Greed

by D Thomas Jewett

  Jason rose to meet him with his hand extended. They shook hands as he said, “Edgar, my friend. It does me good to see you!”

  “And you as well,” Edgar replied.

  “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “Aaaaaaye, Mr. Silverstein. I want to borrow some money. Expand my business, you see.”

  Jason seated himself and gestured to Edgar as he said, “Please sit down and tell me your circumstances.”

  Edgar seated himself across from Jason in a leather chair. He began to speak in his characteristically hoarse voice. “Well, Mr. Silverstein. Ruth and I want to expand our crafts and artisan business. We see a lot of new business coming along, and we want to take advantage of it.”

  “Do you have a written plan or notes you can show me?”

  “No, Mr. Silverstein. We don't do much writing.”

  “Well, how much increase in your business do you foresee?”

  “We think it will double, Mr. Silverstein.”

  “And why do you think it will double?”

  Edgar smiled and said, “Because we will add more space.” Edgar leaned forward, his voice quivered as he said, “Mr. Silverstein, if we create more space, customers will come. We are certain!”

  “That's fine, Edgar.”

  They proceeded to talk about the details of the loan. When they finished, Jason said, “I will let Thomas know to draw up the promissory note.” He paused and then continued. “Please know that the loan will be secured by your present business.”

  “What? What does that mean, Mr. Silverstein?”

  “It means, Edgar, that the goldsmith firm will foreclose on your business should you fail to make a scheduled loan payment.” Jason then looked into the man’s eyes and said, “Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Silverstein.” Edgar shook Jason's hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Have a good day, Edgar,” Jason responded.

  Jason leaned back in his chair and smirked. There's no way that he can afford to repay the loan, he thought. The Depository will own his business soon enough!

  Chapter 5

  His back to the shoppe entrance, Jonathan was working on a two-horse rigging; attempting to fasten a leather strap to a metal connector ring. He turned to grab another tool just as Frances entered. She was carrying their child, Paul. “Greetings, my husband,” she said with a smile. A broad smile came over Jonathan's face when he spotted her. Love the way she moves, I do. Relaxed, flowing, sensual, even when carrying our son.

  She held up a bag and showed it to him. “I 'ave lunch for you,” she said in a teasing voice.

  He chuckled. Smiling, he reached for the bag as he asked, “what 'ave you brought me?”

  “Chicken. I ‘ave chicken and carrots,” she said with a smile. She pulled it away from him, but dangled it in his face. “Tempting. Is it not?”

  “And what must I do for this ‘lunch’?” He asked dubiously.

  “Make me a promise,” she responded.

  “Yes?”

  “Make me a promise that you will be close with me – tonight.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then, I will seduce you,” she said in a coy voice.

  “And what do you call this?” He said, his voice mellow with a soft laugh.

  “Ah, um – a proposal?” She snickered.

  “Oh …,” his voice trailed off. “Well, my dear, gladly be with you tonight, I will. In whatever way that you want.”

  * * *

  Meredith Griffin packaged up still another order. We're selling out on many things; but these food items are just flying off the shelves, she thought. Hard work, it is. But people are spending a lot of money and our business is successful. Times are indeed good!

  In the next aisle, she heard Arthur’s voice talking to a customer. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds, we can have that for you on Tuesday – although I do not yet know the price because my supplier has been raising prices on me.”

  “Well Arthur,” she replied, “return on Tuesday, I shall. Until then, I offer my payment for today’s purchases. I trust that these receipts are satisfactory.”

  “They will do quite well, Mrs. Reynolds.”

  Amazing how little gold and silver coin we use in commerce these days, Meredith’s thought flashed through her mind.

  “Thank you very much Mrs. Reynolds,” Arthur said. “I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday.”

  As Mrs. Reynolds walked out, Mary brushed past her on her way into the store. She was carrying a new kitten and said, “Father, Father, how do you like my new kitten?”

  Arthur sounded impatient. “Mary, you just got a new kitten last year. Who gave you permission to bring home another kitten?”

  “But Father,” Mary pleaded. “Mother said that I could have another kitten. Mother wants to get rid of the mice.”

  Arthur’s voice was stern as he said “I just walked by Mittens and Pumpkin this morning. They were both sleeping just as a mouse was walking down the aisle. I think you’re feeding the mousers too much of that feed!”

  Meredith, overhearing the conversation, dropped what she was doing and joined the exchange. “Arthur,” she said in a stern voice, “I think we need another mouser. And so I asked Mary to bring one home. I promise that we will stop feeding grain to the mousers so they will instead hunt the mice – and with three mousers, we shall be rid of our mouse problem.”

  “Aye, my wife. Whatever is your wish.”

  * * *

  A few months later . . .

  Mr. Reynolds walked up and down the aisles of Griffin’s Trading Post. Seeking food and food items, he scratched his head at the half-empty shelves. And he was even more perplexed at the high prices for the in-stock items.

  “I tell you Arthur; too high, prices are. I can barely afford to feed my family – it seems like all we eat are beans! Beans, beans, beans!” Mr. Reynolds’ voice was becoming louder. “You must find a way to get us some decent food, and at prices we can afford!”

