The Treasure Hunt Club

by Michael Scott Clifton

  “Package for you, Mrs. Branson!” the orderly called out to Claire as she wheeled herself to breakfast. Pausing, Claire stopped her wheelchair and looked back at the orderly.

  “For me?” she asked, puzzled. Who would be sending her a package?

  The orderly, a slim African-American man named Draymond, replied, “Yes, ma’am! It’s addressed to a Mrs. Claire Branson, and you are our only Claire Branson!” Carrying it over to Claire, he handed her a legal-sized FedEx box and said, “See, there’s your name. You want me to open it for you?”

  Claire nodded, and Draymond ripped the slotted tab from the end of the box. Handing the box back to Claire, he walked off. Claire upended the box, and a smaller manila envelope slid from within it. Opening the envelope, Claire pulled out a series of receipts that were paper clipped together.

  She immediately recognized the handwriting on the receipts as that of her father’s. A typed letter was also within the envelope. Mystified, Claire pulled the letter out and unfolded it. It read:

  Claire,

  I am so sorry that the Treasury Department has accused your late father of stealing from the Mint. If we had simply minded our own business, none of this would ever have happened. However, given the description you had given us of your father and what a faithful and diligent worker he was at the Mint, it occurred to me that perhaps we were not giving him the benefit of the doubt due him. Therefore, I did some searching in the basement of your father’s house, and I discovered these receipts. Please note the official stamp of the Treasury purser on each receipt and, more importantly, what your father was purchasing! You see, each year, he took some of his pay and bought coins from the Mint to add to his coin collection—the same coin collection found in the buried bomb shelter. He didn’t steal them, and the receipts prove that! Also, pay close attention to the date when he bought the 1933 Saint-Gaudens gold pieces. The date on the receipt shows that your father bought the Saint-Gaudens three weeks before the decision was made by the federal government to go off the gold standard and melt all the Saint-Gaudens coins. That makes these gold pieces “legal to own!” So your nephew was right all along. You are the rightful owner of these coins. By showing these receipts to the proper authorities, you will not only clear your father’s name but you will also be be able to claim ownership of the coins. I hope I have set things right for you. I tried my best.

  Sincerely,

  Nick Hollister, president of the Treasure Hunt Club

  Claire looked up from the letter with tears of happiness in her rheumy eyes. The fond memories of her father, tarnished by the Department of Treasury’s accusations, seemed to well up inside her, warming her soul. Hugging the letter and receipts happily to her breast, Claire closed her eyes and fixed the image of her father in her mind. Had Nick been around to see Claire’s reaction to the letter and the receipts he had sent her, he would have known that he had succeeded.

  He had set things right.

  Chapter 37

  Nick leaned against the Jeep and watched as, in the distance, several cars turned into the cavernous Home Depot distribution center parking lot and approached where he, Mark, Steve, and Kenneth waited for them. As the line of cars drew nearer, Nick could see that, like some cliché from a spy novel, they were all black Suburbans.

  “Looks like Carter’s bringing the cavalry!” Mark quipped in Nick’s ear.

  Nodding, Nick answered, “I didn’t expect any less.”

  It had been two weeks since they had recovered The Book of Lost Treasures from Carter’s safe.

  As promised, Kenneth had decrypted the financial information retrieved from Carter’s computer in less than an hour. He had printed a hard copy of the juicier parts for Nick, Mark, and Patti, and it hadn’t taken long for them to see they had Carter by the proverbial short hairs. All that remained was to close the deal and make sure that none of them were ever bothered by Carter or his goons again; hence, the purpose of their meeting today.

  When Nick had first called Carter to propose the meeting, he had immediately flown into a rage, and through much cursing and threats, he had demanded the book back. Hanging up on Carter in the middle of a particularly colorful harangue, Nick waited for five minutes before calling him back. Enduring yet more profanity and threats, Nick let Carter vent for a few minutes before hanging up again. This time, he took ten minutes before calling back. When Carter answered the phone, he was much more subdued, fearful that Nick would hang up again. It was then that Nick told Carter where they would meet and at what time. Carter had flown into another rage at the effrontery of Nick Hollister telling him what he was going to do! That was when Nick hung up on Carter for the final time.

