Debt Bomb
© 2021 Michael E. Ginsberg. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published in the United States by BQB Publishing
(an imprint of Boutique of Quality Books Publishing, Inc.)
www.bqbpublishing.com
Printed in the United States
ISBN 978-1-9527820-08-4 (p)
ISBN 978-1-952782-09-1 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2021935109
Book design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.com
Cover design by Rebecca Lown, www.rebeccalowndesign.com
First editor: Caleb Guard
Second editor: Andrea Vande Vorde
Contents
PRAISE FOR DEBT BOMB
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PRAISE FOR DEBT BOMB
“A timely and fast-paced spy thriller by a former U.S. intelligence official, Debt Bomb is a sobering reminder of the national security threat posed by the ballooning U.S. national debt and the silence of Republican spending hawks in the Trump years. With this debut novel, Mike Ginsberg may be destined to be an American John LeCarre.”
—John Bellinger, Former Legal Adviser to the National Security Council
“A deftly crafted thriller that kept me turning pages—through politics, money, and murder—to the ending I didn’t see coming.”
—Chris DeRose, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Fighting Bunch
After nearly two decades as an accountant, Andrea Gartner had fatally wielded ledger books more times than she cared to remember. She was well acquainted with watching entire lives unravel before her, tears streaming down the faces of grown men annihilated by simple balance sheets charting their financial ruin in ink redder than blood.
Today, she found herself in that painfully familiar spot once more.
She fixed her eyes on the man sitting opposite her, Cam Davis, owner of the largest chain of furniture stores in Columbia, South Carolina. She was the only thing standing between him and the end of his financial life as he knew it. His devil-may-care attitude—the source of so much of his business success—had now left him teetering on the precipice of bankruptcy.
“You have an existential debt problem,” said Andrea.
Telling the cocksure, self-styled Mattress King of South Carolina he was flirting with financial ruin was terrifying, but what Andrea truly feared was him ignoring her dire warnings. She prayed she wasn’t about to watch another client whistle past the graveyard of fiscal reality.
“A what problem?” asked Cam incredulously. “Come on. I sold more furniture last year than my next two competitors combined.”
“I’ve been through your books,” she replied. “Your finances are a house of cards. You’re a hair’s breadth from complete bankruptcy.”
Cam didn’t act like someone about to go broke. Everyone in Columbia knew he was one of the most generous people in the city. Every Christmas, he donated hundreds of mattresses to homeless shelters. When his alma mater, the University of South Carolina, made the playoffs in any sport, he’d give away free sofas to the first fifty customers in his stores the next day. He sponsored Little League teams and 5K races for charity. His heart was big. His wallet was even bigger and seemingly always open.
She glanced out the window. The Mattress King’s red Ferrari with “MTRSKNG” vanity license plates was parked next to her battered ten-year-old Toyota Camry. His thousand-dollar sports coat and Rolex contrasted sharply with the peeling wallpaper and army surplus furniture of her office. Even his cologne smelled expensive.
“You can’t be serious,” said Cam. “I’ve got twenty stores in Columbia. And twenty more across the rest of the state. If I need cash, I’ll borrow it. No bank is going to turn down a loan application from the Mattress King.”
Here we go again, she thought. He’s not getting it, and I’m not getting through to him.
Andrea turned her computer screen so Cam could see his balance sheet for himself. “Your Highness, you have maxed-out credit facilities with the two largest banks in Columbia.” She dragged her finger line by line through his balance sheet. “You have a five-million-dollar loan with the largest bank in Columbia and you’re six months behind on payments. You’re also behind on lease payments for your three largest stores. Personally, you’re carrying five-digit balances on four separate credit cards.”
Cam waved his hand dismissively, the gold bracelet on his wrist jangling against his Rolex. “I have the highest-grossing furniture stores in Columbia. I’m getting ready to build more throughout the state. If I don’t have the money now, it’ll come. I’ll be fine. Stop worrying, will you?”
Andrea pursed her lips. “Cam, we’ve been working together for years,” she said earnestly. “You were one of my first clients, and you’re still one of my favorites. I’ve bought four mattresses since moving to Columbia, all from Cam’s Discount Furniture. So I’m going to give it to you straight.”
“Give me what straight?”
“I hate debt, and you are neck-deep in it. You’ve got the Sword of Damocles hanging over your head. An unexploded grenade in your hand waiting to have its pin pulled. Pick your metaphor. And someone else is in control of dropping the sword or pulling the pin.”
Cam laughed. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“If someone out there wanted to destroy Cam’s Discount Furniture,” said Andrea, “all they’d need to do was stop loaning you money and call in your loans. Your stores would be liquidated and out of business in a week.”
