End of the World

by D Thomas Jewett

  He paused as he grasped his pen and notepad.

  “Tom, how are the bailouts going?”

  “They're going well,” Tom replied in his soft measured voice. “As we have for the last three years, we're continuing to see a lot of demand for this program.”

  “Oh? What kind of demand have you seen?”

  “So far, ah – we have about twenty-seven thousand loans to various institutions and other entities, much of which is off the books and at forever zero interest. Of course, as we make these loans, we continue to exact concessions from the recipients.”

  “Forever?”

  “Oh,” Tom replied. “That's the phrase my chief of staff coined for loans that are granted with no time limit.”

  “I see,” Ethan's manner was brusque. “How are food prices? Are they going up as we anticipated?”[42]

  “Yes. We're seeing, ah – a dramatic rise in prices across the globe. This should, I believe, provide the needed incentive for revolution and revolt in a number of countries.” Turin paused for a few seconds and then continued. “We're also beginning to see the higher food prices affect the first and second-world countries. Food and energy combined are causing the economy to slow down still more from its most recent anemic pace. I would expect to see rioting around the world according to the schedule we previously set forth.”

  “Great!” Chairman Cohan didn't try to hold back his excitement. “We'll ride in on our white horses and keep interest rates at zero. And the media will continue to push our low interest rates as the solution for economic recovery. Hell, we'll all look like heroes!”

  George and Tom looked at each other and grinned.

  Ethan turned his attention to George. “What's going on in Congress?”

  George’s smile turned to a grimace. “Shit,” he spat while shaking his head. “They're still dicking around with that audit the fed bill. But now they've come up with some other shit. They call it the too-big-to-fail bill.

  Ethan's eyes squinted as furrows lined his forehead. “What's this too-big-to-fail crap?”

  “It's a travesty, that's what it is. They've put this forward as a means of dismantling the too big to fail banks. You know, like Citi, Bank of America –”

  Ethan interrupted him. “– Yeah, I know. I heard something like this might come up.”

  The conversation paused as they pondered this new information.

  “So what should we do about it?” Ethan's question was rhetorical, but yet it wasn't. “George? What are you going to do about it?”

  “I'll kill it, damn it!” George seemed kind of testy. “I've got a couple of Senators that will kill it. I'll give 'em a call!”

  “What do you want to do about the audit the fed bill?' Ethan replied. Can you get that killed too?”

  “I dunno, Ethan. Audit the fed has a lot of votes behind it. It's super popular!”

  “Hmmm.” Ethan rubbed his chin. “I heard that Sanders has a one-time fed audit bill. Why don't you see if you can get that substituted for that damn Ron Paul audit bill?”[43]

  “Okay. Okay. I'll see what I can do!”

  Ethan continued. “We shouldn't really fear the audit bill. Especially since it should help us to kill the dollar. I just don't want to reveal all we've done for the last hundred years – we've been into some really bad shit over that time.”

  Tom had been quiet, his elbows resting on the table and his hands touching at the fingertips. “If the public were to learn about our, ah – internal policies, especially with regard to world war one and two, and the great depression, the world might never again be safe for, ah – people of our profession.”

  Tom continued in his patient manner. “And of course, ah – we cannot allow anyone to break up our largest financial institutions, so we must stop that bill at any cost.”

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile, in Senator Bannister's office ...

  “So tell me, Walt. What do you think about this too big to fail bill? Do you think I should vote for it?”

  Walter Grant, Senator Bannister's Chief of Staff, twitched his nose as he began speaking. “Absolutely, Senator. The entire staff is in agreement – that propping up the 'too big to fail' banks have hurt working people far worse than were these banks allowed to fail. This is the right thing to do, Senator.”

  The Senator nodded his understanding. And then he fixed his gaze on Sheryl. “You're always right-on the nose when it comes to appraising the media response. So, how will this look in the media?”

  Sheryl blushed as she readied her reply. “Thank you, sir.” She paused and then continued. “Well sir, voting for this bill is very popular among the people. Our polling shows that people favor the bill by 10 to 1. And progressives are far more likely to be in favor than are conservatives. Sir, this indicates that a vote against it could make it more difficult for you in your next election; mostly because your base of support could see you as selling them out.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Now, Walt what else do we need to talk about?”

  “Nothing else, Senator. This pretty much covers my list.” Walter paused in thought, and then asked. “Do you have anything else for us?”

  “No. Nothing else,” the Senator shook his head. And then by way of adjourning the meeting, he put the palms of his hands together and said, “Folks, that's all. I hope you all have a great day.”

  The staff began filing out of his office.

  As Sheryl was walking out, she heard the Senator's secretary speaking over the intercom. “Sir, your 9:00 am appointment is here to see you, ah – Mr. Elsbach.”

  “Please show him in,” the Senator replied.

  * * *

  And on the trading floor ...

  “Hey!” Tim looked over at Lori. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

  Lori turned away from her workstation and looked at Tim. “Nope. I'm gonna head back to my apartment, have a little dinner, and pour me a stiff drink of scotch.” And then she wrinkled her nose into a smile and said, “Why? What's up?”