  He didn’t call Carter back.

  Nick had chosen their proposed meeting and rendezvous site carefully. It was on the northwest side of the huge warehouse complex encompassed by the distribution center.

  Acres of open asphalt parking space were adjacent to the warehouse, while dozens of tractor-trailers abutted the loading bays of the warehouse, waiting for loading or unloading. It would be impossible to set up an ambush in such a large, open area, which is exactly why Nick had chosen this spot.

  Nick’s silver Jeep, Mark’s blue Expedition, and Steve’s yellow GTO were arranged in a semicircle in the parking lot. They stood in front of their cars and waited for Carter and his entourage to reach them. Kenneth, who had ridden with Steve, stood with them as they steeled themselves for what they all knew would be a very unpleasant meeting. Patti, despite her protestations, had been left at home at Mark’s insistence. Besides, as he explained to her, someone would need to call the authorities if things went badly.

  A cold February breeze blew across the gargantuan parking lot as the three black Suburbans screeched to a stop twenty yards in front of where the four friends stood. Immediately, men poured out of the SUVs, while Carter, in the lead Suburban, slowly got out and stood, a smirk on his face as he looked at Nick and the others. Nick counted a dozen men as they arranged themselves around Carter. The jackets the men wore did little to conceal the bulges inside their coats, and Nick swallowed hard as he realized they all were packing handguns.

  For his part, Carter was dressed as if he were about to attend the grand opening of an art museum. Stylishly attired in a dark blue Armani suit and silk tie, his black leather shoes had been polished to a high sheen, and an expensive Burberry coat was draped across his shoulders. Snapping his fingers at one of his men, the man hurriedly produced a pair of sunglasses, which he handed to Carter. Putting on the sunglasses, Carter turned and began walking toward Nick and the others, his men trailing close behind.

  Stopping ten paces from Nick and his friends, Carter surveyed them with a contemptuous stare while his men fanned out and effectively cut off any means of escape. Taking off his sunglasses, he let his gaze settle on Nick, his expression hardening.

  “You stole something from me, JV. I want it back, and I want it back now! Since I am feeling particularly generous today, I’m willing to overlook the theft, provided you give me the book back immediately and cooperate with me in using the book to find the things I want to search for!”

  Looking at the stone-faced men arrayed on either side of him, Carter effected a cruel smile before turning back and saying, “Otherwise, it’s going to be a particularly bad day for each and every one of you.”

  Despite the fact that Nick expected threats and bluster from Carter, a thick knot of cold fear formed in his stomach.

  Knowing he had to appear calm and unperturbed, Nick fought to choke back and control this fear.

  Taking a deep breath and hoping his voice didn’t crack as he addressed Carter, he stood up straight from where he had been leaning against the Jeep and faced his nemesis.

  “We’re not giving you the book back, Carter. Considering you stole it from us, I think you know what you can do with your request. In fact, what you and your ‘sales associates’ can do is get back into your cars, drive away, and never, ever, bother any of us again!” />
  Carter started laughing a short, barking, harsh laughter that left him momentarily breathless. Recovering, he wiped his eyes with a monogrammed, folded handkerchief. Placing it back into his suit pocket, he strolled forward until he was just a few feet from Nick.

  “Now why should I do that?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

  “Because you don’t want to go to jail!” Nick managed to reply.

  Laughing again, Carter sneered at Nick and said, “For what? The book? You can’t prove a thing, and you know it! You’ll have to do better than that, JV—much better than that!”

  His expression turning hard, Carter took one more step toward Nick until his face was only inches away.

  “Now, I’m only going to ask you one more—”

  “I’m not talking about the book,” Nick said, interrupting Carter.

  For the first time, Carter faltered, as a look of uncertainty played across his face.

  “What … what are you talking about?” he demanded.

