From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 29, Good Stock

This is episode twenty-nine of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.  

Good Stock

When Tom returned, he met with Gene Francis at his office. He informed Gene of the investment. Gene was furious. And fuel was added to his flaming disgust when Tom refused to tell him where the stock tip came from. He made up a story that he had found the twenty-five thousand dollars behind a freezer in the mud room.

The week ended. Saturday morning and afternoon were occupied by a farm implement show in Ft. Wayne, sponsored by International Harvester. Then it was back home.

Not only did Tom sit and wait, he also forgot. Between the mundane winter chores around the farm, he spent a couple of days reading. Reading was his great distraction. From time to time, Edgar and the mild weather of Costa Rica and warm Pacific breezes fancied his imagination. However, it was only in passing.

‘Maybe I should visit Edgar,” Tom thought. ‘Nah, there would be questions and denials. Edgar and I are like vinegar and oil. We will never mix well. I hate seeing him waste his life. He has dreamed, planned, studied, and worked to get into a good law school. More than me, he must be feeling his life is a waste. Maybe I can do something for him.”

‘I wonder how Debbie is getting along in college. I hope our futures are set—together. I can’t keep secret forever; the pod in my cornfield. Maybe Gordon will come back someday, soon, and take it away.”

Tom laid down his book and walked into the kitchen. He warmed a can of tomato soup and fixed a ham salad sandwich. He sat at the kitchen table. Halfway through the meal, the phone rang. 

He picked up the wall phone extension in the kitchen. “Hello.”

“Tom, this is Gene. I need to see you in my office immediately.”

“Sure, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Tom poured the remainder of the soup down the drain. He wrapped the uneaten portion of the sandwich in a napkin. He slung on his coat, and he and the sandwich headed for the truck. He let the truck warm up for a minute while eating, taking a couple of bites from the sandwich. Then he backed from the drive and drove toward Gene’s office.

‘I wonder what’s up?” He thought. “Gene sounded, well, I’m not sure how he sounded. I’ve never heard him sound like that before. I can’t tell whether he’s excited or downright depressed. There’s probably some problem with the trust. I give him the advice Brain gave me: sit and wait.’

‘Gene has a lot of responsibility, and it’s probably getting to him. I guess that’s why you shouldn’t have friends as clients. It gets personal. He probably has a big decision to make and wants to give me a heads up.’

Depressing and terrible thoughts about the farm pestered Tom. He even wondered if Gene had received information about Edgar, and maybe something had happened to him. 

Tom arrived, parked his truck, and walked into the office. 

“Go on in,” Gene’s secretary said, “Mr. Francis is waiting for you.”

Tom walked in and closed the door.

“Have a seat, Tom,” Gene said.

Tom sat in a chair in front of Gene’s desk.

“What’s going on, Mr. Francis?”

“Have you been watching the stock market?” Gene asked.

“No, I was told to sit and wait. Have the stocks taken a dip?”

“What’s the name of that company, again?” Gene said.

“Braxton Industrial Coating.”

“Again, how much did you pay per share?” Gene asked.

“I paid a dollar per share.”

Gene picked up a small slip of paper. He held it up to read. “Right now it’s at five dollars and twenty-five cents per share.”

“I should probably contact a broker and sell,” Tom said calmly.

“How did you know?” Gene said.

“Know what?”

“How did you know about a stock that would jump four times the purchase price?” Gene said.

“One can never be sure.”

“You’re saying out of all the companies on the stock exchange, you picked the biggest winner,” Gene said.

“I suppose beginner’s luck.”

Gene stared at Tom.

“I don’t think you’re buying that, are you?””

“I don’t know what to believe,” Gene said.

“I overheard a couple of guys talking at that farm implement show in Ft. Wayne a couple of days ago.”

“And based on a couple of guys just talking, you invested twenty-five thousand?” Gene said.

“That’s about it.”

“Did you hear anything else?” Gene asked.

“If you mean any other stock tips, no, that was about it.”

Gene picked up the phone and pushed a few numbers. “Yeah, this is Gene Francis. Can you tell me what Braxton Coating is at now?” 

Gene waited a moment. “OK, thanks.”

Gene set the phone down. He looked at Tom and grinned. “It’s up another fifty-five cents.”

“On what information did you buy?” Gene asked.

“The company was about to go under. There were some anxious investors who were willing to lose a lot rather than all. They were certain that Braxton could not hold out until a big contract came along. When I talked to Braxton himself, he was unaware of the contract coming his way.”

“Are you holding on to the stock for a while?” Gene asked.

“Well,” Tom smiled, “the market is volatile. And before it swings in the other direction, I’d like to sell off and pay the farm’s debt.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Gene said. “I’d sure sleep better.”

“I figured you would,” Tom said. “And me too.”

