“Do you remember the joke I told in my office?”
“You mean the one where you intimated that I was a whore?” She asked.
“You aren’t the whore, Staci. I am. You represented the millions of dollars offer. And I’m so willing to chase after you that I’d settle for your reputation being worth five dollars in the end. I can’t hurt you like that. You are too dangerous to me, Staci. Leave and have a good life.”
I left hearing the sobs echoing in the room.
The day that I was released I went to the bank and thanked Tom Jenkins for his stewardship in my absence. Janet’s desk had been cleaned out and her copy of the secret bank books were missing as well.
That evening as I was in my apartment loft, I heard the familiar footsteps echoing towards me.
“Hello, Janet,” I said without bothering to verify it was her.
“I just dropped by to give you your key back,” she responded.
“Okay,” I said neutrally.
I waited.
“Mr. Buckman wants to see you at the Country Club tomorrow evening to discuss business with you,” she informed me.
“Okay,” I replied again.
She waited for me to ask questions that I should be asking. Like, how did she know Charles Buckman and why did he chose her as an envoy. I wasn’t inclined to oblige her. Finally, she left.
***************************************
I entered the parking lot of the country club and turned off the ignition to my car and just sat there. I ignored the few passerbys that neared my vehicle as they entered or left the building. Summing up the focus and energy I would need to see me through this meeting; I began a series of deep breaths.
Finally, I left my beat up old Chevy amongst the immaculate Cadillacs, Lexus, and Mercedes and approached the entrance. The receptionist commandeering the entryway was preparing for me to jump through all the hoops of announcing my name and the purpose of my visit. Then wait for an escort since I wasn’t trustworthy to walk the hallway alone.
I strolled by her as though she was invisible and ignored her shocked countenance and protests as they faded away while I continued down the hallway. Civility was not necessarily a priority of my current mindset. I would waste no energy on underlings tonight.
Out of thin air, the country club manager, Thomas Clark appeared besides me matching my pace, stride for stride. “Good evening, Mr. Harrison, what a pleasure it is to see you here again,” he said cordially.
I glanced at him. Thomas Clark had been one of the few protesters that argued against my family ousting from the country club. It was a testament to his talents for overseeing the country club that kept him from losing his job in the general upheaval when Charles Buckman waged war on my family.
“Good evening to you, Mr. Clark, it is nice to see you as well.”
Despite my overall intention, I felt duty bound to acknowledge my appreciation for his efforts. He nodded at me and with as little as was said and what was left unsaid, my companion and I continued down the hallway.
“Mr. Buckman has reserved the study for your meeting tonight,” he reminded me. We neared the study and he appeared on the verge of wanting to say something else to me. I slowed down to give him the opportunity.
With a concerned look on his face, he began, “Mr. Harri… Troy… if I can be of any help to you after tonight…”
I was touched by his generosity.
“Thank you, Thomas, that means a lot to me,” I assured him and we entered the study.
If ever there was a memorial for old school male dominance it was reflected in the atmosphere of the country club’s study. It wasn’t as though women were banned from the room. It was just a matter of history and heritage that they were subtly discouraged from occupying it.
The large room was resplendent with hunting trophies of various game animals mounted on the walls. Pictures of various and sundry expeditions festooned for viewing.
I had a fleeting desire to see if any of the pictures were of any of the trips that my father had gone on. Or had in some imitation of Stalinist Russia was he pronounced a nonperson and the offending photographs removed.
The faint aroma of expensive cigars competed with the hickory and oak logs blazing in the oversized stone fireplace. Lights and shadows danced on the plush leather chairs and sofas. The sheen of the polished mahogany furniture, several of which were crowned with Waterford’s crystal decanters filled with various Scotch or liqueurs awaiting consumption. Shelves filled with rare first editions of literary masterpieces, many of which bore the autographs of the authors. A large globe sat in the corner which showed its antiquity with unchartered portions of the world and the names of forgotten countries and shifting boundaries.
And in the exact center of the room; secure in his dominance of his universe stood my nemesis, Charles Buckman. His son-in-law, my former friend, David Porter hovered close by serving as a satellite. Glaring at me, just one command away from attacking me. He looked at his father-in-law desperate for the signal to destroy me.
