by CJ Quincy
“You failed me!”
Kenneth looked down at his feet, again. His hands trembled. Disgust rose like bile in Kingsley’s throat.
In one smooth movement, Kingsley reared his hand back and slapped Kenneth across the face. The smack echoed in the cavernous office, and Kenneth fell to the floor. The sting of the strike reverberated through Kingsley’s arm, and his hand was as hot and burning as his rage.
Kenneth looked up at Thomas, who avoided his gaze. He put a hand to his bright red cheek and his eyes moistened. “Sir, I’m sorry, sir!” Kenneth said, tears streaming down his face. He slowly lifted himself off the floor and backed toward the exit.
“Get the hell off my property!” Kingsley bellowed. Kenneth’s wild eyes inspired a predatory instinct in Kingsley. He resisted the urge to follow and pummel him further by gripping the back of the leather chair in front of his desk. His fingers, slick with sweat, turned white as he watched Kenneth rush out the door.
For a moment, only the sound of Kenneth’s bootfalls pounding down the hallway filled the office. Thomas took a few ginger steps toward the desk.
“Would you like me to leave, sir?" he asked. Kingsley’s distaste for Kenneth now turned to his red-cheeked and soft-spoken assistant. He couldn’t believe the type of people he was surrounded with.
“Leave? Leave? Why in the Devil's name would I have you leave? You're my goddamned assistant! We've got a goddamned major problem. And you want to leave?”
Thomas shook his head violently. “No, sir. Sorry, sir. I just thought...”
“You just thought nothing! This damned silver mine and the surrounding property is worth $270,000!” Kingsley walked closer to Thomas, until he could almost smell the fear emanating from his pressed shirt. “And, Thomas, do you know why it is worth that much?”
“Uh...” Thomas’ eyes darted around the room. Kingsley wanted to smack the beads of sweat right off his top lip.
“Because it is supposed to be full of silver! How much do you think it is worth without any silver?” Kingsley snarled, bringing his face closer to Thomas’.
“I'm, uh, not sure, sir.”
“Well, I'll tell you, Thomas. The whole property is worth about $9,000 with no silver. I'd say that's quite a discrepancy from $270,000, Thomas? Wouldn't you?”
Thomas nodded, “Yes, sir.” His voice waivered.
Kingsley swallowed his anger enough to pat Thomas’ shoulder. “Get me all of the miners on the east lawn in three hours.”
“Kenneth too, sir?” asked Thomas.
A pang of shame pricked Kingsley just long enough for him to shake his head. “No, let him be.” He sunk into his desk chair with a deflated sigh. “Just get me each and every miner down here. Now.”
As Thomas scurried out of the office, Kingsley contemplated his next move. He couldn’t lose that much money on this mine. Not only would that ruin him financially, but he’d be a laughingstock. No, he’d have to hatch his plan, and quickly.
*
Kingsley examined the seventeen faces of the men standing on his lawn. Each miner was trying his best to look dignified despite their soiled clothing; seventeen straight backs and squared jaws faced the massive, wooden door separating them from their employer.
Kingsley dreaded what would come next, but he had little choice. Not only was the mine the only support for these men and their families, mining being the only steady employment available in the expanse of Western Colorado, but Kingsley also needed the mine to look active. He needed these men as much as they needed him, and he shuddered to admit that.
The front door creaked to a slow close as Kingsley stepped out onto his porch. Thomas stood behind him, ensuring that the door would only slam just enough for dramatic effect, but not loud enough to be unseemly.
After a pause, Kingsley began. “Hello, Gentlemen,” he said loudly.
“Hello, sir,” the miners replied in unison.
Kingsley began to pace in front of them, a general addressing his troops.
“As you all know, the silver mine has not been producing like it used to.” A low murmur” rippled through the crowd.
I know that each of you has tried your best to find silver, yet we've had no luck – even with the recent blasts.” He clapped his hands together and fashioned an enthusiastic grin. “So, I have an offer that I would like all of you to strongly consider. I'd like all of you to keep coming to work each day, just like you have been – and we won't inform anyone in town about the lack of silver in my mines.”