  “Oh nothin'.” Tim replied. “I was just thinking maybe we could go out for dinner after today's grind.”

  “I think you can talk me into that. Where do you want to go?”

  “How about that new place on the other side of Times Square. I think they call it, Shelby’s?”

  “Hmmm. That sounds nice,” she purred. And then she looked back at her workstation. “Oh no! Not again!”

  “What? What's up?” Tim exclaimed, turning back to his computer.

  “Just a minute. I'm checking.”

  “Checking what?”

  “Yep. It's just what I thought. The buy orders have just about dried up. They're down to a trickle!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Check out the order queue. Look at how it's changed!”

  Tim frantically punched some keys on his keyboard. And then he shouted, “Oh my God – look at all the sell orders – the market’s dropping like a stone!”

  And indeed the market was dropping rapidly as Tim looked on. And all he could do was handle the next sell order in his queue, for there were no forthcoming orders to buy.

  And then he heard the standard refrain emanating from the bedlam of noise, “... I'm sorry sir, but that’s the best price I can get. No sir – there’re no buyers, sir.”

  Tim glanced over at Ross. Chubby Ross' face had an ashen color. He was peering through his bifocal glasses as he talked with a client over his headset. Further down the aisle, Liz – Elizabeth Downey – was hunched over her keyboard. Her shoulders so tight they were riding up near her ears. Tim knew that she didn't like this job – she only did it because she was a single Mom raising kids on her own.

  And the market continued its free-fall – now down 600 points in just a matter of minutes!

  Tim scanned the trading floor. He could smell fear emanating from every crevice of the room. There were NO SMOKING signs sprinkled throughout, and yet a couple of traders lit up and were nervously dragging on their cigarettes. The
manager sat behind the glass wall of his office, watching the bedlam on the trading floor. Tight-lipped, he said nothing.

  Tim felt 'wet' under his armpits. I guess its got me more than I'd like to think! It was as though he were an observer in a submarine, sinking deeper and deeper; watching as the depth gauge approached the danger zone, and waiting for the hull to collapse under the enormous pressure.

  But the traders’ eyes were focused on the ticker as it streamed symbols across the TV monitor. Held in a vise-grip of fear, the eyes watched as the market continued its downward spiral. Now down 800 on the day, the market was dropping with no resistance – as though there was no air in the ballast to halt the submarine's descent.

  Tim thought about his own predicament. He was young, and he'd not accumulated many stocks. But he was nonetheless concerned about losing his hard-earned money in this casino they called a stock market. I'll make it back, he reflected. And yet, he felt a knot tightening in his gut.

  He glanced at the ticker, now down 920 on the day! And like everyone else, he was holding his breath.

  He continued to eye the ticker as the symbols flashed across the screen. And as the symbols moved by, he noticed a barely perceptible change – as though the numbers might be converging toward a stable level. As he continued to watch, the descent moved slower, ... then slowing even more.

  ... until the index began to climb. Ever so slowly it moved higher. And higher. ... The submarine was indeed ascending.

  Another two hundred points up, and one of the traders stood up from his seat, shouting “go – man – go!” And the crowd of traders began to clap. Louder, and louder. And the submarine continued to rise!

  And as it climbed higher, people began to breathe. And then their breathing became deeper, fuller, as their skin color shifted from the paleness of death to living tissue. Too, the energy on the trading floor shifted, as though a burden were lifted from the traders’ shoulders and replaced with a lightness in the air.

  At the market close, the index was down about 350 points. And everyone counted their blessings ...

  * * *

  Federal Reserve Chairman Cohan leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk. Putting his head back against the head rest, he drew from his cigar, inhaling deeply, and then he exhaled into the air. Ah yes! Cuba does indeed make a fine cigar.

  The intercom buzzed. “Yes, Carol.”

  “Yes sir. Your four o'clock conference is about to begin. I have Secretary Tamblin and New York Fed President Turin waiting for you to join them on the telephone bridge.”

  “Thank you, Carol.”

  Ethan pressed the speaker button on his telephone. “Hello gentlemen. I hope to find you are both doing well?”

  “I'm doing great!” George's robust voice came across the line.

  “As am I,” Tom said. “How are you doing, Ethan?”

  “I'm okay – okay,” Ethan replied. “But before we get started, maybe one of you might know something about the crash and rebound on the stock exchange?”

  The telephone line went silent.

  Finally, George's curiously reserved voice came across the line. “I know something about it.”

  “Oh?” Ethan prompted. “Would you care to enlighten us?”

  “Sure.” George paused, and then continued. “The Senate is getting ready to vote on the too big to fail bill. I wanted to make sure they would vote it down, so I called Matthew at our computerized trading partner.” Ethan could almost hear George smile. “He put a hold on all his buy orders so that only sell orders were going through. He did it only for about ten minutes or so, but then all the other computerized trading systems detected it and they all began selling at once too.” George chuckled across the wire. “So, that's what happens when buy orders are withheld and the computers take over – we get a thousand point crash in less than a half hour. They tell me the trading floor went into a panic!”

  “So, did it work? Did the Senate vote down the too big to fail bill?”

