BLACK PRESIDENT- CHAPTER 78. Rudy comes to the rescue. And some drama about Fort Knox.

https://moneywise.com/life/lifestyle/fort-knox-secrets

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

The day John Little got the hospital's date of discharge was probably the most troubling one he’d faced since assuming his brother’s identity. It had been a fast four weeks of care and recovery during which he had had to sidestep all the minefields from family members, political aides, congressmen and women, and the media. As the hospital stay had drawn to a close, Cissy had become problematic. She had broken down crying on several occasions. So had his mother. Both women had basically insisted that he step down from the Presidency. Both had been visiting together, with Rudy standing by, as Cissy again voiced her plea to end his tenure in office.

“We’ve lost John – your brother is gone – and you know they won’t quit until you’re buried, too. What more can you do? These people are relentless. For my sake. For your mother’s and kids, we want you – need you – to seriously consider giving up this job.”

The only relief John felt after hearing his brother’s wife’s words was the look on Rudy’s face. John saw an expression that told him to hold firm. Rudy knew the importance of the mission. Hours earlier, Rudy had served up a bunch of statistics about the Federal Reserve, as John had requested. Any Secret Service agent who entered the room earlier would have seen some touching family drama. There was Rudy, the stepfather of the President, reading card after card to his sick son, obviously ‘get well’ messages from concerned Americans and others. Of course, that wasn’t truly the case. Rudy had impressed John by taking his notes down on Hallmark cards, so he could remember the data and other complex facts. He began his whispering by apologizing for any information that duplicated John’s knowledge.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with a lot of this, but here goes,” said Rudy, shuffling the fifteen or so cards in his hands. “As you probably know, the Federal Reserve bank is divided up between twelve central banks, representing twelve districts of the United States, each with a board of directors. And while some of the Fed district banks represent only one state – Texas and New Mexico are solos, for instance – others of the twelve include several states in their large territories. The twelfth bank – a huge one – covers not only all of California, Oregon and Washington, but also Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona. East coast Federal Reserve banks tend to have smaller districts, with denser populations. Next thing to know is, each member bank is private and holds stock in its own institution.”

Looking up from the card in his hand, Rudy quickly glanced at the door, then continued. “Beyond that, all nationally chartered banks own stock in one or more Federal Reserve banks. But this stock can’t be sold or traded. And it must add up to 3% of the bank’s assets. Each member bank has to own that much. But each year, those member banks receive a dividend of 6% for the stock they hold. About 1.5 billion in dividends are paid out to the member banks in any given year. All the rest of the profits from the Fed are paid to the US treasury, around 50 billion a year. So all these member banks are dependent on the Fed for a significant portion of their yearly income. And almost 40% of all banks in this country are members of the Federal Reserve.”

Turning to the next card, Rudy spoke a little louder to John, giving a wink before making up a new greeting: “And from a Mr. Greenspan of Connecticut...he hopes you’ll be well and back in the White House soon.”

John reached over to the stainless steel nightstand and grabbed a water glass, taking a sip. With another shuffle of the cards, Rudy continued his report, explaining in a low whisper about some of the strange information he’d also dug up.

“Believe it or not, John, some people doubt there’s still gold in Fort Knox.”

Hearing this, John exclaimed, “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“No. There is definitely some chatter on blogs and internet sites that believe the Federal Reserve has been emptying the gold to pay foreign debt-holders. And also, I found a story that said some counterfeit gold bars were discovered there. Not gold, but tungsten inside, with a gold-plated surface, discovered in the 1990s during Clinton’s terms. Those tungsten bars weigh exactly the same as real gold.”

Rudy gave his words time to sink in before finishing up. “No one, they say, can be sure how many gold bars are fake.”

“Holy shit.” John’s head came forward, off his pillow. “You’re saying that the U.S. treasury could have been cleaned out by the Feds?”

“Maybe. The thing is, no one seems to know. From what I’ve learned, there hasn’t been a full accounting done at Fort Knox for decades.”

A Secret Service agent suddenly poked his head into the room. “Is everything OK, Sir?” A quick, You bet, thanks from the President sent the man back to the other side of the door. As John looked over other cards, some of the stuff he read about the Fed was just too complicated. He’d wait for another day to discuss it with Rudy. Before any more armed guards busted into their fact-finding, John finished the meeting with a flourish of appreciation.

“Thanks again, Rudy,” said John, laying it on a little bit heavy for potential eavesdroppers in the hall. “It’s great to see that regular Americans care this much about their President!”

Rudy was sensitive enough to see that his stepson was wrapping things up, and gave his step-son a pat on the shoulder before gathering up his things. He knew better than to leave the fake Hallmark’s around.

“See you later,” called Rudy from the door, as he gave a slight rap. An agent escorted him through the sea of security personnel.

***

Cissy had wanted to commiserate with Fran about her loss, but had been too shy about making a phone call. Over at the hospital, they had just missed each other on earlier visits. Previously, everyone had braced for another attempt on Jackson, not thinking it was actually John Little who could be caught in the crossfire. No one imagined his death. Now, with Fran in shock and mourning, Cissy felt somewhat disoriented. It seemed hard to express feelings of condolence when it was connected to her own relief of having her own husband – the man meant for the bullet – still alive. Finally, after three weeks, just days before Jackson’s discharge, she managed to make the call.

