Brotherhood of Gold Read online

  “I’ve seen more lies and exaggerations about myself on the Internet than you can imagine. Everything from starving my dogs to killing a hundred horses and burying them in my backyard. Gossip and rumors and speculation accepted as truth—all for ego satisfaction and financial gain of strangers who don’t even know me.

  “Tell me why a government that forces itself into every other part of our lives from the time we’re born until the time we die won’t touch public threats, harassment and slander? We’re sick, Diane. The country’s sick and crude and cowardly. There you go,” he says. “Now I’VE made an accusation for once! SUE ME!”

  Diane raises her eyebrows slightly. “More than one, I believe,” she says, turning to the camera now. “Well,” she smiles confidently to her viewers, “we promised you a doozie of an interview and it looks like you’re getting it tonight.” To Ben, she says, “That’s quite an opener. We’ve had a lot of guests on this show, but not many who speak so bluntly.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be blunt?” he asks. “I believe in the right of privacy and I’m serious about it. People think they can say anything they want to these days, no matter how much it destroys someone else. A lot of these people don’t have a chance in hell of paying up if they were ever charged in a court of law. Instead of working for something and earning it the right way, they’re angry and they see a shortcut. Nice house? Nice car? Easy! Just accuse somebody of something outrageous and humiliating on the Internet. So what if it’s a lie! By the time anybody proves it, the damage is done and nobody cares how it started. Come on, Diane. We all know the script: Authorities brag all the time about getting cars, jewelry—even birds, dogs and horses—by seizing them from somebody accused of one thing or another who can’t find a lawyer in town with the guts to defend them.”

  “Well, I grant you, nobody argues the fact that authorities can seize property they want. But speaking of property protection,” she says, evading his question and knowing perfectly well that legal protection of privacy would mark the end of a show like hers that thrives on sensational headlines, she says, “you’ve supported a piece of legislation floating around Capitol Hill.” She checks her notes, and they both know she doesn’t have to. “Let me see,” she says, holding her audience in suspense. “The, um, Privacy Act, I believe they’re calling it. Naturally.” Her voice trails off, leading him to comment as she smiles noncommittally.

  “Funny how so many senators and congressmen say it’s a good idea,” Ben says. “And how they never seem to vote.”

  “In that case, maybe you’d care to enlighten us?” she asks.

  “I’d love to,” he says, calling one of his dogs onto the set.

  Diane laughs as the dog curls up on the carpet at Ben’s feet. “Well, at least you’ve got one friend!”

  “I raised him,” Ben says, with a smile. “Pets usually turn out the way they’re raised and treated.”

  “Your point being?”

  “The point of the Privacy Act is to protect us from intrusion into our lives for the profit of others—in any way, shape or form—without them getting our written permission and consent. Because we own our lives, Diane. Not them. It’s not as abstract or way-out as it sounds. It’s basic. And very respectful. It empowers us to make our own decisions without fear. Take my dog, for instance. It’s my decision how to raise him, nobody else’s. I have a right to raise him any way I want to. You call that privacy. Independent thinking. Now, because of that privacy and my own independent thinking, you didn’t know anything about him when he came over here just now, did you? That’s what they call the thrill of real-life suspense. Anything can happen—and it’s healthy! Natural! You really didn’t know what could happen—and I noticed you didn’t reach your hand toward him.” He grins. “What does that say about Diane Wallace?”

  She looks surprised, but manages to be a good sport about it. “It says she’s not going to get bitten by a dog!” she jokes. “But I don’t know, Ben. You’re the one playing psychologist. Why don’t you tell me what it says?”

  “I think it says you have trust issues.” He smiles, knowing she does.

  She smiles blandly back at him, like Don’t go there, Ben, and he doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “You weren’t quite sure about the dog. And that’s smart. Because for all you know, we raised and trained this fellow to be an attack dog.”

  The camera goes in for a close-up of the friendly dog and doesn’t quite sell that idea.

