END of The WORLD
Book Two of
The Death of Money
By D. Thomas Jewett
END of The WORLD
Book Two of
The Death of Money
Copyright (c) 2012, 2016, 2018 by David T. Jewett. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, or except where permitted by law.
Certain public figures – both individuals and corporations – are represented herein. In representing these figures, the author has, wherever possible, shown these figures according to information recorded in public records. Where the author depicts private conversations and/or behavior by public figures, the author hereby states that these depictions are fiction, and are derived solely from the author’s imagination. Aside from those public figures depicted herein, all other characters and corporations are fiction, and are a figment of the author’s imagination – and any resemblance to real people or corporations is coincidental.
DISCLAIMER: The Author hereby declares that he is not an investment advisor; and that nothing contained herein should be construed as investment advice. For investment advice, the reader is encouraged to seek a competent investment advisor.
This book previously published under the title: Darkness Descends, Book Two of the Bankster Chronicles.
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For the people of the world. May they throw off the yoke of slavery, and live as free men and women.
Background from Book 1 (Greed)
Give me control of a nation's money and I care not who makes it's laws.
- - - Mayer Amschel Bauer Rothschild – banker
IN THE YEAR 1695AD, a cartel of bankers approached the King of England with the objective of creating a partnership. The bankers would provide funding to support the King's war with France. And in return, the King would provide ... well, who knows.
We do know that they indeed formed a partnership, each with the objective of gaining ever more power. But something happened that the King did not expect. First, he became dependent on the bankers to fund his wars. And then, he became dependent on the bankers to stabilize the economy. And then, without knowing how it happened, the King’s dependency turned to subservience.
The King learned that the bankers could control the nation’s economy through their paper money. The King desired this power! But the King also learned that the bankers could push England’s economy into depression. And the King feared this – because a depression could drive him from the throne!
How did the bankers acquire this power? The answer is simple: the bankers began issuing paper receipts in lieu of gold or silver deposits. And with the ability to issue paper as ‘money’, they could create economic prosperity or depression as was their whim.
The King watched and learned; but he was powerless to stop the bankers’ manipulation. And so the subservient King did as he was told – he concocted still more war, and he advanced the bankers’ power through his policies.
Fast forward to the 20th century, and we find an international banking cartel with its iron hand closing around the world – a hand that will soon hold the world completely within its clutches.
The Cartel’s tools are simple – merely, the power to conjure paper money from nothing, and government legal tender laws that restrict the use of any money but theirs’.
In Book One of the Death of Money Series (Greed), we met Lord Basil and his ‘Council’ of banksters. Their objective was (and is) world domination, and they stand on the threshold of achieving their objective. We also met Bill Ford and Brandy West – ordinary people who manufacture gold and silver coins – coins they hope will compete with the bankers’ paper money.
The bankers have seen gold and silver as a threat to their power, and they have sent the U.S. government against Bill and Brandy. What happens next – for Bill and Brandy, and for the people of the world – is told here ...
* * * * *
END of the WORLD
Prologue
History is written by the winners.
- - - Napoleon
THE SUN SHONE in a pale silhouette through the cloud cover, casting a diffused light upon the urban landscape, and creating shadowy patches throughout the nooks and crannies along the sidewalk and especially into the alley ways. Yet it was in the overcast light, the wind and the cold, that the shivering, disheveled couple strode quickly along the sidewalk, passing store after store. Tired faces nestled into their warm woolens, they wrapped their arms tightly around their coats, holding them close to their bodies. Shivering, they deftly stepped over and around the trash, the garbage, and the carcasses; all strewn along the pavement.
The stores were lined up in a neat row, like cookie-cutter pastries in a bakery. And yet the security bars had been ripped from their mounts and thrown along the street. Stores were vandalized, if not demolished, and shattered display windows left a blanket of broken glass. Open to the elements, the damage from snow, wind, rain all accumulated until the structures around the windows rotted and sagged.
And the carcasses. Mostly people. Dead from starvation or violence or sickness; they littered the sidewalk and the streets. Unhuman mangled forms – with chunks of flesh chewed out. And in their death throes, they had seen dogs – packs of dogs. And no longer man’s best friend!
And the cars – the dead cars. Sat like hulks in the streets, the windows smashed and the insides gutted. They were left wherever the gasoline ran out – gasoline was now too hard to come by, and too expensive.
Walking abreast, the couple made their way to ...
... medicine, he thought. We need to find some medicine for the old man!
His mind drifting, Tim's thoughts flashed back to the story they had just heard – and to the diaries. And then he stammered, “What do you think of the old man, Squirt? And those diaries! Do you think those diaries really came from this so-called ‘Historical Family’?”
“I d-d-dunno, Tim,” she said with her teeth chattering, “I’d have to look in ‘em to see what they wrote.”