Tension crackled through the group of men, and Thomas tapped Kingsley’s shoulder.
“But, sir!” Thomas hissed. Kingsley placed his right hand over his heart and lifted his left hand to silence Thomas.
“I will commit to paying you the same weekly wage that you've always gotten, and this agreement will last until further notice.”
The tension dissipated into chuckles and sighs.
“Is this arrangement agreeable to all of you?” Kingsley surveyed their faces. While some looked relieved, thrilled even, to be paid for no work, concern still shrouded a few brows.
“But, um, sir…what will we do up there?” asked one of the older miners.
Kingsley grinned as wide as his lips would let him. “Why that’s the best part, old top!” He took a few steps down, getting closer and laughing loudly. “I don't care what you do. You can play ball, go fishing – I don't give a damn.” He silently congratulated himself on his genial performance.
“I just need your word that no one in Durango finds out that my mine is empty. The state of my mines is not to be discussed with your spouses, your family, nor your neighbors.” Kingsley let his voice lower a bit, to emphasize the severity of the issue. “So, gentlemen, if you'd like to agree to my little deal, raise your hand. If not, I guess you can start looking for a new job tomorrow. Are we all in agreement?”
Slowly, one by one, the miners raised their hands. Kingsley could read the confusion in their eyes, but also they all emanated relief since maintaining their weekly salaries and supporting their families was their primary concern. Kingsley bristled at the smirks on some of their faces; if there was one thing he hated, it was wasting money, but what choice did he have?
“Ok, gentlemen, you are free to go.” He waved them off, but they remained listening. “Just make sure that you stay within a one mile radius of the mine during working hours. Take the train up at first light, just like you would every other morning.”
“Yes, sir,” the miners again replied in unison. Before they started to disperse, Kingsley swung around and stormed past Thomas to return to his office. When Thomas opened his mouth again in the periphery of Kingsley’s vision, he simply entered his mansion with, “Not a word.”
*
“I know what you’re thinking, but if you say it you’ll be out of employment.” Kingsley pointed at Thomas’ nose once they’d made it back into the seclusion of the office. However, Kingsley knew that this wouldn’t stop him. Thomas did the accounting and was responsible for much of the finances. It was worth a try, though.
“Sir, what are you doing? You’re going to let those men play ball and fish during work hours? And pay them?” Thomas’ eyes were wide and locked on Kingsley’s. This time he wasn’t going to stare at the floor.
Kingsley straightened his back and plastered on a grin. “Don’t worry about it, Thomas. I’ve got a plan.” He swallowed the molten rock of anxiety that was erupting from his gut. “Or, should I say, ‘we’ have a plan.” Kingsley clasped his damp palms together.
“Ok, sir–what’s the plan?” said Thomas, maintaining eye contact but speaking softly.
Kingsley turned and walked to his desk chair, making sure to take slow, even steps and descend into the chair with grace. Even he wasn’t sure if the plan would work, but no one else, especially Thomas, could know.
“We sell the mine.” He said this as casually as possible before he examined some papers on his desk.
A brief sputter escaped Thomas befor
e he approached the desk and asked, “Sell the mine? But sir, you yourself admitted that you would only get about $9,000 for the whole property with no silver.”
Kingsley locked gazes with Thomas again and arched an eyebrow. “We’re going to sell the property with silver, Thomas.”
“But, I thought you wanted to keep the mine property for quartz, sir?”
“I do, but the profit in quartz is small compared to silver.” He smiled up at his assistant through clenched teeth. “But don't worry, Thomas, we'll get the property back soon enough. Now, get out a telegram to the New York Times. I want an ad placed in this Sunday's newspaper.”
Thomas reached into his coat and withdrew his notepad. He began scribbling as Kingsley spoke.
“Silver mine for sale in beautiful Silverton, Colorado. Produces $78,000 per year in silver ore. Fully producing mine shafts, mine train and crew. For sale. Price $270,000.”