“I sold twenty million dollars of furniture last year. There has to be cash somewhere.”
Andrea shook her head and ran her hands through her hair in frustration, mussing the extra curl and bounce she’d given it by blowing it dry a little longer this morning. “The minute the money comes in I have to allocate it to paying interest on one of your loans. The money goes out faster than it comes in. This isn’t about your revenues. It’s about your spending.”
Andrea suspected n
o one had ever talked to him like this before.
“What are you saying?” Cam’s air of confidence was beginning to fade.
“You need to sell some stores. Or close some.”
“Close stores?” asked Cam, wide-eyed.
Andrea nodded. “Take the proceeds and pay down some of your debt. Sell your mansion. Sell the Ferrari. Take the kids out of private school. Clean your slate. I’m telling you, if you don’t do this now, in six months, the banks will do it for you. It’ll be a lot less painful and humiliating if you do it on your own terms.”
“Forget it,” Cam scoffed. “We’ll figure something else out. I built this business from the ground up. It’s my life’s work. And my kids’ inheritance. I’m not selling any of it. Things can’t possibly be as bad as you’re saying.”
“You said it yourself: you outsold the other two furniture stores in Columbia combined,” she said. “There isn’t more room to grow. Not enough to pay back your creditors. If you don’t sell some of your stores, they’ll all get foreclosed, and you’ll have to declare bankruptcy. Do what I’m telling you and you can still save some of your business.”
“I’ll get another loan.” Cam leaned forward and placed his hand on Andrea’s desk. His face reddened as he dug in against her advice. “I’m not selling any of my business, you hear me?”
“No one is going to loan you more money,” Andrea said quietly. She put her hand on top of his and could feel the tension in his fingers. “You have to sell some of the business. It’s the only way to save at least some of your stores. Your only other option is to declare bankruptcy.”
Cam forcefully yanked his hand free. “I started with nothing!”
He stood up from the chair and paced the room, his hands gesticulating wildly. Seeing Cam’s tall, muscular frame angrily march around the room exacerbated Andrea’s inferiority complex. She was five foot five and ten pounds overweight.
“Everything you see—my stores, my Ferrari, my mansion, my kids’ private school—I earned it,” Cam seethed. “I’m not giving it up just because things are a little overextended. We’ll find the cash some other way. How could you ask my family to give all this up?”
If only he knew, Andrea thought. She glanced at the picture of her family on her desk. Six months after that family portrait was taken, her father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. A year later he was dead. He’d left them a financial mess and medical bills they couldn’t pay. Andrea was fifteen at the time. Her mother had sold their house and pulled Andrea and her brother out of their private school. Alone and adrift in a public school, unable to break into the existing high school cliques, Andrea would spend hours sobbing in the girls’ locker room. Her college dreams were dashed because there were no funds to pay for it, so she resorted to working multiple jobs while her friends partied every weekend.
Andrea had never forgotten the searing experience of losing everything she’d known. That was why she became an accountant, to help other families the way she wished someone had helped her.
Cam put a cigarette in his mouth and fumbled with his lighter.
“I thought you quit,” Andrea said.
“I have.” He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag, then puffed a cloud of smoke into the air. “But I keep some around for emergencies.”
Andrea had never seen Cam react this emotionally. He was one of the most self-assured businesspeople she knew. If he considered this an emergency, maybe she was getting through to him.
“You earned it. That much is true,” she said. “But you didn’t just earn revenue for your business. You also earned the opportunity to borrow money against your success and the trust of lenders that you’d pay back what you borrowed. You took advantage of that trust. I’m telling you, as your accountant, you can’t pay it back. As soon as your lenders realize it, they’ll collapse your entire empire.”
Cam sat back down in a huff, taking deep drags of his cigarette. Sweat glistened on his forehead.
“Don’t beat yourself up about this,” said Andrea, trying to comfort him. “You think you’re the only person who’s fallen into this trap? You’re not. It’s a common story. Every accountant has experienced some version of it. An entrepreneur starts small, hand-to-mouth, and hits it big.”
“It’s the American Dream!” exclaimed Cam. Cigarette ash fell to the floor when he threw his hands up for emphasis.
“Right, but then suddenly everyone wants to lend him money to grow his business and expand his lifestyle. More stores for the company. Fast cars, yachts, and beachfront condos for the owner. The business grows, but the debt grows faster. Before long, a company with a great product and business model is drowning in debt and goes under. Toys “R” Us sold eleven billion dollars’ worth of toys a year. Eleven billion dollars! And they still collapsed under a mountain of debt.”
