Generation Lost (Gray Wolf Security #17)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Why are you here, Michael?” asked the president. “I told you and the team to keep your noses out of my business. I hope you heeded that warning.”

“We’re all here in Washington on business, sir. Arrived late last night, if you’d like to check.”

“Don’t you think I already did that,” smirked the man. “Michael, you know better than anyone that this job is difficult. Sacrifices have to be made in order for the government to function. Sometimes, that’s playing with interest rates, like with mortgages or credit cards. Sometimes, it’s crawling into bed with nations or terrorists to make a point.”

“I never did it. I was president almost twenty years ago and I never, not once, did it and I’ll die on my statement. You can operate with honesty. With integrity. Those before us damn sure did.”

“Please, don’t give me that bullshit.” He thought he heard something coming from his phone but stared down at it on the desk and just shook his head.

“Were you aware, Mr. President, that when Harry Truman was overseeing foreclosures during the Depression, his own mother was one of those whose home was foreclosed on? When others said, you have the power to take care of this, do you know what he said?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” frowned the man.

“He said, how can I do that when my own neighbors have lost their homes. I didn’t interfere for them, and I can’t for my mother.”

“Fool,” scoffed the president. “You take care of your own.”

“Oh, believe me, sir. I understand taking care of your own better than anyone. I took care of my team and lost my leg because of it. I had my name, my family, dragged through the mud because of power-hungry machinations of someone I trusted. But I survived because I was honest. I served in this very office with integrity, honesty, and a willingness to do what is right. It’s really that simple. Do what is right. All the time.”

“Don’t give me your bullshit speeches, Michael. I don’t need to know how pious and holy you were as a president. Things are different. The world is different.”

“Yes,” nodded Michael. “It’s worse. All of it is worse. You have the power to change all of this right now. This very moment, you can stop this, and I’ll walk away.”

“You’re going to walk away either way. You will, or I’ll hunt every one of you down and kill you,” he snarled. Michael just stared at him, not saying anything. “Did you come here honestly believing that I didn’t know that your three cohorts are at the Pentagon right this minute? I know that they’re meeting with the head of the joint chiefs. He’s another weakling who doesn’t understand what needs to happen.”

Someone rushed into the room, whispering in the president’s ear. He looked directly at Michael and gripped the phone.

“Yes. How? You’re wrong. That’s not possible.” He slammed the phone down, and the president continued to stare at Michael. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” he frowned. “I’ve been sitting here all morning waiting for you to grace me with your presence.”

“Are the other three still at the Pentagon?” he asked one of the men in the room.

“Yes, sir. They’ve been there since 0600 waiting.”

“Do not move. Do not let him move. Keep him in this room until I can figure out what the fuck is happening.”

“It’s a big load this time,” smiled the bank manager.

“They’ve been doing well. Just count it, and I’ll be out of your hair.” He nodded as the guards wheeled the carts to the vault. Two tellers were waiting to run the money through the counter and log in all the other checks.

“What’s the weather like?” asked the manager casually.

“Starting to warm up. The cherry blossoms should be in full bloom soon. I’m hoping to take some time off here soon.”

“Time off?” he laughed. “You only work one day a week.”

“It’s exhausting,” he grinned.

“Sir, we have a problem,” said the teller.

“Fix it,” said the manager.

“Sir, I can’t fix this. These bills are counterfeit. All of them.” The young man pushed off the side of the vault door, staring at the teller and down at the cash.

“That’s not possible. Look at them again.”

“Sir, I’ve looked at them, and so has the machine. They are all counterfeit. Every single bill in these four bags. The checks are a problem as well.”

“How the fuck are the checks a problem? They’re bank drafts, money orders. They’re not a problem!”

“They are,” she said, holding one up. “This one is made out to Mickey Mouse. This one is from The Hulk. This one is from Joseph Stalin.”

“What the fuck is happening?” growled the manager.

“I don’t know. Hold on,” he said, stepping aside. He dialed the number and waited, then stared at the stacks of counterfeit money. How could this happen?

“We have a problem. The cash is all counterfeit. The checks are just kids’ paper money. It’s all fake. All of it.”

“How?”

“How the hell do I know? It’s fake!”

He picked up the paper, looking at it against the light. It was painfully obvious that it was all fake, the paper quality so thin it was amusing. The checks had cartoon characters on them and looked as though they’d been signed by children with crayons.

“ You’re wrong. That’s not possible.”

“I’m standing right here looking at this shit. It’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. Someone stole the entire shipment, and this is what we got.”