Unspoken (14 page)

“Silence has been the best security for decades. Let’s try to keep it that way. I’ll start with photos, make a trip back to Chicago to talk with Ann. She’s the best secret keeper I know.” He looked over, considered her. “But you would come in a close second. There are a few more days of existing work to wrap up,” he went on. “I’ve got vault five to finish, and there’s the group four coins you’re gathering at the house. It makes sense to clear those first before we open this Pandora’s box.”

“I can give you some time, help in the vault.”

Bryce smiled. “Thanks, but I formally give you permission to not think about coins for a while. You’ve got your hands full elsewhere. Finish up the storage units and odds and ends the Graham family tucked away around Graham Enterprises. John and I can work this project for a bit.”

Charlotte nodded. “I’m going to accept before you change your mind. Give me darts, bowling pins, and two thousand skeet balls over coins any day.”

Bryce laughed. “Are those the latest discoveries? Where did they find all this stuff?”

“Fred’s dad—my great-grandfather—actually advertised himself as ‘The last buyer you need to call.’ Once warehouses started to be standardized with pallets, forklifts, and cargo containers, all the odd-sized berm storage units on the property just became unwanted space, too awkward for most companies to want to lease. The Graham family was happy to take them over for personal storage. This place is huge, and they put stuff everywhere. It turns out they just didn’t feel a need to keep good records of what they stored where.”

“You’re sure there are no more coins?”

“Ninety-five percent sure. Fred was definite about the location of the safes, the vaults, the inventory sheets—he would repeat himself as if a list was running through his head that he had memorized. And we’ve opened all the units now, at least briefly. There are probably twenty percent we’ve glanced in, written down boxes and crates, and closed the doors to come back to it later. I’ve found some old logbooks that indicate Fred’s dad bought a bunch of model trains. It’s that kind of item I’m hoping to still find. But I don’t think I’ll find more coins.”

“Then focus on those items, Charlotte, and let me worry about the coins.”

Bryce watched Ann sort through the pictures he had taken of vaults nineteen and twenty-two. There was too much cop in her, even after retiring, for him to tell what she was thinking.

“How much is she asking?”

“Thirty-two million for the eight thousand individual coins, twenty-eight million for the rest. That includes the first three groups and the vault five coins I’ve already bought.”

“Sixty million for everything?”

“Yes.”

Ann barely blinked at the number. “She’s been underpricing the individual coins by, what, thirty percent, based on the three groups you’ve bought and sold so far?”

“It fluctuates around that.”

Ann went back to thinking. Several minutes passed. “She’s underpricing the rest of the coins by about fifty percent.”

“Fifty—you’re serious?”

She looked up, nodded, and tapped the top photo. “Do you know how rare this is? A truly untouched, very old hoard of common coins? They didn’t even consider die errors to be worth collecting in the thirties. Nor did they care about where a coin was minted, just the year. It wasn’t until the fifties that collecting every mint location became a serious focus for collectors. You’re looking at a collection that could yield more keys and semi-keys per roll than anything that has come to market in decades.”

She handed him back the photos. “The value of this purchase isn’t in the individual eight thousand coins, as rare and valuable as they are. The real money is in common coins. I’d put fair value at forty-two million for the eight thousand individual coins, and an equal forty-two million for the rest. I think she’s asking sixty million for what is an eighty-four-million-dollar coin collection.”

Bryce absorbed that. “A sizable spread.”

“Too large to be fair.”

Bryce steepled his fingers, mentally running the numbers. “A twenty percent spread is more reasonable, so bring the purchase price up to sixty-seven million two. The critical factor being how underpriced she is on the rolls. How certain are you she’s underpricing fifty percent rather than thirty percent?”

“There are no rolls in that inventory list dated after 1930. No silver Washington quarters, no Benjamin Franklin half-dollars.
Silver was such a key store of wealth in the Depression once gold became illegal to hold that there would have been an accumulation of at least Washington thirty-twos. Vault five had some Franklin half-dollars, some rolls from the thirties and forties. That is the newer hoard. This is the older one. And it’s four times as large.”

