girl in Carlson.
He
was the one who had always been meant to carry the mantle of the bank;
he
was the one who would be expected to lead Carlson into the twentieth century;
he
had always been the one…
But then he had gone off to war.
Though the news of Mason’s death had shaken all of Carlson to its very core, Zachary had been privately elated. There had
always been a simmering rivalry between them that grew with every passing year, but hostility existed mostly on Zachary’s
end; after all, he had nothing Mason could have wanted. If he had a penny for every time he’d been told to act more like Mason,
he wouldn’t have needed the rotten bastard to die in order to inherit the bank; he’d have already been rich!
And suddenly it all belonged to me!
Mason’s sudden passing had aged Sherman Tucker a decade in what seemed little more than a blink of an eye. More and more,
the older banker withdrew himself from public life, retreating to the library of his home on the northern edge of town. By
the time Alice Tucker died giving birth to Sherman’s granddaughter, he’d fallen so ill that he needed round-the-clock care.
It was undoubtedly only a matter of time until he joined his beloved son in heaven.
Sherman’s exit had left Zachary in complete control of the bank and the future of Carlson. His philosophy of business was
nearly the exact opposite of his father’s; he felt nothing mattered but the money. He didn’t give a damn if a farmer was going
through tough times or a merchant was still waiting for a shipment of goods from Duluth. If the money he was owed wasn’t paid
in time, he had no qualms about seizing whatever he could as payment. Was it his fault if businessmen had bitten off more
than they could chew? Money was power… and that was what he coveted.
“I’m afraid that my father’s illness is so severe that he will be unable to be of any help in this matter,” Zachary explained
patiently. “The doctors all say to expect the worst, but I prefer to be more of an optimist. Perhaps if he makes a recovery,
he might be able to aid us in the future.”
“I see,” Stack answered, clearly disappointed.
“But make no bones about it, Mr. Stack,” Zachary said with just the slightest touch of steel in his voice, “my father has
often expressed the utmost faith and confidence in my abilities. After all, he taught me everything he knows. If he were able
to join us, I’m certain that he would have made the very same choices I have.”
Stack stared at Zachary for a moment longer, looking as if there were things he wished to say, but instead began shuffling
papers into his briefcase. “I believe our business is concluded,” he said finally. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day, Mr. Stack.”
* * *
“God damn it all!” Zachary swore angrily after he was certain Wilbur Stack was out of earshot. Snatching up his empty glass,
he generously refilled it with whiskey and sent the contents burning down his gullet. He poured even more, but he was so agitated
that instead of drinking it, he tossed his still smoldering cigar into the glass, ruining it all.
“What are we gonna do now, boss?” Travis Jefferson said as he stepped from the shadows toward Zachary’s desk. He had been
around enough of the man’s rages to know to stand back respectfully.
“What can we do but keep on, you simpleton?” Zachary snapped.
“How about movin’ the lumber company’s offices farther up the line? There ain’t no reason that they gotta be next to the depot,
is there?” Travis suggested. “Maybe we could find some other folks that’ll snap up the money that you’re offerin’.”
“It’s far too late for that,” the banker answered dismissively. “Gaitskill has already made plans that they won’t want to
change, no matter what sort of explanation I give them. The consequences of simply asking them to do so would be disastrous.
“I’ve made a promise to
He
was the one who had always been meant to carry the mantle of the bank;
he
was the one who would be expected to lead Carlson into the twentieth century;
he
had always been the one…
But then he had gone off to war.
Though the news of Mason’s death had shaken all of Carlson to its very core, Zachary had been privately elated. There had
always been a simmering rivalry between them that grew with every passing year, but hostility existed mostly on Zachary’s
end; after all, he had nothing Mason could have wanted. If he had a penny for every time he’d been told to act more like Mason,
he wouldn’t have needed the rotten bastard to die in order to inherit the bank; he’d have already been rich!
And suddenly it all belonged to me!
Mason’s sudden passing had aged Sherman Tucker a decade in what seemed little more than a blink of an eye. More and more,
the older banker withdrew himself from public life, retreating to the library of his home on the northern edge of town. By
the time Alice Tucker died giving birth to Sherman’s granddaughter, he’d fallen so ill that he needed round-the-clock care.
It was undoubtedly only a matter of time until he joined his beloved son in heaven.
Sherman’s exit had left Zachary in complete control of the bank and the future of Carlson. His philosophy of business was
nearly the exact opposite of his father’s; he felt nothing mattered but the money. He didn’t give a damn if a farmer was going
through tough times or a merchant was still waiting for a shipment of goods from Duluth. If the money he was owed wasn’t paid
in time, he had no qualms about seizing whatever he could as payment. Was it his fault if businessmen had bitten off more
than they could chew? Money was power… and that was what he coveted.
“I’m afraid that my father’s illness is so severe that he will be unable to be of any help in this matter,” Zachary explained
patiently. “The doctors all say to expect the worst, but I prefer to be more of an optimist. Perhaps if he makes a recovery,
he might be able to aid us in the future.”
“I see,” Stack answered, clearly disappointed.
“But make no bones about it, Mr. Stack,” Zachary said with just the slightest touch of steel in his voice, “my father has
often expressed the utmost faith and confidence in my abilities. After all, he taught me everything he knows. If he were able
to join us, I’m certain that he would have made the very same choices I have.”
Stack stared at Zachary for a moment longer, looking as if there were things he wished to say, but instead began shuffling
papers into his briefcase. “I believe our business is concluded,” he said finally. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day, Mr. Stack.”
* * *
“God damn it all!” Zachary swore angrily after he was certain Wilbur Stack was out of earshot. Snatching up his empty glass,
he generously refilled it with whiskey and sent the contents burning down his gullet. He poured even more, but he was so agitated
that instead of drinking it, he tossed his still smoldering cigar into the glass, ruining it all.
“What are we gonna do now, boss?” Travis Jefferson said as he stepped from the shadows toward Zachary’s desk. He had been
around enough of the man’s rages to know to stand back respectfully.
“What can we do but keep on, you simpleton?” Zachary snapped.
“How about movin’ the lumber company’s offices farther up the line? There ain’t no reason that they gotta be next to the depot,
is there?” Travis suggested. “Maybe we could find some other folks that’ll snap up the money that you’re offerin’.”
“It’s far too late for that,” the banker answered dismissively. “Gaitskill has already made plans that they won’t want to
change, no matter what sort of explanation I give them. The consequences of simply asking them to do so would be disastrous.
“I’ve made a promise to
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