The scratching of Thomas’ pen silenced. “But Sir, how...?”
“Don't worry about how, Thomas.” Kingsley snapped. He breathed deeply to retain his cool and smoothed his voice before continuing. “I'll take care of that. Trust me when I say, rich city folk aren’t too bright when it comes to mining matters. We'll find a buyer soon enough.” He winked. “New York City is full of suckers with money.”
Chapter II
As the priest began the homily, Samuel watched from the front pew. He fought the burning cotton ball that kept rising in his throat and dabbed his welling eyes with his knuckles. Not only were the pews filled with family, friends, and community members, but a long line of mourners wrapped around the back of the pews and spilled out the door. Samuel fought to maintain composure and placed his face in his hands.
“Samuel?” A light whisper floated over his shoulder as a gentle touch patted his arm.
“Yes?” Samuel replied, without looking up.
“My name is Charles. I'm the lawyer your father assigned to handle his business. I'd like you to come to my office tomorrow so we can go over the inheritance.” Samuel lifted his head and glared at the man disrupting the holy service; however, Charles did pique his interest.
“Um, okay. Sure, what time?” Samuel whispered while glancing around him, hoping no one heard discussion of inheritance at a time like this.
Charles smiled softly and reached into his grey suit jacket. “Ten a.m.? Here’s my card.” When Samuel took the offering, Charles laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “Your father did a lot for this city.
“Thank you.” Samuel nodded.
The hand lifted and the man began to turn. Almost like a wisp of smoke, his last words drifted to Samuel. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Samuel tried to turn his attention back to the mass. His eyes burned from the wash of tears that had since dried. Instead of watching the priest, he looked down and turned the card over and over in his fingers: “Strong & Cadwalader, 590 Madison Ave., New York.”
*
Flecks of dust sparkled in the beam of sunlight that shown through the large windows behind Charles’ desk. The law office had a sense of heaviness about it, and the multiple law degrees donning the walls and thick law books lining the shelves enhanced the cave-like feel.
“Your father was a very wise man, Samuel.” Samuel’s attention snapped back to Charles’ intense gaze. “When you were at Yale and he got sick, he was smart enough to liquidate all of his businesses into cash. This was simply to make it easier for you to obtain the inheritance.”
“So, should I simply put this money into a bank account?” asked Samuel.
“Not exactly. Your Dad had specific wishes for this money.” Charles reached into a drawer and withdrew a slightly crinkled paper. “Here, this is a letter he wanted you to read.”
To my beloved son,
I am so proud of what you have accomplished in college, and I want you to know that your mother would also have been very proud of you. I treasure all of the memories we had together when you were growing up. You’ve come quite a long way from the little one who would track flour footprints through the house while your mother was baking.
Samuel felt that hot cotton ball rising in his throat again, and he swallowed, sniffed a few times before continuing.
As you can see, I have made a small fortune by purchasing various businesses and factories. My wish is for you to do the same. I was able to turn $30,000 from grandfather's farm inheritance into $300,000 in my lifetime, and I want you to turn that $300,000 into $3 million.
In my legal will, I have instructed the lawyers to give you my full fortune: $310,000. You will receive this money with one primary condition. You must prove that you will spend this money on the purchase of some sort of business or company. Be it manufacturing, farming, mining or agriculture–the choice is up to you. Choose something that you'll be passionate about, and your company will succeed.
I believe in you, son. I believe you will create a successful business and live a noble life.
With love,
Father
Samuel quickly blinked away the tears threatening to form and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He slowly lowered the letter to his lap.
“So, I guess I have to find a business?”
Charles nodded. “Yes, Samuel, but don't do anything in haste. Do your research. This money isn’t going anywhere. When you’re ready to purchase a company, I'll be here and so will your inheritance.” He smiled, holding a hand out for the letter.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” replied Samuel. He took a deep breath and tried to absorb what he’d heard as he stood, returned the letter for safekeeping, and exited the office.