  Motioning to Mark, Nick held out his hand as Mark unsnapped his briefcase and took out a manila folder. Closing the briefcase, he handed the folder to Nick, who, in turn, handed it to Carter. Folding his arms across his chest, Nick steeled himself for the coming storm.

  Mystified, Carter stepped back and opened the folder. Inside were a series of documents stapled together. Taking them out of the folder, he began to study the first page.

  Nick watched Carter, as by degrees, his face began to turn pink, then red, and then purple with rage. Rifling through each of the pages quickly, his breath coming out in angry, explosive gasps, he finally looked up at Nick with barely controlled fury.

  Crumpling the documents in one large fist, he asked through clenched teeth, “How … where did you get this?”

  For the first time, Nick smiled. “It doesn’t matter where we got the information, Carter. All that matters is that we have it.”

  “You’re a dead man, Hollister! You and all your goofy friends as of this moment are dead! Do you—”

  “Shut up, Cannon!” Nick barked. Blinking in surprise at Nick’s sudden command and at a momentary loss of words, Carter closed his mouth.

  “Now, just in case you still don’t fully appreciate what’s in that folder, let me spell it out for you. It shows that you moved cars and inventory from your dealerships so that they wouldn’t be counted as taxable assets. Like a shell game, you moved new and used cars from one dealership to another and then cooked the books to cover those moves. Once the coast was clear, you moved the cars again, selling cars that, according to the inventory, didn’t even exist on the lot.

  “But here’s the best part! Because your family happened to own dealerships in Arkansas and Louisiana, you moved your cars, your inventory, across state lines. That’s what they call ‘interstate commerce,’ which, of course, makes it a federal offense. The FBI would be very interested in the Cannon family of car dealer- ships, don’t you think?”

  Silence descended on the distribution center parking lot as Carter digested what Nick had revealed to him. Finally, he looked up at Nick, his eyes bright with hatred.

  “What’s to stop me from breaking every bone in your body, Hollister, until I have every paper, every document, you and your pathetic collection of friends have?” he hissed.

  “I’ll let my good friend, Kenneth, answer that,” Nick said, unperturbed.

  Pulling his iPhone from the clip on his belt, Kenneth activated the screen and scrolled down, and then, facing his friends, said, “Gentlemen?”

  “Mine’s an Android!” Mark said, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and holding it high.

  “Mine’s an Android, too!” Steve said, holding his cell phone aloft.

  “I like to call mine a thingee,” Kenneth said, grinning, as he held the iPhone up before him. “But the important thing, regard- less of their make and model, is that all our cell phones have Internet and e-mail capability. So I forwarded an attachment that contained all the illegal financial information downloaded from your computer to everyone here. At the press of a key, this e-mail attachment, with all the incriminating evidence you have in that folder, can be sent by our cell phones to every regional FBI office in the southeast.”

  “Isn’t the information age wonderful?” Nick quipped with a broad smile on his face.

  The rage so evident on Carter’s face slowly bled away to be replaced with a look of resignation.

  “What do you want?” he finally asked dully.

  “I’ve already told you,” Nick said. “We just want to be left alone, and as long as you do that, this financial information will never see the light of day.”

  “How do I know you won’t turn this in to the FBI the moment you leave here?” Carter demanded.

  “Well, Carter, I guess you’re just going to have to trust me on that,” Nick stated with a thin smile on his lips.

  Opening his mouth to provide a retort, Carter quickly closed it as he realized he had no choice but to believe Nick.

  “Oh, and Carter? If any of us, you know, meet with some sort of unfortunate accident in the future, we each have a complete hard copy and disk containing all of your interesting financial transactions in safe deposit boxes in the bank, which are to be opened upon our demise. Kenneth also has loaded a program on our home computers and laptops that any one of us can activate that will trigger the release and transmission of this stuff to the appropriate authorities. He tried explaining to me how it works, but you know me. I never was much of a computer expert.”

  Shoulders slumped in defeat, Carter stood silently for a few moments. Finally, he made an almost imperceptible motion of his head, and his men turned and slowly started to walk back to the black Suburbans.

  As Carter turned to join them, Nick stopped him.