Cam glowered at Andrea with gritted teeth, still fuming.
“I know how easy it is to get addicted to debt,” she continued. “You think you’re the only one? Look at the federal government. America has forty trillion dollars of debt. The average person has no idea how much we’re borrowing every day just to keep the government running. Your debt is peanuts compared to that. What’s happening to you will happen to the country if we don’t do something soon. If America’s lenders demand repayment, we’re hosed. The thought scares the bejesus out of me.”
“For goodness’ sakes, Andrea, every time I come in here you bring up the national debt,” said Cam. “Blah, blah, blah, the national debt monster is going to come and bite us all. You’ve been saying that for years, and has the debt monster bitten us? Even once?”
“Not yet, but it’s coming,” said Andrea. “Trust me. It’s coming.”
“When? Next century?” Cam threw his hands in the air. “You’ve been saying that since we started working together. That was in 2008! It’s now 2027, and nothing has changed! All you do is warn about the debt boogeyman, but nothing bad has happened. While you’re busy predicting doom and gloom, the stock market is hitting the stratosphere and the economy is going gangbusters. Now you’re warning me the same debt monster is going to eat my business. Why should I believe a word you say? Your Chicken Little act is getting old. You’re all talk, no action.”
Andrea clenched her jaw. Who the hell was Cam Davis to tell her she was all talk and no action?
“That’s not true,” she protested. “I spent four years as the chairman of the Richland County Republican Party. And then I was Third Vice Chairman of the South Carolina Republican Party. I’ve supported Debt Rebel candidates promising to reduce the national debt for as long as the Debt Rebellion movement has been around. And the only reason I got involved in Republican politics in the first place was because I was worried about the debt! I’ve seen debt destroy peoples’ lives. I don’t want it to destroy the country too.”
“Please,” Cam said dismissively. “I’m a businessman. I know the difference between talk and action. You debt scolds are all talk. Has the national debt gotten one dollar smaller since fearmongers like you started screaming about it?”
“I’ve spent years researching what it would take to run for Congress and deal with the debt myself,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “And I’ve cultivated relationships across the state to make it happen. Is that action enough for you?”
She folded her arms across her chest and stiffened her back. Surely this would impress Cam as bold action. But even as the words were leaving her mouth, she knew she was getting far out in front of her skis. All she had ever done was idly muse about running for office with her husband, Ryan. Now here she was, practically declaring her candidacy with a client.
“Seriously?” Cam’s voice dripped with disbelief.
“I’m dead serious,” said Andrea, too dug into the argument to walk back her confident declaration.
“I know your personality.” The corner of Cam’s mouth curled into a smirk. “You’re an accountant, not a politician. Politics would eat you alive.”
&nb
sp; Andrea threw her head back in exasperation. “Everyone tells me the same thing! ‘You’re too nice.’ ‘You’re too honest.’ Even my husband says politics is too tough a business for a quiet homebody like me. First you tell me I should take action, and then when I propose action, you say I’ll suck at it.”
“If it will get you off my back, then go ahead and run for Congress,” said Cam.
“I will,” Andrea shot back. “And maybe I’ll win.”
“Go ahead,” said Cam. “Scare other people for a change. Let the rest of America enjoy your national debt neurosis.”
“Fine, I’m running,” said Andrea. “You satisfied?”
They stared at one another across the desk.
She sat stunned and angry with herself. How could she have let him goad her into running for Congress? She tightly folded her arms across her chest again, feigning confidence in her abrupt decision.
Cam finally spoke. “I’m glad you’re finally doing something about the national debt instead of nagging me every time I come in here. Tell you what, I’ll make the first donation to your campaign.”
“Don’t you be making any donations,” said Andrea. “Use that money to pay down your debts. If you don’t sell some stores, cut back your lifestyle, and pay down your debts, you’ll lose everything.”
“Not a chance,” said Cam. He emphatically extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on Andrea’s desk. “I’ve made it this far. I’ll figure out something.”
He got up from his seat and walked to the office door.
“Cam, this is it,” she warned. “If you leave now without doing anything I’ve suggested, your entire furniture empire is as good as gone.”
Cam hesitated, his hand gripping the doorknob.
Is it going to happen again? Is yet another client going to ignore my advice and run headlong into financial ruin?
Cam turned and smiled, his confidence back. “Don’t worry, the banks and lenders love me,” he said with a cocky grin. “I’ll work something out with them. I always have.”
Then he opened the door and walked out. The office windows rattled as the door slammed shut behind him.
Andrea laid her forehead on her desk.
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