LORD OF MONEY

LORD OF MONEY

“I’ve had enough of her. She’s not getting away with murder again, not this time. How dare she accuse me of neglecting my own father? She's the one who never visits him, never looks after him, and practically only ever calls to see if he’s already-” I exhale. “This is it. I’m no longer the good sister I once was. I’m moving in with my father now, and things are going to be different from here on after. Don’t worry Dad, you are not alone.”

As I drive through the cold, dark desert, memories of my childhood assail me. It seemed like yesterday when Dad sat behind the wheel of his Ford Mustang, taking us all out on good, well-deserved vacations. “Today, I turn forty,” he said, his hands on the wheel and a soft amber-lit dashboard. Even then, as a child, hearing him say that sent a chill through my spine; I hated to think my father had turned old. I hugged him to comfort myself in the fragrance of his cologne and the thought that I would still have him for at least fifty more years…“Has it been that long?”

I wipe the tears off my face as I pull over into the white light of a gas station. I couldn’t bring any of the kids, so this weekend, it’s just going to be you and me, Dad.

“Evening,” I say to the clerk.

“Evening, miss.”

“Forty on pump four, please.”

“Sure, anything else?”

“Just the gas and the water.”

“We have a special on candy bars. You pick two from any of these, and the third one is on us.”

“Do you carry musketeers? I don’t see any.”

Mhm… I believe we should have some available. If you don’t spot them in that box, unfortunately, it seems we may be out of stock.

“Yup, there it is; they were all the way back.”

“Are those your favorite miss?”

“My father’s.”

“Oh.. wait a minute, are you Amanda Wolf?”

“Yes! How did you know?!”

“You are Richter's daughter, aren’t you? The professor.”

“Yes, have we met?”

“He always gets the musketeers, and he always talks about his star daughter, Amanda.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that; you are going to make me cry.”

“Uh, I apologize, I didn’t mean to...”

I put my finger under my nose and pause for a second. “No, that’s alright,” I say. “Here,” I slide the credit card into the slot and think, “What are the chances?” The boy dodges eye contact as he registers my purchase.

“Thank you.” I grab my things and leave the store.

Back on the road, I notice I have a message: it’s Bee.

“Hello, sister; I’m calling to tell you that I am on my way to see my father now as I record this message. I’ve been busy lately, but I’m finally free. It would be great if you could join us at the house this weekend so we can discuss the future now that our father needs us most.”

“Oh, please be there,” I say out loud and straight at the screen.

A bright light blinds me, and the honk of a trailer truck pierces the darkness, too damn close.

The road to my father’s house in the woods is steep. After a while, the desert emptiness turns into rows of pine trees and lush greenery.

As I draw nearer, even more recollection strikes me. The looming dark cabin doesn't surprise me. Dad has been diagnosed with senile dementia. Regrettably, he isn't inclined to relinquish control to others. Even then, he would often boast and call himself the lord of money.

My mom once told me a story about a time when they were young. One night, my parents were so poor that they couldn't afford to eat for a full day. So my father took my mother’s hand and promised her that they would never, ever suffer from hunger again and that they would never, ever worry about money again.

I walk up the staircase and find the entrance door locked. I have the keys, of course, and with a spin of the knob, I’m already inside.

“Dad! Dad! It’s me, Amanda!” He won’t respond, but I keep walking and try to turn the lights on. Of course, there is no power. If I didn’t take care of it, nobody else would.

My cell phone lights my way. I walk up the staircase into his study. “What a mess,” I mutter as I find hundreds of documents scattered all over his desk. Hastily, I gather them and stuff them into a silver suitcase. One of them reads “Will.” Touchy subject.

Dad had not split his inheritance fairly. At least, that’s what my brother thought. He had tried to make him change his will but had failed. Knowing his father had lost his wits, Ricky sent his own wife, pretending to be a realtor, on a covert mission to try to purchase the big house for pennies on the dollar. They almost succeeded. Guess who stopped that from happening?

“Dad!”

Then I notice another piece of paper on a little table by the door. I pick it up and read its content.

“Message for Amanda, my star daughter. ‘I've let Marley go. Good kid, Belle’s son. He's been giving me fake hundred-dollar bills to keep me happy and... put. But I let him think I'm unaware that his bills are fake. You see, if they were real, they wouldn't all share the same serial number. So I’ve kept the first bill he gave me in my shirt’s pocket and discarded the rest.

The truth is, I am scared. I forget things. I forget faces, I forget intentions, and I am starting to forget money. There's only one thing I cannot forget. The fact that I’m starting to run out of it. I was even going to put flyers down on the main street asking people if they had seen my money. I spent hours of my day making them silly notes, only to wake up the next morning with a terrible realization; I thought, ‘Richter, you fool! What idiot would return you your money?!’