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Reynolds,” Arthur replied in a somber voice. “I have talked with my suppliers, but they insist that their production and raw material costs are going higher still. They tell me they have no choice but to raise prices.”

  Tight-lipped, Mr. Reynolds glared at Arthur. “Are you taking more profit for yourself?”

  Arthur was taken aback. Never before had anyone accused him of exploitation; and for a moment, a tense silence intruded between them.

  Then Reynolds bowed his head and said, “I am sorry, Arthur. I know you are doing your best. Please forgive my indiscretion.”

  Arthur glanced at his empty hands. And then he replied, “Mr. Reynolds, I will try my best. But please remember I too have a family, and I care about all my customers.”

  * * *

  And a few months later . . .

  “I am amazed, Meredith. It’s like no one has enough money. If I could buy a full selection of goods to sell to our customers, our customers would not be able to afford the prices we must charge. Prices continue to go up all around, and the prices are too high now.”

  “I know, Arthur. I talked with several wheat suppliers yesterday. They all tell me that they may go out of business because their cost of production is higher than the price they can obtain for their products.” Meredith was shaken at what she was finding.

  “But, but ...,” Arthur’s voice trailed off. “This means that people may starve.”

  “Look around, Arthur. People are already starving. Prices are too high for many people.” Then, Meredith’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

  * * * * *

  Frances and Paul stopped by the blacksmith shoppe. “How is business today?”

  “Not well,” Jonathan replied. “We received one new job this morning.” He paused and looked at Frances. “At this rate, we shall not make our payment this month.”

  Frances shifted her weight and looked down at the ground. And then she said, “but what has happened to cause business to slow down?�
��

  “Nothing that I can see, my love. Except that ...,” he paused and then continued, “... people are complaining they have no money to spend. Many times I am hearing that.”

  “But how can that be?”

  “I do not know, my love.”

  Frances looked down to the floor and said, “We must pay the goldsmith. But how can we?”

  Jonathan frowned. “I don't know. But I shall think of something. At least, I hope that I think of something.”

  Chapter 6

  Pouring over the books – especially the more recent loans in the portfolio, Aaron shook his head.

  With a grim expression, he stepped out of his office and shouted, “Jason, please come in here!”

  Jason entered the office, looking directly at Aaron. “Yes, sir?”

  “I just went over our loans, Jason. Disappointed, I am.” And then he spat, “no – I am angry!” Aaron glared directly into Jason’s eyes. “Son, your decisions to ignore our loan policies are putting us at risk of insolvency.”

  “In fact,” Aaron was now jabbing his finger at Jason. “You are putting the well-being of this family in peril!”

  Jason fidgeted as he looked down at the floor.

  “Damn it! – what do you have to say for yourself?” Aaron snarled.

  “But - but, Father.” Jason looked up at Aaron. “Secured with property, these loans are. If the borrower defaults, we assume ownership of their assets.”

  Aaron sighed with exasperation. “But wrong this is. Can you not see it? To make loans they cannot repay is wrong!”

  “But Father, why is this wrong? After all, the borrowers are adults. Think for themselves, they can.”

  “I – I – I don’t know.” Now it was Aaron's turn to look down. And then he looked up and said, “Can you not see this is wrong?”

  “But Father, is it any more wrong than loaning paper receipts instead of gold?”

  An awkward wordlessness descended into the room.

  “I – I – I don’t know,” Aaron muttered. And then he looked at Jason with resolve. “It is clear, my son, that I cannot count on you to follow our loan guidelines. So from here on, you are confined to the teller window – AND NO WHERE ELSE!”

  Jason was still looking down at the floor. His head was shaking as he lifted his eyes to look at his father. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

  Aaron glared. “What did you say?”

  “I understand.”

  “Now, get out of my sight!”

  Jason left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  * * *

  It was morning, and Meredith walked the streets with Arthur on their way to the Trading Post. Typically cool and damp, the overcast sky cast a dim illumination on the scene before them – a scene filled with people lining the street, shivering, huddled in old tattered rags. Some were standing, some were sitting, and some were lying on the ground – but all had the look of despair, of suffering.

  A wrinkled old woman appeared out of nowhere, crouching in front of Meredith and blocking her forward progress. She clasped her hands, holding them out to Meredith as she looked up and pleaded, “Help me. Please, help me. Please give me food...”

  Meredith turned away, muttering, “I can't. I can't help you.” She stepped around the poor old soul and continued along the street with Arthur.

  They walked. And as they walked, she felt their eyes following her – stooped, grizzled old men and wrinkled old women. And then Meredith noticed the buildings. Rotting, and sometimes tilting in places; with dilapidated 'for sale' signs hanging ... but there are no buyers, and owners no longer have the money to keep them up, she thought.

  They walked by a grizzled old man. He was shuffling along, huddled in a torn and tattered coat. He stared at her through empty eyes. Don't look at him, she thought.

  A cry arose again and again. “Can you spare some food?”

  They arrived at their store and noted that the doors were broken inward – again!