“Fran? Hello? It’s Cissy. Just calling to see how you’re doing.” Cissy barely got her message out to the phone before Fran picked up.

“Cissy! So good to hear from you! Sorry I’ve been so uncommunicative. Hiding out, I guess. It’s just been a couple of rough weeks. Hard to put your husband behind you and move forward.” added Fran, taking a pause before finishing the sentence, “especially when kids are involved.”

“I can imagine,” is all Cissy could say. She fought hard not to imagine.

“They’re confused. I’m confused. A real mess over here.” Cissy heard a low sigh from Fran, as she ran out of words.

After a short silence, Cissy’s compassion allowed her to reflect. “It could have so easily been Jackson instead of John.” Cissy voice sounded hollow even to herself, but she kept on. “He felt the danger, so I half expected something terrible. I’m just so sad for your loss. And if there is anything I can do, ever, just let me know.”

Fran answered, “Well, if you can spare your husband a couple times a week, that would be something.”

Cissy gave a short laugh, relieved that her sister-in-law could return to the fun-loving Fran she previously knew. Also, Cissy couldn’t help thinking of the sexual connotation to what Fran had just said. Fran would be missing the marital companionship, as well as a father for the children. Too bad Jackson couldn’t help in both departments. Of course, Cissy knew that would – and could – never happen.

“Kidding, of course,” added Fran quickly, knowing her humor may have overstepped. “But if Jackson could drop by and see his niece and nephew at some point, when he feels better, it might give them some assurance that the world hasn’t completely....”

Cissy could hear Fran getting choked up.

“I’m actually at quite at a loss about that part,” said Fran. “They keep asking about their father, who...”

“Oh my dear, I’m so very sorry,” said Cissy, her emotions swelling up to match her sister-in-law’s. Now that the ice was broken, she could more easily be herself, be fully expressive. “Of course! I’ll get Jackson over there as soon as he’s out. Should
be later this week. Until then, would it be OK if I dropped in? My kids are also pretty shaken by all this. They’ve seen their dad, but with all his bruises and him kind of zoned out – less-than-animated – they didn’t really get any confidence that he’ll be available for them. I’m sure it will all change when we get him home. But it’s clear that the recovery will drag on, take some real time.”

“Of course, come visit me anytime. I’m pretty much just sitting around here. Just call me later, after Thursday, and we can meet.”

Fran said goodbye and hung up. She clicked off the cell and looked over at the kitchen clock. 10:30 AM. She realized that she hadn’t cooked a complete meal in over three weeks. The kids were back in school, but John Jr. had complained about stomachaches ever since the death of his father. Donna seemed much stronger. A daughter might be more adaptable, Fran thought, just as women have always been, all through history. The men were sent off to war, return bruised, beaten or not at all, while the women keep the home fires burning. Nothing had changed.

Back at the White House, Cissy walked down the temporary apartment’s hallway to the bathroom and shower. She was relieved that the repairs to the living quarters were almost complete. The fact of Jackson returning soon made her step a happy one. As soon as he was back in her arms and embraced by his kids, she would lay down the ultimatum. He must quit his job before his tenth life ran out.

————

Returning again to the hospital, visiting with more phony Hallmark greeting cards, Rudy whispered to the man who would soon be acting President. Because the man lying before him was actually John, not Jackson, that scared him. Frightened him for both their sakes. He knew that he had to let his stepson know that he could now see through the charade. He had to wonder if others might be able to discern the switch.

“John, I’m concerned about something,” Rudy whispered, moving in close to John with a graveness in his eyes.

“OK. Shoot, Dad,” said John, waving his visitor to an even closer proximity. Positioning his ear at Rudy’s mouth, he waited. Rudy tried to be tactful, but it didn’t come out that way. Along with the extra effort of whispering, everything came out in a forced style of conversation. Only the most direct language seemed possible, under the circumstances.

“I'm just not sure you’re fooling me enough with your impersonation of Jackson.”

Good God, thought John. He suddenly got scared. But recovering as quickly as he could from Rudy’s bold comment, he whispered back, “Then tell me how to do it better!”

Rudy leaned back, took a drink of water, and furtively glanced at the door for a second before continuing.

“Your brother had a sort of ‘ lively’ energy to him, at all times. I guess you’ve got to break through your hang dog demeanor and get more like that – more like him.”

“I hear you,” whispered John, “I obviously really need your constant vigilance, just like this! Thank you!” Finally someone he trusted was helping him. Thank god for Rudy!

Rudy nodded, relieved that John could handle the criticism. Before Rudy shuffled all the ‘get well’ cards together and departed, he got another assignment. Rudy positioned his ear to John’s mouth and waited.

“As you know, Vice President Holstead has been acting President since the assassination attempt.” John’s whispering was getting a slight rasp, so Rudy hoped they finished up quickly. “I need to know what bills, if any, he has passed, or has prepared. I’ve always suspected him of being a Fed man, and it’s critical that he hasn’t done more damage to our cause during this time.”

Rudy didn’t wait for his president to finish up. He simply cut in “Will do, Mr. President.” Within seconds, Rudy had exited to the hall, heading home to complete his new mission.

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