  “I didn’t raise him to be that way, but the element of surprise is in you finding out—and the mystery is in not knowing for sure. Privacy is the one, central, beautiful shield of protection that all of us have around ourselves, Diane. It’s the secret armor that makes every one of us a mysterious surprise—who we are—unique and apart from everyone else. It protects your heart—which is your treasure. You don’t want to give away that shield. Privacy—how we think, sexually, physically, romantically—the choices we make, how we speak and dress; what we create—it’s a magic force-field that allows us to grow into fascinating, bright individuals, instead of mass-produced robots which are just around the corner.”

  “Should we look for more legislation to restore this magical ‘force-field’ as you call it?” she asks.

  “Oh, yes,” Ben says. “With everything in my power, yes. Listen. We all know it isn’t 1776 anymore. That’s a nice fantasy, but everybody knows the rules have changed since our country was founded, and since our Constitution was written. The country changed because of laws we made and things we allowed to happen. Back then, nobody even thought about privacy being invaded and how it can kill a person’s dignity—or destroy a career. We didn’t have television or cameras like this glaring in your face.” He gestures to the lights and equipment. “We didn’t have satellites and computers broadcasting information all over the place. And we didn’t have cars without drivers, or what they call ‘drones’ allowing a neighbor to look in your bathroom window! I mean, how did all this happen? Who made these rules when everybody else was busy looking the other way?” He gestures with disgust toward the stack of gossip magazines and grocery store tabloids on the table between them. “We’ve made some of the greatest technological break-throughs in history,” he says. “But the rights of the individual must—they must—come first. Sooner or later, Diane, Washington’s going to pass that Privacy Act. And, maybe, a lot more like it.”

  “With your help and blessing, I presume?” she asks, thinking financially but not saying so.

  “And plenty of it,” he says, knowing exactly what she means.

  In typical reporter fashion, Diane allows him to make that statement, refrains from comment and moves on. “Since the scandal, you’ve been dropped as the spokesman for several national products and charities,” she says. “Does that hurt?”

  He nods. “It hurts. But, hurt is something very different from one person to the next, Diane.”

  “OK,” she says, leading him to say more.

  “For one thing, money, like from endorsements most of which are free anyway, isn’t the only reason for endorsing a product, Diane,” he counters in an even tone. “Or, at least, it shouldn’t be.”

  She skillfully ignores that debate and changes the subject. She studies his face now. His skin is perfection. His hair, his teeth, his suit, tie and cuff-links, even more so. “Can we look at some personal facts?”

  “Yes. Of course,” he says, thinking to himself: How personal do you have in mind, Diane?

  “Let’s talk about the money.” She looks around grandly. “You’ve always had it.”

  “I’ve been lucky,” he answers. “I grew up comfortable, but not what you might call rich-rich. I worked on the farms around here, growing up.”

  “By ‘here’ I assume you mean the Pennsylvania Dutch Country?”

  “Yes. I was born in the great town of Steitzburg. Not far from here.”

  “And, you never went to school in the sense of college or an institution of higher learning,” she points out. “Even wi
th colleges like Franklin and Marshall or Elizabethtown here. Or the business college in York, just an hour or so away?”

  “That’s correct,” he says. “That’s very common around here, by the way. And it doesn’t mean we’re stupid.”

  “Well, does it mean you’re against higher education?”

  “No, I’m very much for higher education, Diane. Especially when it’s about self-improvement and strong, independent thinking.”

  “Which brings us full circle,” she notices. “Doesn’t it.”

  “How about that?” he smiles broadly. “Let’s be honest. Things are drifting off-center when it comes to national discussions and news. Well, I’ve even seen what some might call black-outs in certain broadcasts. Not that anybody wants to call that censorship. I would never want to call it that. I guess it’s possible for networks to have problems with their signals sometimes. At least, I certainly hope that’s what it is. Because, I hope at least, they can fix that. But, everybody’s got an opinion, Diane. They just don’t have the respect or courtesy to honestly show the opposite point of view and give the people out there a choice.”