“Telling.”

“Very. This collection was probably intact at the time of the crash of 1929, may have been bought as a single acquisition—a major coin dealer who had to liquidate. That would explain the wide scope of those eight thousand coins and the sheer size of the hoard.”

Bryce nodded. “That fits what I know about this family.”

“It would have been expensive, even at distressed prices. I don’t know what inflation would imply running this back in time—maybe a few million in ’29?”

Bryce started thinking out loud. “Maybe use a buyer syndicate for the common coins, but the higher-grade individuals—the eight thousand—I continue to buy in groups of five hundred every thirty days. Charlotte would make closer to seventy million, and I wouldn’t need to raise as much cash, as I could use the cash flow as coins sell. I’ve bought the vault five coins for five million six, there’s three million left in what I’ve raised so far, so I’d need to raise another twenty-five million.”

“I’ve got a name.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“Kevin Cooper, retired shortstop for the Atlanta Braves, now The Pizza King for his nationwide franchise of pizza shops. This is right up his alley. It’s an illiquid investment with a good return and solid management already in place. His floor on investments is ten million. Knowing Cooper, he’ll do the full twenty-five if you let him. The coins are solid collateral. He’ll take my word on the price being fair.”

Bryce blinked. “I don’t know what to say, Ann.”

She smiled. “I’ll set up a meeting for you with Cooper. Next Friday work for you? I already have plans with his wife for that day. He’ll appreciate an excuse to step away from the office.”

“And I thought the money raising would be the hard part of this.”

Ann smiled. “With this kind of cache? You’ve got an investment that’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Money isn’t a problem.”

“Can we scale what you’re doing with vault five to handle this?”

“We hire eight to ten more people who are really good at coins, an equal number to handle the packaging, add some more space—we can multiply the volume. This quality of coins at these prices, you won’t have a problem attracting buyers to take even this amount of inventory.”

“You signed up for a few weeks. I’d guess this is going to take a year.”

“I’ll talk to Paul, but provisionally I’m staying in. I can manage the prep room without having to be on-site every day.”

“Thanks, Ann.”

“I’m going to enjoy this. What did Devon say about the individual coins?”

“He choked on his soda and asked me to repeat the number. Sharon laughed, then started to cry. I figure Bishop Chicago will be able to buy about twelve million to hold for its own inventory. I’ll let Devon do that buying. Then I’m going to sell Devon and Sharon fifty-one percent of Bishop Chicago so that when this is done, I won’t have to look at another coin for a few years beyond the ones in my pocket change.”

“A wise man.” Ann considered him. “What did you do to end up with a year like this? Were you praying for something in particular, Bryce?”

He smiled. Trust Ann to get to the heart of it. “I was bored. I probably mentioned that to God a time or two.”

“That’s a rather dangerous prayer in my experience. You won’t be bored now.”

Bryce settled back in the chair, feeling much of the stress flowing away. With Ann continuing to help manage this, Devon on the individual coins, and if she was right about Kevin Cooper being willing to fund the purchase—the risks to doing the deal were fading quickly. “Charlotte wants to give most of the money away.”

Ann smiled. “Good for her. How’s she doing?”

“I’d say she’s relieved her plan to hook me worked.”

Ann laughed. “You didn’t know you were swimming in chum the whole time.”

“I thought vault five was the catch. It was in fact the bait.” Bryce thought about that and smiled. “Charlotte’s got me selling her coins and helping her give away the cash, which is the answer she wanted before we ever met for the first time. And she curved the path so it was my decision to opt in for both. I have to admire that about her. This was a carefully played plan from the start. So it begs the question—is today the end of that successful plan or just another chapter of it?”

“Think she would tell you if you asked?”

“No.”

Ann smiled. “Then enjoy the present. If nothing else, the situation is interesting.”

