Of Money...
“From the end of the 20th Century through the beginning of the 21st, the essence of political, economic and financial behavior in the Western World was to maintain the value of corporate capital. Understand this and you will understand the social, moral and physical decline as well.”
---Ad-hoc Lecturer, the semi-Strategic Corporal
Oil
It began with a a yellowish 5” x 8” manila envelope with a gummed-flap and bizarre return addresses including Unibomber Plaza with racist and reactionary slogans in the upper left-hand corner that arrived by post. The envelope contained various papers mentioning the positive results of three exploratory wells once drilled on Herbert Grayson’s property. After several weeks of searching Grayson found the intended recipient living in a small trailer alongside some corrugated tool sheds. It was a dreary, damp overcast day. The man was short, with a large belly, square head, graying close cropped hair and wore glasses. Grayson questioned him about the wells the man’s son had drilled and then dismantled. He was not forthcoming. Grayson threatened legal action. He told Grayson to look for more holes. Grayson had over 2 acres and couldn't find abandoned or plugged well shafts. Finally, the man admitted to finding oil and was trying to get mineral rights at adjacent properties. Grayson was informed of where the shafts were and immediately set to having well-heads and pumps put into place as he intended to gather the mineral rights of adjacent properties himself for G oil company. Trying to return to Grayson’s property as part of coverage to this story this reporter became lost. Looking up a dirt road into the forest I spied what was either a deer or large dog in the distance.
Negotiating a Bill of Exchange
The big bank downtown would neither cash the check for $ 115,000 nor open an account with it. I removed part of the attached documentation that was confusing and returned to work thinking to take it the branch across the street. I forgot about it until noon and took it to a seated assistant-manager with nearly platinum blonde hair. She was not svelte nor displeasing but very business-like. At first she was abrupt, claiming it was too late in the day to process such an amount but she would try. I came back at 1:30 and her attitude was much better; less harried, even friendly. I had military ID, a driver’s licence and passport and thought there should be no problem with the liquidity of the deposit as it was a cashier’s check from a major institution. Seated in her cubical as she reviewed her information on the computer she called me “Wendel.” I was puzzled. Wasn’t the check made out to me? If not, what excuse could I make to leave, and how would I be able to create the necessary phony identification? After a brief pause I told her I wasn’t Wendel and watched as she further reviewed the record.