  “Carter, there’s one more thing.”

  “What? What is it?” Carter snarled.

  Poking Carter hard in the shoulder, Nick said, “I want a piece of you before you go!”

  Mark, who had heaved a sigh of enormous relief at seeing Carter and his men begin to walk away, stood up quickly at Nick’s sudden pronouncement, alarm written all over his face.

  “Nick, what are you doing?” he cried.

  Turning to face his friend, Nick held Mark in an unflinching gaze. “I’ve got to do this, Mark. I’ve got to settle this, or at least try to settle this, between Carter and me.

  He’s bullied and humiliated me since junior high, and it’s time I finally pushed back.”

  “Nick, no! We’ve got what we wanted; there’s no need to do this!”

  Nick reached out and grasped Mark gently by the shoulder. “You don’t understand, Mark. This isn’t about the book, and it’s not about you, Patti, Kenneth, or Steve. It’s all about me. I’ve run away from things all my life every single time things got tough or uncomfortable. I look back now, and I see that it’s eaten a hole in me that I’ll never be able to fill—at least not until I finally stop running.”

  “But Nick, Carter’s bigger and stronger than you! He’s at least fifty pounds heavier! There’s got to be a better way!” Mark said, pleading with Nick. Steve and Kenneth, who had overheard the entire conversation, walked over and joined in loud agreement with Mark.

  Sighing, Nick smiled crookedly at his friends. “Don’t you see? I’ve got to make a stand or … or I’ll just keep running. For once, I’ve got to face my fears. Besides,” he said, winking at them, “I’ve got a plan.”

  Mark met Nick’s gaze with his own. Shaking his head sadly, he finally nodded before slowly backing away. After a moment’s hesitation, Steve and Kenneth joined him.

  Carter’s expression had gone from dumbfounded amazement to one of pure joy. He quickly motioned to one of his men and handed him the Android and his suit jacket.

  Loosening and taking off his tie, he began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

  “I’ve got to hand it to you, JV. You had me over a barrel, and you could have just walked away. Instead, you�
��ve proven to me, once again, what I’ve always believed about you—namely that you are the biggest fool I have ever met! Losing the book is a small price to pay for kicking your ass!”

  Ignoring Carter, Nick took off his own jacket and handed it to Mark. With his back turned to Carter, Nick reached into his pockets and handed his keys and wallet to Steve. His thin frame shivering in the cold breeze, he turned and faced Carter.

  A semicircle of Carter’s men and Nick’s friends formed around the two combatants. Carter, grinning in anticipation like a child on Christmas morning, began dancing and feinting around Nick. With his arms and fists held up before him awkwardly, Nick tried to follow and anticipate Carter’s moves.

  “I know a good orthodontist I would be happy to recommend to you, JV,” Carter said as he continued to prance and feint. Enjoying himself immensely, he continued, “Because when you wake up in the hospital sometime tomorrow, not only will you be eating soft food for a month, but you’re going to need total dental reconstruction.”

  Before Nick could supply a retort, Carter’s fist darted in like a snake, clipping Nick solidly on the chin. Staggered, Nick took a step backward away from Carter. Before he could shake the cob- webs from his head, Carter closed in again, a left jab also landing on Nick’s chin. Although Carter was pulling his punches so as to prolong the fun, the second blow almost sent Nick to his knees. Groans of dismay came from Mark, Steve, and Kenneth, while Carter’s men laughed and hurled insults at Nick. Dancing back, Carter waited for Nick to recover.

  Nick’s jaw felt as if someone had hit him with a hammer. Through the haze of pain, he again considered the plan he had conceived to take Carter down. It all hinged on Carter becoming overconfident and leaving himself open to one punch, a single punch that would effectively take him out. The problem with this strategy was threefold: first, Carter would have to be lulled into a sense of complacency that would allow that one blow to land. Second, Nick had to stay on his feet and remain a punching bag long enough for Carter to become overconfident. And third, it would be thin, skinny Nick throwing the “knockout” punch, and there was no guarantee he could land a punch with enough force to do the job.