“Charlotte’s interesting. The situation is kind of a hit-your-thumb-with-a-hammer-and-ask-did-that-hurt kind of moment. I have never seen so many, never imagined so many coins as are in those vaults.”

Ann tilted her head. “I didn’t see that, Bryce. That you’re nervous. You’re in deep water, deep enough to seem like it’s over your head—so you swim your way out of this or drown.”

“Basically.”

“You needed a challenge, my friend. You just got one. You need this, Bryce, as much as Charlotte needs you to solve the problem for her. You won’t be the same once it’s over.”

“I’ll agree with you there. I’m not going to be the same after this experience.”

B
ryce was wiping off his hands when he heard the doorbell. Charlotte was early for their first dinner. He walked through his home to the front, pulled open the door to see her impatiently half turned away, a shopping bag in one hand and her phone in the other. He forced his smile to stay in place. “Welcome, Charlotte. Have any trouble finding the place?” He reached out and put a hand on her arm before she could walk back down the steps.

“None. Why don’t you wave to John, who’s pretending not to be tailing me? Your nine o’clock.”

She wasn’t annoyed at him. Bryce glanced over, spotted John’s black SUV, and felt immediate concern. John didn’t tail because everything was fine.

“As if I really need someone to make sure I don’t get lost around Princeton Circle. My grandmother lived on this street.”

Bryce ignored her complaint and eased her inside past him. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.” He closed the door firmly with her inside.

The driver’s window lowered as he approached. “She’s going to be in a snippy mood with you tonight for that last bit,” John mentioned.

“She’ll get over it. What’s up?”

John simply handed him a photo. “Richard Sill. You see him, you plant yourself between the two of them. I don’t know if he’s in Chicago.”

“Will do.”

“Five aliases on the back, and it’s probably changed again. He earned some reward money back eighteen years ago, giving cops tips on where they could find her. One of those tips indirectly led to them really finding her. I’ve never been satisfied—I don’t think the FBI has either—about how he knew wrong information that was just enough right to be eventually useful.”

Bryce burned the guy’s image into his brain. “Okay.”

“He’s written her in the last month, care of her sister. A lot of mail has come over the years via that avenue, and her sister is smart enough to have a security firm simply intercept all the mail so neither of them ever sees it. They send it to me. Richard is looking for a thank-you for helping her out back then that suggests ten thousand today would be a kindness, as his luck has been rough lately.”

“Charming.”

“He’s done this before. Last time he showed up in person at Tabitha’s home, hoping to collect his thank-you money from her. The thing is, this guy has fixated on Charlotte for so long he’s the one guy who likely would recognize her on the street at a glance if their paths happen to cross somehow. I don’t like this guy’s history of being lucky enough to be in that wrong place. Until someone I’ve got out looking puts eyes on him and tells me where he’s at, she’s got a close tail.”

“You should tell her.”

John shook his head. “Long ago Charlotte and I made a simple agreement. I say I’ve got an active threat, her mouth shuts, she does everything I say, no questions, no hesitation. Anything else that bothers me—that’s less than that active threat—I deal
with however I see fit, but without her. She can be as annoyed as she likes, spout off all she likes. We do our own thing. But you’ll notice your front door still hasn’t opened, and when she realized I was on a close tail, she was standing on your porch with her phone open in her hand and two numbers of 911 dialed. She won’t willfully undermine what’s going on. She’ll just be annoyed that I’m being John on her again.”

“What’s an active threat?”

“I hand her a gun and tell her to shoot whoever walks through the door.”

Bryce opened the front door of his home mentally braced for Charlotte to be waiting. The foyer was empty. Her shoes were in the middle of the rug, and the sack she had been carrying was resting on the bottom step of the staircase.

“Charlotte?”

She appeared from the direction of his kitchen. She was carrying the bowl of cheese popcorn. “You two were having a long chat.”

“He’s just being John.”

She blinked, then laughed. “I use pretty much those exact words, but mine have a more exasperated air and tossed-up hands accompanying them.”

