K.J. arched an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”
Donovan halted a few feet short of me. Good thing too, or I would’ve clocked him. “Do it, Colonel. That’s an order.”
K.J. shook his head and glanced at one of the soldiers. “What’s your name, Officer?”
Sheila Price stuffed a phone into her pocket. “Chief Warrant Officer Sheila Price, sir,” she replied nervously.
“Please take charge of Mr. Donovan, Officer Price.”
Donovan’s face turned bright pink and he whirled toward K.J. “You just made a powerful enemy.”
“Escort him off the premises, Officer Price.” K.J. smiled as she grabbed hold of Donovan. “And don’t bother being gentle about it.”
Price hustled Donovan away from the clearing. Just before the tree line, she turned around and made a picture-taking gesture. Ah, yes. She wanted a picture for her kid. And I would make that happen, if only to avoid Beverly’s wrath.
K.J. looked at me. His face was impassive, but I could see the sorrow in his eyes. The little stunt with Donovan was his way of extending a hand across the aisle, of trying to make up for his earlier distrust. And so I nodded at him. Not because my heart was bursting with forgiveness, but because mistakes happen and I thought he deserved a second chance.
The colonel walked away and Corporal Wendell sidled up to me. “Colonel Jordan has authorized me to update you on our situation. That is, if you’re interested.”
I glanced toward the dump truck where Ben had died. Soldiers were starting to lower his body to the ground. “Is stagflation still on the horizon?”
“No one knows for sure. I do know that Mr. Marvin’s plan involved thousands of transactions through an entity known as the Working Group on Capital Markets. One of his co-conspirators, the former Secretary of the Treasury, is already dead. The other two have been apprehended and taken to a private detention center. On orders from the president, Special Agent Ed Hooper will lead the interrogation while a handpicked team of financial analysts will work to unwind the transactions.”
“I know Ed. He’s a good man.”
“That’s my understanding as well. He seems to think he can untangle this mess. But that won’t solve everything. The risk of debt still looms heavily over this nation.”
That didn’t surprise me. And truthfully, I didn’t expect that risk to vanish anytime soon. Politicians weren’t about to stop spending money. It was like air to them. “What about the gold standard?” I asked.
“I’m not privy to all the details. But as I mentioned, the debt problem remains very real. So, yes, it will go into effect tomorrow morning.” He shuffled his feet. “Colonel Jordan doesn’t expect it to last long. As soon as the transactions are fully unwound, he thinks things will go back to the way they are now.”
“Big surprise.” Graham nodded at Ben’s remains. “Where are they taking him?”
The corporal hesitated. “President Walters wants this whole affair swept under the rug. He thinks it’ll damage people’s faith in the government.”
“Not to mention his reputation,” I said.
“Yeah.” Graham chuckled. “Between this and the Columbus Project, Wade is starting to make Nixon look like a saint.”
The corporal shifted uneasily. “That’s why Ben will supposedly perish in a plane crash later today while en route to an economic conference in Brussels. He’ll be given the works… a lavish state funeral, heartfelt speeches, and presidential condolences.”
“What about his co-conspirators?” I asked.
“My understanding is that they’ll be listed as passengers on the plane as well.” The corporal sighed. “Look, I probably shouldn’t tell you this. But from where I stand, you deserve to know. I overheard K.J. speaking to the president. It sounds like they’ll spend the rest of their lives in a secret prison.”
Graham made a face. “That’s one way to protect Wade’s reputation.”
I didn’t add anything. But for me, the punishment didn’t fit the crime. I would’ve preferred to see them stripped of their resources and dumped into the poorest hellhole on Earth. Let them experience the poverty they tried to inflict on everyone else.
After the briefing, Graham noticed smoke rising out of one of the old dump trucks. He strode over and began shouting orders at the soldiers. At first, they treated him like an annoyance. But a few whispered words from K.J. changed their tune and before long, Graham had them fixing the vehicle.
The rest of the soldiers went back to work and I found myself alone in the clearing. Lifting my gaze, I took in the moonlit sky and twinkling stars and thought about family. I thought about Dad and my grandfather and how I wished they could see what I saw. The sky, the mesa, the trucks, the gold, everything. Of course, Justin would’ve probably just tried to steal the gold again. The thought made me smile.
Reaching into my pocket, I withdrew his journal. Cracking it open, I scanned the last few pages. To my surprise, I learned something interesting. Justin had deliberately timed his vanishing act to coincide with the arriving Army vehicles. He’d done this to have extra witnesses, to make sure as little heat as possible fell upon Milt Stevens. It struck me as an unusual act of kindness and it got me thinking.
I flipped more pages, passing a myriad of entries, until I reached the one for December 14, 1949. But it wasn’t a normal entry. Instead, it was a letter, addressed to President Truman. The handwriting was barely legible and I had to squint to see the ink.
In 1933, FDR ordered us to surrender our earthly treasures and so we did. An unfair bargain — but still a bargain — was struck. Americans would give up their gold and the U.S. government would protect it. But now, that bargain has been broken. This nation’s leaders have plundered that gold without permission and for their own purposes. And that cannot stand.
I arched an eyebrow. Was I reading this right? Had Justin been motivated by something other than greed?
The gold doesn’t belong to us and we won’t keep it. But we will protect it until honesty and transparency prevail. Our demands are as follows. First, you will call a press conference. Second, you will reveal the existence of Capitalist Curtain as well as how you intended to fund it via America’s gold stolen in the dead of night. Third, you will publicly pardon us. You have one week to comply with our demands. Otherwise, we go public.
My brow furrowed. I’d totally misjudged the situation. Justin and his crew hadn’t stolen the gold. They’d preserved it on behalf of the American people. I felt gratified to know this. Not just for me, but for Dad as well.
That got me thinking about Dad. About how he fought so hard to find his own father, to learn the truth about the man. There was a certain heroism to it that, even now, amazed me.
And I thought about my own feelings toward Dad, complicated by his supposed suicide and my many years of abandonment issues. There was a light in the midst of all my dark thoughts now that I knew the truth about his death. Going forward, I could begin to recall the good old days without fury. Perhaps grief, but never fury, at least not toward him.
Even so, I felt pained as I stood there in the clearing, alone with my thoughts. Although I’d made my peace with Dad and his father, it didn’t bring them back to me. I’d never know the sound of Justin’s voice or the touch of his skin. Never again would I see Dad’s face or feel his hand clasped in mine. So much had changed.
And yet, I was still alone.
A commotion rang out from the southern edge of the clearing. I twisted toward the trees, half-expecting to see Donovan in flight and Price tackling him to the ground.
Instead, soldiers stood at attention. Once more, quiet fell over the clearing as President Walters strode into view. Even from a distance, he looked exhausted. His cheeks were drawn and bags hung from his eyes. His posture, normally ramrod straight, reminded me of a limp noodle.