  A note was left by the Sheriff:

  To: Mr. and Mrs. Griffin;

  I apprehended the thieves. Please call on me when you get time.

  With Best Regards,

  Sheriff Wilson

  Arthur took down the note and looked at Meredith. “Put a stop to this, we must,” he hissed.

  “Yes,” Meredith replied. “It seems we shall be sleeping here from now on.”

  * * * * *

  And in Nathan Goldman’s office . . .

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Merchant. But you have violated the terms of our agreement. I have no choice but to foreclose on your business.”

  “But Mr. Goldman. Surely you can give us one more week to raise the money for the payment. We're doing everything we can – Frances and I are eating only one meal a day!”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Merchant.”

  “But if you take the business, you will take our life savings. We shall have no place to go. We shall starve!”

  “Please, Mr. Goldman,” Frances chimed in, “just a few more days – please! What do you want? Do you want me to beg? Do want me on my knees? Pleading?” She clasped her hands and held them out to Nathan. “Please, Mr. Goldman. Please!”

  Nathan sat in his chair listening. Unmoved. At Frances' last pleading, he turned in his chair and faced the wall. “Please leave,” he said.

  Heads stooped, the Merchants rose from their chairs, turned, and walked out of Nathan’s office.

  Colin Martin appeared at his office door as they walked past. With a somber expression, he watched as they shuffled across the lobby toward the exit.

  * * *

  “The Court hereby decrees that ownership of this property be assumed by the honorable goldsmith, Nathan Goldman. The Court further decrees that all assets of the property, including metal-working equipment and tools, shall be transferred to the honorable goldsmith, Nathan Goldman. By order of the Court, this decree is effective today.”

  With this, and using the force of law, the Sheriff proceeded to evict Jonathan from his blacksmithing business.

  Jonathan's head was bowed – but his face was a mask of anger and despair as he looked across the room toward Nathan Goldman. And in response, Goldman met Jonathan’s anger with a baleful gaze – his eyes hard and gleaming. And Frances – she took no notice of the exchange; but she nonetheless stood close to her husband, tears welling up in her eyes as she held their child.

  They shuffled out the door and into the murky street – a street filled with desperate, destitute, poverty-stricken souls. They continued walking, passing a line of suffering people at the local soup kitchen. The line stretched around the corner.

  Jonathan stopped and looked deeply into Frances’ eyes. “I love you, my darling. Somehow, we shall survive.” And then Frances began to sob, her belly rolling in spasms as Jonathan held her close.

  At just that moment, Jonathan felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, surprised to find Colin Martin standing next to him.

  Colin smiled and said, “Help many people, I cannot. But ye I can ‘elp.” He grabbed Jonathan’s hand and shoved something into it.

  “Take this,” Colin whispered, “And go to America!”

  With those words, Colin disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

  Jonathan looked down at his hand as he opened it, and was still more surprised to find a gold piece. His smile spread ear-to-ear as he looked at Frances and exclaimed, “What shall we do? Shall we go to America?”

  Frances wiped her tears as she nodded her head. “Aye, my love. Let us book passage now!”

  They turned and began walking, now with a bounce in their step. But intruding into their consciousness was the vision and stench of poverty surrounding them. The streets were crowded as they walked, and there were sad, hungry kids in the street – unwashed and stinking.

  “Money? Can I have some money?”

  “Food? Can I have some food, honey?”

  They could hear a bell ringing in the distance; and the call, “Soup! Soup!”


  Fifth Interlude . . .

  Once more, grey eyes of steel meet youthful black eyes. The young man listened intently.

  “... and pulling the money out of the economy is an effective means of control, is it not?”

  “Yes, my Lord. And yet, I am amazed at how easy it is to steal the people’s property.”

  The older man’s smile faded. “You must understand – we are not stealing; we are taking what is rightfully ours. As soon as the borrower signs the promissory note, we need only print up the money and pay the seller. The fact that we conjure this ‘money’ from nothing is of no consequence – because no one is any the wiser.”

  The man paused and then continued. “And then, when the day of our choosing arrives, all we need do is withdraw money (as if these paper receipts are anything close to real money!) from circulation. The economy crashes, and the borrower freely – well, almost freely – gives us his business, his property.”

  The younger man nodded, and the gleam in his eyes shone brighter still.

  The older man continued. “I am, however, concerned about Aaron. He has not prosecuted our plan with sufficient enthusiasm. While we were liberal with our loan activity, his loans were much too conservative. And while we have aggressively foreclosed on the peasants, he has offered too much forbearance. It seems Aaron is a threat to our power.”

  The younger man frowned. “So, what do you intend to do?”

  Just then, a knock on the door announced a caller. “Enter,” barked the old man.

  The door swung open. In the doorway stood a man; seemingly with a perpetual sneer pasted on his mouth. And his eyes – his cold dead eyes.

  ... and despite the blazing fire, the room took on a chill.

  * * *

  Darkness was descending just when Aaron and Jason locked up the Depository. Nodding to the guards, they proceeded down the steps and struck out on their usual route home. Walking the streets, they weaved their way among the wretched homeless and destitute – people wearing dirty, tattered clothing and begging from passers-by.