“And how about his story? Do you think it's true?”
“Shit, Tim,” she said as she stepped around another dead hulk, “I dunno. I suppose it’s possible. But some of it's hard to swallow.”
They continued on, their legs carrying them quickly along the sidewalk.
“Like what?”
“Well. Like the notion that some fat old bankers in a smoky room control the world.”
“Yeah? Why is that hard to swallow?”
“Look around, Tim. If they were so powerful, then why is the world so totally devastated? Where's the benefit to 'em? Or for that matter, anyone?”
“Point taken.”
“It begs the question,” Squirt continued, “that if the bankers are so damn powerful, then what went wrong? How did this happen?”
“I don't know,” Tim sighed as he maintained his stride. “Maybe the old man will tell us ...”
“And then how the fat old men were stealing all the gold and selling fake gold bars into the market,” Squirt continued.
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah. This notion that the bankers are waging war against small mints, just because they manufacture gold and silver coins. What's that all about?”
“You mean how they raided the Liberty Dollar mint? And how they threatened Bill and Brandy and their Freedom Money business?”
<
br /> “Yeah. That's what I mean,” she said as she tripped over debris. She reached out her right arm and braced herself against the building.
“I dunno, Squirt. But it seems logical that the bankers would clamp down on gold and silver. After all, gold is a clear threat to their paper money.” Tim stopped talking as he looked down, stepping around a clump of carcass. “After all, why would anyone use worthless paper when they could use gold? Or silver? ... So I think –”
“Tim!” Squirt shouted urgently as she stopped in her tracks.
Tim looked up, seeing all at once they were surrounded. “What the –”
Tim's steal gray eyes hardened as he took in the rag-tag group of near-humans around them. The leader stood on the sidewalk, about twenty feet in front of them. He was accompanied by 5 or 6 cronies – and they encircled the two, also about 20 feet distant. To their right, the wall of a building gave scant measure of protection.
The leader wore a grimy tattered coat and a long disheveled mop of greasy hair. Brandishing a knife, he sneered as he mentally gutted his prey. “Well guys,” he said. “What have we here?”
Tim glanced to his left, seeing a grime-laden girl with greasy hair and a vacant stare. Tim already had his hand in his pocket; he drew his pistol and held it up to eye level, pointing it at the leader.
The leader let out a loud cackle and grinned. “Shit,” he sneered. “There's no fuckin' ammo in this town!”
Tim spoke between thin clenched lips. “What do you want?
“All you got,” the leader declared.
On hearing those words, Tim pulled the trigger – bang – and watched blood spurt out of the leader's chest. The man wobbled and began to fall. But even before the man hit the ground – and he hit it fast – his followers were scattering like cockroaches in the light of day!
Tim and Squirt reacted even faster, darting quickly into a nearby alley. They crouched behind the corner of a red-brick wall, watching for any sign of movement.
Squirt whispered into Tim's ear. “Do you think we oughtta search 'im?”
Tim turned his head toward her and grimaced. “The leader? It's too exposed. Too dangerous!” He paused and looked at his hand – it was shaking. “Damn! I think we need to take the back-alleys to the apartment. No more walking the streets, at least not in daylight!”
His soft round jaw and thin lips nonetheless tightened as he scanned the area. “Let's go,” he ordered.
They moved with stealth, merging deeper into the shadows of the alley. Silently now, and with Squirt keeping a vigilance to the rear, they weaved in and out of alleys and across streets, until they finally emerged near an intersection. They darted past a mangled street sign – 175th Street – and turned the corner. Grabbing a stair railing, they scampered up a flight of steps leading to a large old brick house.
They opened the door and stepped into a dark, cold hallway. Stairs led up to second floor apartments, and doors led off to both the left and right. “C'mon,” Tim said. He unlocked the apartment door just to the left of the front entrance. He turned the door knob – the door opened.
They stepped inside and were greeted with the apartment as they left it. The brown leather sofa and recliner were positioned in front of a red-brick fireplace. But there were open slots on either side of the sofa, places where end tables would normally be situated. Damn! I hated to lose that furniture, but we needed the wood for a fire!
Off to the right was the door to the kitchen, and a short hallway straight ahead led to the bathroom and bedroom.
“Where's the meds?”
“In here,” Tim gestured as he moved toward the bathroom. “I'll get 'em.”
Tim walked into the bathroom and soon emerged with a bottle in hand. He put the bottle in his coat pocket.
“You think maybe we can trade the pills for some food?”
“I have no doubt,” Tim replied. “Let's go.”
They stepped out of the apartment and Tim bent over to lock the door. He heard a satisfying Click! as the key turned. He looked at his hand – still shaking. How many more will I have to kill? He mused.
They walked out of the apartment house and retraced their steps.
* * *
Soon, they arrived back at the old man's lair ...