*
Samuel stared at his cards and avoided making eye contact with Timothy or Benjamin, who had been furtively glancing at one another since the game began, through the clouds of cigar smoke. It was Samuel’s turn, but he stalled and nursed the sting of losing the last hand.
Timothy broke the silence. “So what are you going to do now, Mr. Moneybags?” he asked.
Samuel didn’t look up. “I'm not sure yet.” He shrugged. “Maybe I'll buy a fishing business and spend all of my days on the water.”
Benjamin had been leaning on his chair’s back legs, and he sat forward with a loud thud. “Or, maybe you can go out west like you've always talked about?” he said.
Samuel shrugged again. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I could.” He kept his voice non-committal.
“Your deal, Samuel.” said Timothy. He nudged Samuel with his elbow. Luckily, Benjamin’s enthusiasm had left the game altogether and attached itself to Samuel’s newfound prosperity.
“Hell, man, I'll go west with you!” Benjamin slammed his cards on the table and slapped his knee. “What have we got to lose? We've got no wives, no children.”
Samuel finally looked up, crinkling his brow as he look at his friend. “I don't know, Ben. I'm supposed to buy a company. I can't just go out West for nothing.”
Benjamin deflated for a moment before perking up again. “What if you bought a company out West?” He grinned with the profundity of his realization. “There you go Sam! Let's do it. I'll go with you.”
Samuel looked to Timothy, but he only scoffed and shook his head. “I don't think so Ben. How am I going to find a company that I can spend almost $300,000 on out West?” It almost seemed too much, too big an undertaking. Just the idea of where to start made Samuel queasy. “I don't know the first thing about the Western states.”
Benjamin’s tone lowered and he looked serious for a moment. “Your dad didn't know a damn thing about business when he came to New York fresh off a farm in New Jersey. But he just took a leap of faith.”
“Ben…” Timothy said as he pointed to his hand, trying to draw them both back in the game.
However, sometimes Benjamin’s ability to cut right to the heart of things surprised Samuel. Usually his oldest friend was lighthearted and overly enthusiastic, but now and again a wise nature shone through.
A glimmer of attraction formed in Samuel
’s mind before he shoved it aside. His eyes were heavy, and he wanted to escape into sleep. He looked down at his cards, a three of hearts and a seven of diamonds. Samuel tossed the cards face down on the table. “I'm out. The only leap I'm taking is a leap straight into bed.” He stood up. “I've had a long day.”
“G’nite, Samuel,” the two said in unison.
“Goodnight, boys.” Samuel put out his smoldering cigar and went to his room. Just as he neared the door, Benjamin called out once more.
“Just think about what I said. I’ll go with you Sammy!” Samuel smiled to himself and lingered a moment. He turned to see his friends starting another game and shook his head before disappearing into the dark room.
However, sleep didn’t come easily. Samuel tossed and turned, trying to ignore a restlessness stirring deep within him, a restlessness that could, in part, be causing the crick in his side that stung when he breathed.
He looked up at the ceiling, watching the shadows of tree branches sway as he lay still and rigid as a board. He and Benjamin had been dreaming about going our West since grade school. They’d play endless games and imagined themselves as gun-toting pioneers heading for the mountains. But that was child’s play. He’d moved on from those fantasies long ago. Until now.
Samuel rolled onto his side and faced the dark wall next to his bed. It could never happen. He felt foolish for even entertaining the thought of leaving New York. Samuel tried to laugh it off, told himself to come back down to earth, and slowly, softly he relaxed and fell asleep.
*
A loud and frantic pounding jolted Samuel from a dream of his old dog, Frankie. He was just tossing a stick in the yard of his old school and laughing as Frankie scampered into the distance when suddenly he couldn’t see him anymore. As he began to run into the vast field before him, a sound like the earth cracking boomed, and Samuel was ripped into wakefulness.
“Sam! Get up!” yelled Benjamin.
Samuel put his pillow over his head and squeezed tightly, trying to shut out the morning. “What do you want, Ben?”