I watched the hulking form of Charles Buckman, remembering how intimidated I had been years ago when I courted Staci. All those little demeaning quips and jokes I endured as I studied the chessboard during one of the games he insisted on playing as I waited for Staci to prepare for a date. The inevitable gloating as he captured my King and crooned, “Checkmate,” signifying yet another one of my losses.
“Troy Evans Williams,” he pronounced it as though levying my death sentence. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“Not long enough, Mr. Buckman,” I replied. “You wanted to meet with me, Mr. Buckman. So tell me why I am here, so I can get out of here and go home.”
“Why don’t we have a drink, Troy?”
He called over to the country club manager and asked him to go to the vault and bring him the decanter of Remy Martin Louis XIII Rare Cask, the manager stored for him.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Buckman. What does a bottle go for nowadays?”
“Last time, I bought one, Troy, it set me back about $25, 000.”
“If I recall correctly, Mr. Buckman, the only time you toast with this is when you close a business deal.”
“That’s right, Troy. I’ve closed a very major business deal and I feel like celebrating.”
“You mind if I ask what you purchased?”
“Not at all, Troy,” he commented as he took the decanter from the manager. Thomas Clark excused himself from the room as Charles Buckman poured healthy portions in the three brandy snifters and handed me one. “I just bought out the Camden Bank & Trust.” He looked at me with his soulless eyes waiting for my reaction.
“Strange, I don’t recall agreeing to sell it,” I said calmly.
David had trailed and picked up the third brandy snifter and gave me a look of pure gloating.
“You’ll have to sell, Troy. Monday, the State’s Banking Auditor is going to perform an audit on your bank. A copy of the real books you’ve been hiding from everyone will be presented for their review. After they compare them against the cooked books you have been fooling everybody with, an investigation will be launched. Then it is the simple matter of following the paper trail, Troy,” he gleefully explained.
“How did you find out about the books?” I asked.
“Troy, I’ve always been two steps ahead of you,” he chortled as he swished his brandy snifter to warm the beverage. “I know everything you’ve been doing. I hate to see that you never paid attention to any of the business lessons I taught you so long ago. I know about those ridiculous files you keep on me and my daughter, Staci and my son-in-law, David in your desk drawer. I know about all your business deals, Troy.”
He paused to light a contraband Cuban Cohiba cigar. I continued to wait patiently.
“ALL your business deals,” he emphasized as he puffed a smoke ring. “That includes the Sorrant Oil deal you’ve been working on. And, as I mentioned before, I have access to a copy of your books, Troy. That will make interesting reading across the country once that story gets out.”
“However… There is an alternative solution,” Charles Buckman suggested. “If you cede over the bank to me. The real books will never be reported. There will be no investigation and you will get to walk away, rather than spend the rest of your life in the state pen on embezzlement charges.”
“Why would you want to take over a failing bank, Mr. Buckman? You buy it and you’ll have to service the accrued debt,” I asked puzzled for the reason.
“Just call me sentimental, Troy. I’m remembering how you grew up with Staci. How you used to come over and play with her. Even when I thought you were going to be my son-in-law instead of David. I’m doing it for old times sakes. Think of it as not smearing the name of your mother and father. They wouldn’t approve of their only child being a criminal.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you killed my parents, Mr. Buckman,” I angrily interjected. “You’ve tried to destroy me and my bank. So after everything you’ve done to me and my family, you are going to blackmail me into giving you the bank. What happens to my customers when they can’t make their car payments or house notes?”
An irritated Charles Buckman replied, “What will happen is exactly what will happen to any of my customers that can’t keep up. I will foreclose on them. I am in the business of making money, boy. If I told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times; in nature, the big eats the small. That was a lesson neither you or your father ever understood!”
“I can still make this okay without you, Mr. Buckman. I have a pending deal involving the Sorrant oil reserves. Once that deal is signed, all my financial worries will be over. The money will be put back into the bank and no one will be the wiser. Even if you report me, there will be no way for you to prove it.”
Charles Buckman and David Porter laughed in my face. “You aren’t going to be able to count on the Sorrant oil reserves, Troy. Unbeknownst to you, I have been buying up every share that comes available on the open market. I now own 63% of the stock and that number is climbing! I’ll be richer than Bill Gates and Warren Buffett combined before its over and you’ll be left in the dust, Troy. Checkmate, Troy!”