I have sold everything of real value I possess to pay my debts.”

“Father, what debts? There aren’t any debts.”

“Now, my only option is to seek the treasure buried in the woods. That’s why I bought this house so many years ago. Finally, I've come into possession of a map. If my assessment is correct, there should be a chest full of gold bullion right at the foot of Jonestones Hill. If I can somehow obtain it, I will have escaped personal ruin, and we won't have to worry about money ever again.”

“I better keep these documents.”

“Who’s there?!! Amanda, is that you?”

I hear a crooked voice—male, definitely not Dad’s.

“Amanda!”

That pitiful cry again. It hits me like a bucket of cold water. But it seems impossible. I lock the door to the study and call Marley right away. 

Loud music in the background.

“Hello, Aunty?”

“Marley, what happened here? I’m at your grandpa’s. There’s no power, and I can’t find your grandfather. You are supposed to be here.”

“Mom’s not there? I told Mom I wouldn’t be able to look after him tonight! I’m at a friend’s birthday party. If she’s not there, give her a phone call, I’m sure-”

The door starts getting slammed by the most dreadful impacts on a door I ever experienced.

“Aunt! What’s that? You okay?!”

My phone is against my chest, and I recognize the voice. It’s Oscar. He is not supposed to be here.

“Is that you, Amanda?!! That’s your car!! I know! You and that bitch Bella put me in that center for crazy people when I told you I was perfectly fine!!

I start looking around for something to defend myself. If he’s here, he’s not been taking his medication. This could be dangerous, especially if he’s been drinking.

“I’m gonna give you a beating, Amanda! A good beating! But I know you won’t come out now, so I am starting with that nice ride of yours you probably love so much!! C’mon dude, let’s go. No shithead, I just want to teach fucking Amanda a lesson. Motherfucker, have you taken your fucking pills? take your fucking pills and then talk to me, alright? let’s go. Look at you, look at you, you are fucking mess! When did you last take a shower? You fucking disgrace. C’mon. Let’s go teach that bitch a lesson.”

“A rats,” I mutter under my breath.

The sound of cracking windows and pounded metal crushes my soul. “My beautiful car.”

I leave the study and go straight to my father’s bedroom, where moonlight is bathing the mattress. I check a little drawer on the left side of his bed, and BINGO! It’s still there, thank God. Dad’s 38 special, looking spanking new inside its case, nice brushed metal revolver is a beauty, and I don’t even like these dreadful things. It is loaded, and even though I do know how to wield a firearm, I’m just glad I have it in my power and not Oscar.

I cry as I hear Oscar hitting my car. I remember my grandma on her deathbed and one of her last requests to me: “Please, take care of Oscar. I worry about him so much.” Oscar did not take Grandma's passing well; they were both very close.

I put the handgun in my purse to keep it out of sight.

“There you are, you asshole!!”

When I turn around, Oscar is at the door—the only door. Little Oscar Wolf is looking at me. He’s still skinny—he always was—but now he towers a head over me. He is wearing a white-stained shirt and jeans; he must’ve been living here for a while. His stare is completely deranged. I look down at his right arm, and he is holding a plumbing wrench—you know, those big red ones.

“I told you not to send me to that fucking center, didn’t I.”

“Oscar, listen…”

“Don’t tell me to listen! That’s what they always tell me to do! Now, you are going to listen to me!”

“Yes, Oscar.”

As my brother continued to scold me, I let him get closer. A glance at the door escapes me, and he does not like it.

“Pay attention when I’m speaking!”

He drops the wrench and runs after me. “Oscar, wait, no!” I scream as I roll across the bed.

As children, we used to fight a lot, pulling hair, kicking, and punching, always giving my parents a tough time. I don’t think he realizes that was a long time ago. In his mind, he is still that child, and Grandma just died a couple of days ago.

“What the hell?!” Oscar yells.

I land on the other side of the bed and race to the door. Something hits the wall right next to me. I turn around, and I see Oscar running across the bed. I shut the door and lock it with the key. It’s a tough one; he won’t bring it down anytime soon.

The door witnesses my sobbing. Then I turn on the cell phone light again. I know where to get a real flashlight and those D-sized batteries, too. My father always loved his tools, and flashlights were his favorite.

Down the stairs and to the right I enter the kitchen. Next to it, there is a little room with all his tools and a door to the backyard.

The flashlight I find is one of those bigger ones with the handle at the top.

Finally, it occurs to me, and I go behind the house to check the breakers. They had been pushed down. I push them back up, and power returns to the house. When I’m about to enter the house again, I notice a sparkle in the distant forest.