  Hating to admit he might have a point, she tries moving on. “I’m not sure I understand why it matters.”

  “Oh, it matters!” he says. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I was pretty sure where you were going with that. It matters a lot.”

  “Come on, Ben,” she says, using that famous smile of hers. “I was only trying to say…if you’re talking about news shows or other kinds of reporting…there’s only so many minutes in a television hour.”

  “Which means—in a society of adult, mature thinkers—people qualified enough to vote and pay taxes and drive cars and drink and get married and make more voters—mature enough for all that—we should be respected enough to hear both sides of an issue affecting public opinion instead of what a network wants us to hear because that’s what it agrees with. Isn’t that what this show is all about?”

  “Well, yes.” She puts both feet on the floor and raises her chin. “But, what if people make a mistake? What if their opinion’s wrong, Ben? What then?”

  He shakes his head and smiles sadly. “Then they make a mistake. But, at least, they do it on their own. And, who decides what’s a mistake, anyway, Diane? It all depends on your point of view. Doesn’t it?”

  Her eyebrows lift slightly again. “You like feeling as if everything is up to us, don’t you. It almost sounds like you don’t trust authorities. Where is all this ‘We’re all so great and capable and we’ve got this amazing, untapped potential if we only know how to use it’ talk? I mean, isn’t that a rather lonely way to live?” she asks, regaining her composure now.

  “But, Diane,” he says. “I really do believe we’re great and capable and strong. And, I, myself, have never, ever, been lonely,” he says, with a knowing smile.

  “No, I’m sure you haven’t,” she responds. “But, still, aren’t you putting too much…expectation and responsibility, shall we say…on most people?” she asks, with what almost smacks of condescension. “You said, yourself, we have incredibly more choices in our lives today. I mean, just look at a TV remote.” She laughs. “How does anybody even work those things!”

  Is she implying that the average person might be so helpless, they need to be told what to do, how to live, how to think and—ultimately—how to feel? He appears dismayed. “Most people, as you call them, Diane, aren’t children who can’t make up their own minds. Most people have hands and hearts and brains and skills and ideas. We have movies, plays, books, music, dance, fashion and galleries to discover anything we want. I really have my grandfather to thank for this hunger—for keeping an intellect and heart alive! For showing me what’s possible? I respect anyone who does that. Instead of telling me what I can’t do.”

  * * *

  Pennsylvania Dutch Country, November 1929

  “I didn’t do it!” is what money would say if it could talk as much as people say it does. If the presidents of a few banks could keep their mouths shut, nobody else would ever know how much cash disappeared that night, or where it went. Lucky for them, the strongest of those bankers were bonded by family blood like German and Swiss, who are better than “just good” at keeping secrets about money. For those who couldn’t? Well, let’s just say the Lord works in mysterious ways and some, like William Fenstamacher, just disappeared. If the past could talk the same as money, it would say nobody covers their asses better than Americans. It might add, when you mix Germans, Swiss and Americans together, that’s a lot of asses to cover.

  Within communities of a certain cultural background, important meetings are often held in the privacy of their homes. For renegade bankers who thought they had a plan, but weren’t quite sure, the farms of Lancaster and its surrounding counties were the perfect cover. White birch trees and evergreens shivered in the moonlight as a few cars began arriving at the designated time, and men carrying briefcases found their way into the old, stone house with its window shutters closed for the occasion. Dinner was set. The delicious smell of beef and buttery vegetables filled the house and lights were low. The secret gathering had begun, and with no Fenstamacher there to do it, Ezra had taken charge.