“You’re fine. He had a pho—”

She raised her hand to cut him off mid-word, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to deal with cheese dust. “I’ll ask if I want to know. I don’t want to know. If I knew the problem, I’d just be bugging him for updates. He’s already doing whatever he has decided needs to be done. After eighteen years of this, I think I’ve earned the right to stay in the dark.”

“Okay.” He took a handful of the popcorn from the bowl. “So how was your day?”

“I had this evening dinner appointment I was supposed to go to, and it threw off my concentration the entire day. I had to change clothes like four times.”

He blinked, trying to catch up to the fact he was hearing humor, bad humor, but she was trying. “I like the final choice.”

She’d found a striking dress that did a nice job of reminding him why she was dangerous, and a silk black ribbon to tie back her hair. The bare feet failed to tone down the impression of it.

“I’ve been wandering around. I like your house. It has furniture.”

He laughed. “Rather too much of it I think at times, but all of it comfortable. Much of it has been in the family for a lot of years.”

She nodded to the sack she’d brought. “I was told housewarming gifts were the thing to do. That’s for you. I’d hand it to you, but no way I’m giving up cheese popcorn to give you a badly wrapped gift. I fail miserably at straight edges.”

He reached for the sack and took out the package, felt a picture frame under the wrapping paper. “Can I open it now?”

“Sure.”

He tore off the wrapping paper and caught his breath. Bishop Chicago. She’d drawn his storefront from the perspective of across the street, caught Devon and Sharon walking hand in hand on the way in to work. The store display was accurate for last week’s specials on early-date half-dollars. “It’s wonderful, Charlotte.”

“I have very few talents in life. But I can draw.”

“How did—?”

“I snapped a photo, worked from memory. It’s a little flat—it lacks the smaller details that make a scene feel authentic—but I wasn’t able to linger and see what else caught my attention.”

“Quit criticizing,” he murmured. He balled up the wrapping paper. “I’m going to go get a hammer and nail.”

He decided the sketch deserved the attention of all his guests, so he took the drawing to the front hallway and stood by the front door to look around. He selected a wall, used approximate eye level as a guide, placed the nail so he’d be looking down a few inches, and glanced at her. She’d taken a seat on the staircase to watch him. “You can comment.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Thought it.”

“In the summer afternoons when you open the front door, the sun hits that wall. Your guests will see a beautifully reflected sunlight on glass rather than the sketch.”

“Excellent point.” He stepped back to consider other options. Chose another wall, looked at her for approval, and drove the nail. He carefully hung the sketch and stepped back to admire it. She really did beautiful work. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

“You’re welcome.”

He glanced over at her. “I had in mind feeding you something better than half a bowl of cheese popcorn.”

“I’ve still got my appetite. I missed lunch due to all the clothing changes required for this evening.”

He reached for her hand, grinned. “You’re not going to get me to say anything more than I like the results. You don’t need more compliments at the moment; you need some real food. Come on back to the kitchen. Pizza is in the oven. I was working on the salad when you arrived.”

He picked up where he had left off, cutting tomatoes. The pizza cheese was bubbling, and the kitchen smelled good.

“The photos are your family?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the refrigerator covered in snapshots. “Yes.”

“Do they come here or do you go visit them?”

“Mostly I go. This house isn’t very kid-proof. But someone tends to drop by every week or so, or I find excuses to drop by
their homes.” He shrugged. “When family lives in the area, it’s just part of the flow of life.”

She turned the vase of flowers on the counter. He watched her finger one of the petals but didn’t say anything. Telling her they were for her would just add a layer to the evening she likely wasn’t ready for. “Want to put those on the table?” he suggested. He’d decide later if he would mention she should take them home with her. “What else have you been up to today?”

She took the flowers over to the table. “The group four coins are now at the store. I’m at three million two.”

“I’ll write you a check.”

“You don’t want to go look at them first?”

“The first three groups are averaging a profit of thirty percent. I’m not going to quibble with your pricing.”