From Here To 1137 AD: Episode 28, Taking Stock

This is episode twenty-eight of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available onAmazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Taking Stock

Fifteen miles south of Detroit, Tom turned his car into a paved parking lot and parked in front of a gray metal building. It was about half the size of a football field. A smaller building was attached to the front. Tom assumed the small building was the office area. Windows were on the front and two exposed sides.

From the front door, Tom walked into the lobby carrying a briefcase. Tom said a polite good morning to a young woman behind a desk, dressed in casual attire.  

“Can I help you?” she asked as if bothered.

“I don’t have an appointment,” Tom said, “but it is vital that I see Willard Braxton immediately.”

“Mr. Braxton is busy at the moment,” she said. “Perhaps I can set up an appointment. Let’s start with, what is your name?”

“Let’s start with this,” Tom said loudly, “this company is about to go belly-up, and I’m willing to help it stay afloat.”

“Not so loud,” she whispered. 

“I want to make sure Mr. Braxton hears me,” Tom said loudly.

A door opened to the side of the lobby. A man stepped out.

“I’m Willard Braxton, and if you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

“Sorry for the rudeness, Mr. Braxton,” Tom said. “All I need is one minute. In your office or out here, I don’t care.”

“A minute,” Braxton agreed.

Tom gestured with his hand; toward the office or in the lobby?

Braxton tossed his head toward the office. They walked into Braxton’s office. 

“Don’t bother to sit,” Braxton said. “You’ll only be here for a minute.”

Tom placed the briefcase on the table. He unsnapped and opened it. As Braxton was sitting down behind his desk, Tom swiveled the briefcase around so that the twenty-five thousand dollars could be seen.

Braxton’s eyes darted several times from the money to Tom.

“What’s going on?” Braxton said.

“Do you mind if I close your door?” Tom asked.

Braxton stood speechless.

“Do you mind— the door?” Tom reminded.

“Sit,” Braxton said nervously, “I’ll get the door.”

Braxton shut the door and returned to the chair behind his desk.

“My name is Tomas Bales. I’m going to keep this short because there is not a lot of time.”

“What do you mean?” Braxton asked.

“Shortly, you will be getting a phone call informing you that you will have an hour to prepare for your electricity to be shut off.”

“How do you know that?” Braxton asked.

“Rather than answering pointless questions of me, ask yourself, does that sound about right?”

Braxton lifted his thumbs and nodded his head. “I thought it might come at the end of the week.”

“There’s twenty-five thousand dollars here. I  suggest you take five thousand and pay the electric bill immediately. Never mind a check. Nothing speaks louder than cash.”

“This isn’t a gift, is it?” Braxton said with an air of suspicion. 

“In a way, it is. Consider it a lifeline. The rest of the money is for things like payroll.”

“What in return?” Braxton asked.

“How many shares of stock does this company have? Wait, I know, so don’t lie to me.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Braxton said. 

“What’s their value, each—the last time you checked?”

“Less than a dollar each,” Braxton said regrettably. 

“I understand. Times are tough.”

“Do you want to buy some shares? Is that why you’re here?” Braxton asked. 

“The sooner, the better. And let’s make this easy: twenty-five thousand shares for twenty-five thousand dollars. Does that sound fair?”

“You want my shares?” Braxton asked.

“No. I happen to know what this company means to you. I understand that sort of thing. I also know investors are willing to sell their shares at nearly any price just to get out.”

“How do you know all of this?” Braxton asked.

“Obviously, it’s not insider information. We’ve never met. The gal out front was trying to give me the bum’s rush. This is my first time in Michigan. I’ve never purchased stock before. So,” Tom chuckled, “what does that leave? Let me put it this way, I got my information from a friend of a friend, of a friend. Let’s leave it at that.”

Braxton sat motionless. It was as if he was waiting for someone to say, ‘jokes on you.’

“What’s the next move?” Tom asked.

“We go to my lawyer’s office,” Braxton said as if in a trance.

Tom cocked his head and smiled, as if a teacher and Braxton had given the wrong answers. “First, pay the power bill.”

“Yes, of course,” Braxton said. 

“Give me the address of your lawyer. I’ll meet you there. But before that, is there someplace where I can get breakfast? I’m starved.”

Braxton sat up straight in his chair as if coming out of a trance. “A mile down the road on your left is a restaurant.” He grabbed a pen and a slip of paper. He wrote on it. He handed the paper to Tom. “My lawyer's address, can you be there in an hour?”

Tom stood and shook Braxton’s hand. “See you in an hour.”

After a good breakfast at the restaurant suggested by Braxton, Tom found his way to Braxton’s lawyer’s office. The office was located in a one-time two-story Cape Cod-style home. There were two other lawyers in the firm. 

