaining competitive employee benefits for employees by giving them shares of the company they work for through a retirement plan.

2. The Texas ratio assesses a bank’s financial position. The ratio is calculated by having non-performing assets divided by the sum of a bank’s tangible common equity and loan loss reserves. The higher the Texas ratio the more financial trouble a bank might be in.

3. Army of Shadows

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Interlude 3
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Interlude 4
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Author Recommendations
- About The Author
- Notes