  They looked at each other that night. Their names were familiar and a sense of duty was apparent in every anxious face. They had done the impossible. They had done the unforgivable. “I can assure you, this meeting is confidential,” he told them, shaking their hands and helping with their coats. “You’re safe here,” he said. “We won’t be talking to anybody else about what we say tonight,” he said, making sure everyone heard, and gesturing to the dining room.

  Nods and murmurs of agreement went through everyone and he took his place at the head of the table, directing their attention. “Good evening, gentlemen!” he started, as they found their seats. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s a difficult time for all of us.” Again, there was a wave of nervous comments.

  “I’m sure we’ve all read the stories about Robin Hood saving the town from reckless greed and plunder. Well, I guess that means we’re a band of thieves now.” His comment met dead silence and a few offended looks. “Welcome to Sherwood Forest!” This time, there were a few brave chuckles as the comparison sank in and Ezra thought he heard someone mumble, “This guy has guts,” as someone else whispered, “Either that, or he’s just plain stupid.”

  Knowing they wanted him to hear, and ignoring them, he went on. “Before we give thanks for our meal, I’d like to say,” he paused, as if searching for the right words and went on, “the reason for us getting together—as I believe we all know—is to come up with a plan we can all live with. We have a well-educated, young legal advisor from Switzerland with us tonight, who can explain a few things,” he said, introducing Theodore Trimble. “But no matter what plan we come up with—and some of you might already know this from talking with lawyers and accountants on your own—what we’ve done is very serious. And even if it was done with the best of intentions—the very best—there is no statute of limitations for what we’ve done. And if we should ever get caught…well…let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  A few of the guests seemed disturbed by this news.

  “Theodore here has searched all the books and he can’t even find a legal precedent. But even so, he assures me we’re criminals now. All of us. Thieves! And depending on how you look at it, even worse. He says there might not be any statute of limitations for what we’ve done, depending on how you look at it. Especially when you look at what it might take to carry out our plans, and if you call it conspiracy. Or fraud. Or forgery. We’ve broken the law, and rest assured, we’ll be hunted for it. I’m sure there are some who will claim we should’ve stood by and let matters take their own course while all was lost.” Looking around at a few grey beards and bald heads, he couldn’t help but add, “I, for one, don’t feel that way. Nobody knows how long it takes a country to climb out of a mess like this—if it ever can. The world is falling apart. T
he glue is melting away and the seams are breaking. The markets. Wars. Maybe we won’t all live to see the day for our judgment in any manmade courts of law. I only hope,” he said with a good-natured smile, “if some of you grey-haired fellas get there first, you’re just wearing halos instead of horns!” For those who got his attempt to lighten things up, there were a few laughs.

  “We’ll keep an eye on ya!” one of the older men promised. “But as long as I’m still here, I’m hungry!” There was real laughter all around now. Briefcases were set on the floor, chairs were moved closer to the table or just a little back as various bellies required, and Ezra led the prayer to a round of “Amens.” Easier now, they helped themselves to bountiful plates of hot beef, mashed potatoes, gravy and homemade bread. It wasn’t their Last Supper. It would be the first of many such meetings as the years went by. But for now, a sense of mutual self-respect began to settle through the room. An invisible thread of risk, danger and purpose could be sensed among them now, and Ezra studied each of them—wondering if they could be trusted for the endeavors ahead. Upstanding citizens in their communities just a few weeks ago, they must now rise to the most important and uncertain challenge of their lives, and not all would be able to swim the waters and keep their secret. If he questioned their strength or loyalty, it didn’t show. It was too late for that now.

  As the last piece of apple pie and coffee were finished, and the table was cleared, the mood changed. It was time for business. Raising a hand politely now for silence, Ezra cleared his throat and spoke. “Gentlemen,” he said. “We’re not going to follow any fancy laws of order at this meeting. I think we’ve pretty much made it clear that we make our own rules, so can I have your attention, please? We can work right here, in front of everybody. There can’t be any secrets in this room, and we should start on a serious note.” He looked at them as if seeing into their souls. “Agreed?”