Leland.
“I can see why you’re giving up your old business,” observed Dale. “Even a one percent commission on the sale of that much gold would make you wealthier than Midas.”
Leland shook his head. “No, Dale, you aren’t getting it at all. I’m not doing it for the money. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve lived on the far side of God’s will for a long time, all of my life, really. Don’t you see? This is my chance to settle up the account with God, do something for Him to be on the right side for a change. That’s what it’s all about.”
Dale looked at Leland incredulously but didn’t respond.
It didn’t seem to Leland that Dale was really getting what he was telling him. What he and Krissie had experienced last night was an indeed personal matter. They were prepared to give up everything if need be and follow Lusan. Surely he would lead them back into God’s good graces, to salvation. That wasworth all of the wealth, all of the possessions he had acquired. What would it profit a man if he gained the whole world but lost his soul? That was in the Bible; Leland remembered his grandmother reading it to him.
“This guy you met must be some salesman to change you so profoundly,” noted Dale, as he and Leland made their way to the door. “You really seem different.”
“I feel different,” proclaimed Leland. “Call it being born again, call it what you wish. For once in my life, I’m a part of something special. I’m going to have a part in changing the world.”
Leland stepped from Manhattan Gold and headed toward Seventh Avenue. He had a long walk ahead of him, better than two miles, but he would walk it. He needed time to think about what he was going to say to Mr. Pagoni. He’d spoken to his executive assistant this morning, arranged the meeting. It wasn’t difficult; everyone down there knew and liked Leland James. He was sure, however, they weren’t going to like what he had to say.
It was about an hour later that Leland walked into the 50-story, high-rise office building. Louie Pagoni had a suite of offices on the top two floors. On paper, Pagoni owned an international shipping business, a very large and profitable one. In fact, most of his dealings were totally legit. He employed over 3,000 people worldwide, yet if there was a grand godfather of the Italian Mafia, he was it.
Leland had first met him when he was only 19 years old, running games of chance for some hustlers on the street over in Brooklyn. Pagoni had taken a liking to him right away and offered him a series of much better jobs. Leland had done a number of odd jobs for Mr. Pagoni, most of them legal. It was Pagoni himself who got him set up in his current gig 13 years ago. Now he was setting it aside. That would take some explaining, and he still didn’t know exactly what he was going to say. He wasn’t scared as such, but he was nervous.
Leland checked in at the main desk, then walked through the metal detector. It reminded him of a TSA checkpoint, as he set his gold-laden briefcase on the X-ray machine. The security agent looked at it in disbelief as he opened the case at the far end of the machine and removed its contents.
“Yes, its gold,” confirmed Leland, “I don’t know how pure.”
The second security person gazed upon it, picked it up, even shook it.
“It’s solid,” confirmed Leland.
“Where did you get this thing?” asked the security guard.
“I’m sorry, I really can’t say,” said Leland. “That information is for Mr. Pagoni alone.”
The security officer stepped aside and keyed his radio. Leland couldn’t hear the contents of the conversation, but it went on for over a minute. Then that officer turned to the other. “He can go on up. It’s OK.”
Leland was escorted to the elevator by one of Pagoni’s muscular security people, who inserted his special key that whisked them to the penthouse.
“Mr. Pagoni will be seeing you in his private quarters,”
“I can see why you’re giving up your old business,” observed Dale. “Even a one percent commission on the sale of that much gold would make you wealthier than Midas.”
Leland shook his head. “No, Dale, you aren’t getting it at all. I’m not doing it for the money. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve lived on the far side of God’s will for a long time, all of my life, really. Don’t you see? This is my chance to settle up the account with God, do something for Him to be on the right side for a change. That’s what it’s all about.”
Dale looked at Leland incredulously but didn’t respond.
It didn’t seem to Leland that Dale was really getting what he was telling him. What he and Krissie had experienced last night was an indeed personal matter. They were prepared to give up everything if need be and follow Lusan. Surely he would lead them back into God’s good graces, to salvation. That wasworth all of the wealth, all of the possessions he had acquired. What would it profit a man if he gained the whole world but lost his soul? That was in the Bible; Leland remembered his grandmother reading it to him.
“This guy you met must be some salesman to change you so profoundly,” noted Dale, as he and Leland made their way to the door. “You really seem different.”
“I feel different,” proclaimed Leland. “Call it being born again, call it what you wish. For once in my life, I’m a part of something special. I’m going to have a part in changing the world.”
Leland stepped from Manhattan Gold and headed toward Seventh Avenue. He had a long walk ahead of him, better than two miles, but he would walk it. He needed time to think about what he was going to say to Mr. Pagoni. He’d spoken to his executive assistant this morning, arranged the meeting. It wasn’t difficult; everyone down there knew and liked Leland James. He was sure, however, they weren’t going to like what he had to say.
It was about an hour later that Leland walked into the 50-story, high-rise office building. Louie Pagoni had a suite of offices on the top two floors. On paper, Pagoni owned an international shipping business, a very large and profitable one. In fact, most of his dealings were totally legit. He employed over 3,000 people worldwide, yet if there was a grand godfather of the Italian Mafia, he was it.
Leland had first met him when he was only 19 years old, running games of chance for some hustlers on the street over in Brooklyn. Pagoni had taken a liking to him right away and offered him a series of much better jobs. Leland had done a number of odd jobs for Mr. Pagoni, most of them legal. It was Pagoni himself who got him set up in his current gig 13 years ago. Now he was setting it aside. That would take some explaining, and he still didn’t know exactly what he was going to say. He wasn’t scared as such, but he was nervous.
Leland checked in at the main desk, then walked through the metal detector. It reminded him of a TSA checkpoint, as he set his gold-laden briefcase on the X-ray machine. The security agent looked at it in disbelief as he opened the case at the far end of the machine and removed its contents.
“Yes, its gold,” confirmed Leland, “I don’t know how pure.”
The second security person gazed upon it, picked it up, even shook it.
“It’s solid,” confirmed Leland.
“Where did you get this thing?” asked the security guard.
“I’m sorry, I really can’t say,” said Leland. “That information is for Mr. Pagoni alone.”
The security officer stepped aside and keyed his radio. Leland couldn’t hear the contents of the conversation, but it went on for over a minute. Then that officer turned to the other. “He can go on up. It’s OK.”
Leland was escorted to the elevator by one of Pagoni’s muscular security people, who inserted his special key that whisked them to the penthouse.
“Mr. Pagoni will be seeing you in his private quarters,”
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