“Dad.”

He must still be out there in the woods looking for that stupid treasure. I look down at the phone, and I have several missed calls from Bella and Marley; some are Anthony's, my husband. I decide to go out on my own. I’m not sure why—a selfish impulse if you will. But I think I want to save Dad myself, as he saved me once. 

I'm walking around my car, and it's a pitiful mess. The hood is crumpled and twisted, and the headlights are ruined. He even damaged the goddammed dashboard. I drive through the forest, and I can hear the twisted metal clank. It’s a big forest, but technology does wonders. It’s hard to get lost when one has all these advantages.

“Dad!” I shout in the woods. “Dad, where are you!”

A miserable experience driving without a windshield, but I keep going on frosty cheekbones.

The root of a tree curving up and out into the surface appears out of nowhere. I should stop or at least slow down, but I just don’t, ruining the suspension completely. “I shouldn’t be here”, I say. “What am I thinking?”

I step out of the car and start shouting my lungs out.

“DAD! DAD!”

I grab my stuff, and I keep walking. I text Anthony, and then he calls back.

“Amanda, you haven’t answered any of our phone calls. What’s going on?”

“I didn’t want any of you to be involved.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m lost in the freaking woods beyond Dad’s cabin.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m stupid. I should’ve called you and waited for people to show up. Don’t worry too much, hon. I am armed.”

“Oh, well, yeah, that’s one thing I was worried about.”

My phone dies.

Back then, I had fallen while playing in the fields and cut my leg with a wire; it was a nasty cut, and the bleeding wouldn’t stop. He carried me and took me to the hospital. I don’t remember why or how, but I do remember Dad carrying me as he ran through the rainy night and the strength he held me with. I tend to remember that, especially when it rains.

“Ah, great, now it’s raining. When it rains, it pours! huh?”

On the ground, I notice the wrapper of a Musketeer chocolate bar. I feel like a detective in a movie, and I follow the footprints before the water washes them away.

I don’t go that far when I notice the tracks get deeper and wider. Broad, deep tracks, and I know guns don’t work with bears. Shot wounds only enrage them further.

“Ma'am!!”

That call in the distance. It’s Dad sitting on the ground and leaning on a rock by a small cliff, his flashlight lying on the dirt. Some logs are in the way, but I can see a cave in the background as I approach my father.

“Ma'am! Ma'am!”

“Dad!”

“Ma'am! I am in dire need of assistance!”

I reach Dad and kneel next to him. He looks terrible.

“Dad, why on earth did you leave the house? What are you doing here?”

“Shhhh, no, no, don’t speak up… we might now find ourselves in a bit of a pickle.”

“Dad, let me get you out of here.”

“No, no, no, no, I can’t leave just now, young lady. You have to help me bring the treasure back home—millions! Worth in gold!”

“It’s me, Amanda, your daughter!”

“Amanda! Oh, you are one of a kind, my sweet Amanda. You were always so smart, so clever! Now that you are here, we can claim the treasure! Like father and daughter.”

“Alright, where is your treasure, Dad.”

Dad points at the cave, and there’s no way in hell I’m getting near that stinky hole.

“Dad, I bet my right arm that cave is the lair of a bear. We can’t stay here, come on, stand up. I’ll feel better as soon as we are out of here.”

“No!” he said, aggravated. “Don’t you understand the gravity of my financial situation? I’m ruined! I’ve lost everything I had; soon enough, I’ll be selling pencils in the streets. How am I to support your mother and the children. And have you seen how those little devils eat?”

“Dad, right now, money should be the least of your concerns. You need love, and you need to stop driving us all away.”

“Love is worthless without money.” He says starkly.

As soon as that phrase escapes his lips, he averts his eyes from me. His earlier enthusiasm gone, he stares into the darkness of the forest.

I touch his soaked, wet shirt, and I see the pain, a side of him I never knew about.

A final memory comes to me.

I visited Dad a few months ago, and for some reason, he decided to tell me a story from his youth. He told me that, years before meeting Mom, he fell in love with a girl. The love was mutual. But he was poor, very poor. And so, he was forced to leave town. Upon his return, he sought out the girl again; with his newfound wealth, he could afford a proper wedding and a life with her. The girl loved my dad and told him that she couldn’t wed him unless he forgave her first, for she had been intimate with another man in his absence. Back in those days, this was unacceptable, and my father rejected her. What he would never have imagined was that this decision would haunt him for the rest of his life.

That girl's name was Amanda.

I hug my dad, kiss his temple, and I get him out of there.

“Don’t worry Dad, we all love you. You are not alone.”