Braxton met Tom at the door, and they walked directly to his lawyer’s office. The entire meeting lasted for an hour. It appeared obvious to Tom that Braxton’s lawyer advised him to say little and ask no questions. Tom supposed the cash did all the talking.”

Tom slid back into his car and drove back to the farm. As soon as he arrived, he walked out to the pod. He entered and sat in the lounge. 

He let out a huge sigh. “Now what, Brain?”

“I’m going to tell you exactly what a broker might tell you,” Brain replied.

“And that is?”

“Sit and wait,” Brain said. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 27, Brain Storm

 This is episode twenty-seven of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Brain Storm

Tom sipped his coffee and thought about Edgar’s situation. At any time, he expected one or more of Grasso’s men might be knocking on the door. They’d want Grasso’s money, Edgar, Howton, and Plummer. 

“Tom,” Brain said.

“Yes.”

“I think I have something that may work for you,” Brain said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Can you make it to Detroit tomorrow morning?” Brain asked. 

“That’s a silly question. I can be there in minutes using the pod.”

“I am considering your availability, not your ability,” Brain said. “And I considered that it might be advisable to drive your car.”

“I can make it in two hours. I can have the cattle fed by 6:00. I’m free for the day. Give me half an hour to clean up. I can be there between 8:30 and 9:00, easy. ”

“That is the easy part,” Brain said.

“What’s the hard part?”

“Raising money,” Brain replied.

“How much money?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” Brain said.

“Tell me more.”

“There is a plastic coating company a couple of miles south of Detroit,” Brain said. “They are in deep trouble. However, unknown to the owner of the company, it is about to be awarded a contract that will make him rich.”

“How do I figure in on this?”

“Their electricity is about to be shut off, and they can’t make their payroll. Once that happens, the company that was about to award them the contract will award it to someone else. If you could step in and purchase twenty-five thousand dollars of their stock, it would yield a tidy sum for you.”

“How much is tidy?”

“Perhaps I have misspoken,” Brain said. “I was trying to impress you with colloquial vernacular.”

“I’m not trying to question your desire to fit in, but tidy could mean a lot or minimal—at least from my colloquial use.”

“I have performed several analyses,” Brain said. “There is no real reading of the future, but I am very sure of a favorable outcome.”

“Don’t beat around the bush. What are you saying, ten or twenty percent on the investment? I suppose a few thousand would help, but that’s band-aid over a gushing wound.”

“Do you want to hear what the tidy sum is or not?” Brain said.

“No reason to get testy. Let’s hear it.”

“At the least, it could double in a day,” Brain said.

“Well, now we’re talking some real money.”

“Keep in mind that the stock market is volatile and unpredictable,” Brain said.

“I’m sure you have been reading some brochures from brokers. You are beginning to sound like one.”

“It is a part of my research,” Brain said. “It sometimes puts a client at ease, and not to over-speculate.”

“And it covers the brokers’ backside at the same time.”

“That, too,” Brain said. 

“Okay, I’m in. Now, how do we get twenty-five thousand dollars?”

“For me, that is no problem,” Brain said. “You are the one with the moral restrictions. You could go to a bank and ask for a ninety-day short-term loan. And before we speculate more on that, there is zero chance of getting such a loan without the administrator of the trust cosigning for the loan. Let’s say that he does, and you pay back the loan in full. Your lawyer will want to know how you were able to achieve the rapid payback and the money to keep the farm going.”

“I have a feeling there are other choices. Let’s get to the one you think is best.”

“I have one that will cause as little attention as possible,” Brain said. “And may not conflict with your moral precepts. I can get the money from any number of sources. The money can be returned before anyone knows it is missing. Thus, you will be able to keep a degree of anonymity, ease your own conscience, and be able to provide needed resources to keep the farm from being sold in the spring.”

“What if Gene asked where I found the money?”

“That’s easy,” Brain said. “Tell him you found the money. Tom, there has to be some degree of deception involved. You have already done so. You are not deceiving yourself to selfishly advance yourself. It has been to cover the purpose for which you have been selected. You don’t have to question me; I’ve analyzed volumes of books on ethics. You are on solid moral ground.” 

Tom stared out the front window of the pod. It had a clear view of the barn, silo, granaries, garage, and house. His hand rested on his knee. His middle finger tapped his knee. He remembered the day he and his dad dug up an old field drain. His dad told him how he heard stories of ancestors who dug the trenches by hand to drain the fields. ‘The reason these fields aren’t a swamp today is because somebody did the work before you. They didn’t do it for someone in the future to fritter it away.’

“Get me the money,” Tom said resolutely. “But make sure you don’t take it from a pension fund or charity.”

“Frankie Grasso has a rival in Queens,” Brain said. “He keeps a stash of money in the basement of his lawyer’s office. Look over at the Instaport.”

Tom turned to the Instaport. There was a stack of money on its floor.