He sliced the last carrot and used the knife to scrape it off the cutting board into the bowl. It added nice color. He’d gone skimpy on the cucumbers and mushrooms since they weren’t his favorites. Pizza and a salad, brownies for dessert. He’d spent the better part of a week figuring out how to keep this evening simple and informal.

He refilled her glass. “The last of the vault five coins went up for sale today.”

“So this is a celebration meal. You’re ready to tackle the big vaults.”

“It is. I’ve got the signed lease on my desk for more prep space, Chapel will have his security work done in a week, and I’m hiring people. First of the month I plan to bring the first shipment of coins to Chicago.”

“Thanks, Bishop.”

“Sure you don’t want the other check today?”

A check for twenty-eight million was in his office safe, waiting his signature. He’d buy the large volume of coins, and she’d continue to sell him the individual coins in groups of five hundred
every thirty days. Ann had been right about Kevin Cooper. He’d wanted to fund the entire syndication share himself.

Charlotte shook her head. “I’ll take the check the week you start moving the coins. An earthquake might happen in the next few days and bury them.”

He laughed. “Worrywart. Have you relaxed at all since Fred told you about the coins?”

She half smiled. “Life was simpler before I had a grandfather.”

“Check out the cupboards for me, would you? See what I’ve got for salad dressings and choose what you’d like. I bought new.”

She opened the long cupboard, pulled out a ranch dressing and set it on the counter.

“I thought you were going to bring your sketchbook with you.”

She looked over her shoulder. “I thought you were joking.”

“I’m planning to eat pizza and watch a ball game. The only business we need to talk through tonight is what you want to do with the next thirty million. We can have that conversation during commercials.”

She laughed. “Sure we can.” She set a French dressing beside the other one. “I’d like to keep doing what we’ve been doing. You give me a page of ideas, I look it over and fund the page or not.”

“You can’t abdicate the decision making.”

“I’m signing the checks, so I’m making the final decisions.”

“Food pantries. Animal shelters. What else interests you?”

“Those are the core ones. I’ll give you the checkbook registry, and you can see what I’ve done for the last few years.”

She set a third salad dressing on the counter, this one a Caesar. “I want to give so carefully no one even notices a wave. Existing organizations, not new ones, places with a clear mission statement and goals, a passion for their work, integrity in their finances, stable staffs.”

“You’ve given this some thought.”

“The broad strokes. How much to give, specifically where, and when, so the gifts are helpful but aren’t being noticed as excessive—that’s your problem, please. It’s been a challenge to give away a few million quietly. I don’t know how to approach doing sixty million in a year. I’d like you to figure that out. I don’t want this to take three to five years. Sell the coins and give away the money.”

He picked up his glass, drank half of it, considered her. “Do you like to give?”

“No. I just like to keep it even less.”

“I actually understood that distinction.”

“Where are the plates?”

“Second cabinet to your right.”

The oven timer went off. He pulled out the pizza. “There’s probably a sketchbook around here somewhere that one of the kids left behind.”

“I’m a snob about paper. I like a nice, heavyweight, hot-pressed paper—something sturdy and smooth to the touch—and archival grade so it’s not going to yellow in the next hundred years.”

Bryce smiled. “You’ve got a favorite brand?”

“There’s a place in New England called Traverse that stocks paper from different manufacturers, and you can buy for the year of production as well as the brand. The year the paper was made actually can make a difference.” She carried two plates to the table. “Silverware?”

“Right-hand drawer next to the dishwasher.”

She pulled open the drawer. “Arches makes a hot-pressed watercolor paper that’s sturdy and forgiving—it’s what I toss in my bag if I’m just walking around to see what I happen to notice that day. I love Stonehenge 2006 when I’m working at the drafting table—it’s a bit soft for the surface, but I can make the details
almost photo-like. The Strathmore Bristol Plate Finish from 2004 is my all-around favorite paper when I’m doing a sketch where I can take my time. It’s the smoothest of the papers and it doesn’t step forward and interfere with my pencils or pen.” She stopped, smiled. “Bet you’re sorry you asked.”