This is episode twenty-eight of the novel, From Here To 1137. If you would like to purchase From Here To 1137, it is available onAmazon in Kindle format or paperback.
Taking Stock
Fifteen miles south of Detroit, Tom turned his car into a paved parking lot and parked in front of a gray metal building. It was about half the size of a football field. A smaller building was attached to the front. Tom assumed the small building was the office area. Windows were on the front and two exposed sides.
From the front door, Tom walked into the lobby carrying a briefcase. Tom said a polite good morning to a young woman behind a desk, dressed in casual attire.
“Can I help you?” she asked as if bothered.
“I don’t have an appointment,” Tom said, “but it is vital that I see Willard Braxton immediately.”
“Mr. Braxton is busy at the moment,” she said. “Perhaps I can set up an appointment. Let’s start with, what is your name?”
“Let’s start with this,” Tom said loudly, “this company is about to go belly-up, and I’m willing to help it stay afloat.”
“Not so loud,” she whispered.
“I want to make sure Mr. Braxton hears me,” Tom said loudly.
A door opened to the side of the lobby. A man stepped out.
“I’m Willard Braxton, and if you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”
“Sorry for the rudeness, Mr. Braxton,” Tom said. “All I need is one minute. In your office or out here, I don’t care.”
“A minute,” Braxton agreed.
Tom gestured with his hand; toward the office or in the lobby?
Braxton tossed his head toward the office. They walked into Braxton’s office.
“Don’t bother to sit,” Braxton said. “You’ll only be here for a minute.”
Tom placed the briefcase on the table. He unsnapped and opened it. As Braxton was sitting down behind his desk, Tom swiveled the briefcase around so that the twenty-five thousand dollars could be seen.
Braxton’s eyes darted several times from the money to Tom.
“What’s going on?” Braxton said.
“Do you mind if I close your door?” Tom asked.
Braxton stood speechless.
“Do you mind— the door?” Tom reminded.
“Sit,” Braxton said nervously, “I’ll get the door.”
Braxton shut the door and returned to the chair behind his desk.
“My name is Tomas Bales. I’m going to keep this short because there is not a lot of time.”
“What do you mean?” Braxton asked.
“Shortly, you will be getting a phone call informing you that you will have an hour to prepare for your electricity to be shut off.”
“How do you know that?” Braxton asked.
“Rather than answering pointless questions of me, ask yourself, does that sound about right?”
Braxton lifted his thumbs and nodded his head. “I thought it might come at the end of the week.”
“There’s twenty-five thousand dollars here. I suggest you take five thousand and pay the electric bill immediately. Never mind a check. Nothing speaks louder than cash.”
“This isn’t a gift, is it?” Braxton said with an air of suspicion.
“In a way, it is. Consider it a lifeline. The rest of the money is for things like payroll.”
“What in return?” Braxton asked.
“How many shares of stock does this company have? Wait, I know, so don’t lie to me.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Braxton said.
“What’s their value, each—the last time you checked?”
“Less than a dollar each,” Braxton said regrettably.
“I understand. Times are tough.”
“Do you want to buy some shares? Is that why you’re here?” Braxton asked.
“The sooner, the better. And let’s make this easy: twenty-five thousand shares for twenty-five thousand dollars. Does that sound fair?”
“You want my shares?” Braxton asked.
“No. I happen to know what this company means to you. I understand that sort of thing. I also know investors are willing to sell their shares at nearly any price just to get out.”
“How do you know all of this?” Braxton asked.
“Obviously, it’s not insider information. We’ve never met. The gal out front was trying to give me the bum’s rush. This is my first time in Michigan. I’ve never purchased stock before. So,” Tom chuckled, “what does that leave? Let me put it this way, I got my information from a friend of a friend, of a friend. Let’s leave it at that.”
Braxton sat motionless. It was as if he was waiting for someone to say, ‘jokes on you.’
“What’s the next move?” Tom asked.
“We go to my lawyer’s office,” Braxton said as if in a trance.
Tom cocked his head and smiled, as if a teacher and Braxton had given the wrong answers. “First, pay the power bill.”
“Yes, of course,” Braxton said.
“Give me the address of your lawyer. I’ll meet you there. But before that, is there someplace where I can get breakfast? I’m starved.”
Braxton sat up straight in his chair as if coming out of a trance. “A mile down the road on your left is a restaurant.” He grabbed a pen and a slip of paper. He wrote on it. He handed the paper to Tom. “My lawyer's address, can you be there in an hour?”
Tom stood and shook Braxton’s hand. “See you in an hour.”
After a good breakfast at the restaurant suggested by Braxton, Tom found his way to Braxton’s lawyer’s office. The office was located in a one-time two-story Cape Cod-style home. There were two other lawyers in the firm.
Braxton met Tom at the door, and they walked directly to his lawyer’s office. The entire meeting lasted for an hour. It appeared obvious to Tom that Braxton’s lawyer advised him to say little and ask no questions. Tom supposed the cash did all the talking.”
Tom slid back into his car and drove back to the farm. As soon as he arrived, he walked out to the pod. He entered and sat in the lounge.
He let out a huge sigh. “Now what, Brain?”
“I’m going to tell you exactly what a broker might tell you,” Brain replied.
“And that is?”
“Sit and wait,” Brain said.
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