  “They're getting ready to vote on it now. But the word I got is that it won't pass; it seems that plenty of U.S. Senators got the message.” George chuckled.

  Ethan was beaming. “That's really nice work, George.”

  Tom's soft voice came across. “Yes, George, that was really cool.”

  “So. Moving on,” Ethan continued. Tom? How’s our lending program to the rebels in Egypt, Libya, and all those other two bit countries?”

  “Fine, Ethan. Fine. The loans are doing well; and I've gotten word that they’re using the money to buy weapons and build the organization for their revolutions. They tell me the people are already angry because the U.S. has kept the people down for so long.”

  “Good! With the higher food prices and a little incitement, there should be plenty of motivation for the people to revolt over there.” Ethan smiled as he drew deeply from his cigar.

  “One more thing I wanted to cover is the bailout of Europe. It looks like we'll need to loan a few trillion over there. I see Greece as being a lynch pin in this ...”

  * * *

  Mark cut a bit of his steak. He raised his head and looked over at Sheryl, watching as she picked at her food.

  Her voice was sullen as she spoke. “Thanks for inviting me out to dinner.”

  “You're welcome. But why so gloomy?”

  “I dunno. I just am,” she replied.

  Mark took a bite of his steak and chewed for a bit. “How do you like working for Bannister now that he's made Senator?”

  “Good.” Sheryl paused as her spirits seemed to rise a bit. “Actually, better. He's got a lot more resources for his office so the work is easier.” And then Sheryl furrowed her brow. “But handling the media on a state-wide basis is harder. A lot harder.”

  “Yeah, I know. There are so many factions within the entire state. It's much harder than handling an individual District.”

  And then Sheryl tilted her head as she asked, “How do you like that Roberts fellow you're working for?”

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “Congressman Roberts? He's strange. He always votes according to the Constitution – or at least everyone says he does. And he seems to know more about economics than the experts.”

  “Why is that strange?” Sheryl asked.

  Mark shrugged and then replied, “Because no one in Congress gives a shit about the Constitution. And they don't really care about the economy until it's time to get re-elected – except Roberts.”

  “That IS strange,” Sheryl said as she chewed. And then she paused her chewing and frowned. “You know? Just like your Roberts fellow, there's some weird things about Bannister.”

  “Like what?” Mark asked.

  “Like, ah – yesterday, we had a staff meeting. You know, in the morning. And he was talking as though he were hell-bent for voting in favor of this 'too big to fail' bill.”

  “So?”

  “So when the vote came up today, he voted against it!”

  “How's that unusual?”

  “Well, his staff was in favor of the bill. And our polling says the people are really behind it. In fact, the support for this is so strong that, well, he could lose his re-election bid on this vote alone!”

  Mark shrugged. “Sometimes these politicians just do what they do, with neither rhyme nor reason.” Mark took another bite.

  “I guess. But it still has me stumped.”

  “How'd the bill do?” Mark asked. “Did it pass, or fail?”

  “It went down in flames.”

  Chapter 9

  Bo dashed across grass, shrubs, and ground cover as he chased a flock of starlings. The flock had landed in the neighborhood, appearing out of nowhere. But instead of taking to flight, the birds persisted – persisted in their incessant gaggling through peoples’ backyards. And Bo was charging after them, his quickness more than a match for his prey!

  It was his dream come true, for they were all his – and he was going to make the most of them. He caught one, and then another, and th
en still another. He finally slowed to a crawl and then stopped, deciding that he had collected enough. He turned and retraced his steps, collecting his dead prey along the way, with each victim dangling limp in his jaws. He closed his teeth into a particularly juicy morsel, and the sweet taste of fresh succulent meat stimulated his palette, his senses. Ahhh!

  And then his dream was shattered as a huge rumbling noise vibrated from the street. He jumped. And then crouching down behind the hedge, he watched as a big noisy truck pulled up to the house across the street.

  That man came out of the house and walked up to the two men from the truck. Bo could hear their voices; but he had no understanding of their words. They kept saying things like 'load', 'storage', 'move'; but Bo did not know what the words meant. I sure wish I could understand what they're saying!

  He still wasn't certain about that man, and he hadn't seen the woman in months. He really missed her.

  Bo crouched hidden under the porch – watching the scene unfold.

  * * *

  Joe was home when he heard a knock at the door. He sighed, and then walked over to the door. On opening it, he was greeted by the sight of a sheriff's deputy. He noted the patch on the deputy’s sleeve: Sacramento C ounty Sheriff.

  “Yes?” Joe asked.

  “Mr. Miller?” The deputy said in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “That's me,” Joe nodded. “How can I help you, officer?”

  “On behalf of the Bank of Sacramento, I am here to serve you with a notice of foreclosure, sir. You are to vacate these premises immediately.”

  Joe grimaced and rubbed his chin. And then his eyes focused on the deputy as he said, “On behalf of the Bank of Sacramento, officer?”

  “Yes sir. That's right, sir”

  “And so you now work for the bank?”

  The deputy seemed apologetic as he said, “Sir. In these proceedings, we are here to enforce a court order to finalize the foreclosure process. This means that by order of the court, you must leave.”