“I'm sure glad you got them pills,” the old man said. “My ankle – it's swelling up even more!”
“Keep it propped up,” Squirt commanded.
Tim handed the old man a couple of pills and a glass of water. “Take these.”
“How long before the water bag is cold enough?”
“It should be ready,” Squirt replied. “I'll get it.” And within a few minutes, Squirt had the bag positioned across the old man's ankle.
The old man smiled. “Ahhh! That there feels better.” He raised his hand and said, “And that's truth!”
Tim and Squirt smiled at his pronouncement. They both took seats, and then Squirt gestured toward the boxes and said, “So tell us old man, what about them diaries? Huh?”
“What about ‘em?” The old man countered.
“This one, for instance.” Tim picked up a book with a dull red cover. He flipped it over in his hand and then opened it, paging through it as he listened.
“Ow. That! That’s Anthony Renton’s rendering of the great depression. Where the bankers created a huge bubble and then they let it pop. And then they came riding in on their white horses and pumped more money into the economy.”
“But what about the lot of ‘em – all these other books? Where’d they come from? Who wrote ‘em?”
Jim took a deep breath and said, “When the Chespik incident happened, William Martin recorded it in his diary – and when he died, he gave the diary to his son.” The old man sniffed and then said, “While Colin was working at the goldsmith’s place – Nathan Goldman I think his name was – he also wrote down the events that happened during that era. And he gave both diaries to his son, Shaun; with Shaun’s promise that he would continue to record the bankers’ deeds while he was alive, and then hand all the diaries down to his firstborn.”
“That was the beginning of – let’s say – a Fellowship of Historians. But not just ‘regular’ historians. No – this was to be a family that would record the history of the bankers as it really happened!”
“But why did they do that? Why not leave the task to historians?”
“Why? Because even at that point in time, Shaun and his clan could see the money changers re-writing history. Hell, hardly anyone had heard of the Chespik incident; and hardly anyone realized what was going on in England with the goldsmiths’ cartel and the destruction of the economy!”
“And they were right, ‘cause we’ve seen very little in history that said anything bad about bankers.”
“So why is it that these historians have not come forward?”
“We have. But when someone important speaks out, they’re assassinated. Just look at –”
“We?” Tim interrupted. “Who’s ‘we’?”
The old man looked at Tim with a toothless grin. And then he continued, “Hell. Just look at Andrew Jackson – they tried to assassinate him three times!”
“Are you part of this Fellowship?”
The grizzled old man cast a shrewd eye on Tim. And then from the corner of his mouth, he said, “Heh!”
“So, what about this Fellowship?” Tim asked.
“Do you want to hear about the Fellowship? Or continue with the story of this damn collapse?”
“Hey, old man. I want to hear both.” And then Tim grinned and said, “Let’s talk about the collapse. We can get to the diaries later.”
“Whatever you say,” the old man replied. He took a deep breath and continued speaking. “The next big crisis began with the investment banks and the mortgage backed securities. Take Bear Stearns for example ...”
* * * * *
Episode 4 – Endgame
We have, in this country, one of the most corrupt institutions the world has ever known. I ref
er to the Federal Reserve Board. This evil institution has impoverished the people of the United States and has practically bankrupted our government. It has done this through the corrupt practices of the moneyed vultures who control it.
- - - Congressman Louis T. McFadden in 1932
Part 1 – Crisis
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
Chapter 1 – Circa 2007/2008
Bear Stearns Hedge Funds[1] Collapse.
JULY 31, 2007 INTERNATIONAL PRESS (INP) – Two hedge funds managed by Bear Stearns have reportedly filed for Chapter 15 bankruptcy protection. Bear Stearns had previously wound down the funds and liquidated all of its holdings.
In a letter sent to investors on July 17, 2007, Bear Stearns Asset Management reported that its Bear Stearns High-Grade Structured Credit Fund had lost more than 90% of its value, while the Bear Stearns High-Grade Structured Credit Enhanced Leveraged Fund had lost virtually all of its investor capital. The larger Structured Credit Fund had around $1 billion, while the Enhanced Leveraged Fund, which was less than a year old, had nearly $600 million in investor capital.
Amid losses in its portfolio, the Bear Stearns High-Grade Structured Credit Fund had received a $1.6 billion bailout from Bear Stearns. The bailout helped the fund meet its margin calls[2] and other obligations until such time as its positions are liquidated. As of July 31, 2007, all of the funds' positions are liquidated.
* * * * *
JOSHUA LINDT was two levels removed from the CEO – an unusually high position for a mere commodities trader. He had been at AB Jorday for – what was it – maybe fourteen years? But they liked how he reigned over the price of gold, and they paid him handsomely for it. And he had no aspirations beyond the money they lavished on him – for with his wealth, he could always have his fill of young hot women.
End of the World Page 1