Justice: Part 3
by Fay Moore (c) 2012
“Good god, man,” says the Chief. A pause, then, “Call me later with the rest of the findings.”
The Chief of Police is silent. Six pairs of eyes focus on him, trained to read the faces of men to reveal what is in the heart. At the moment, the face of the Chief is tabula rasa. Under the circumstances, the eyes stay riveted to the chief’s face, mining data from each subtle nostril flare, each bat of an eyelid, each pupil dilation.
Standing, the Chief hands off the cell phone to an assistant, straightens his uniform coat, then locks eyes with his audience.
“There’s been a fire at the GS Global Investments building. All the senior executive offices burned. Once the blaze was controlled, firemen made a cursory search through the suite, to be sure all flames were extinguished. In the executive bathroom, they found a pair of severed hands on a plate, covered in blood, under a glass dome. The coroner said the hands appear to have been removed from a cadaver. You know, one of the pickled bodies used for training in medical schools. Thank God for that. I was afraid the hands belonged to another investment banker.”
One of the detectives in the room chuckled. “Blood on your hands.”
“What?” asked the Chief.
“Blood on your hands. The perpetrator is sending a message. The investment banking community has blood on their hands.”
“If you count the kills in Asia, Europe and here, we have eleven dead bankers in forty-eight hours. I’d say you’re right that whoever is behind these hits is sending a message, a very lethal message.”
“Did they find anything else?”
“Yes. Under the glass plate holding the hands, there was a copy of an article from a San Francisco newspaper, written by a Bill, Phil, or Will somebody and called “Unrepentant and Unreformed Bankers.”
Another voice responds, “I saw that article on the Internet. It has gone viral on the free video channels. That crowd sees our perpetrator–or perpetrators–as a kind of Robin Hood. You know, delivering justice where the regulators and courts won’t.”
The Chief growls in reply, “Let me remind you that we deliver justice, not some vigilante. You can’t have people taking the law into their own hands. Remember that! Now show me the article. You said it’s on-line?”
The detective uses the Chief’s computer to find it. The search returns several references to the article, as it has been printed not only in the San Francisco newspaper, but also in the Huffington Post and on various Internet web sites.
The Chief scans the article as the detectives peer over his shoulder.
“Money laundering. Price Fixing. Bid rigging. Securities fraud. Talking about the mob? No, unfortunately. Wall Street,” a detective reads aloud. There’s a laugh around the room. “Old Phil Angelides knows how to start an article off with a bang. You know, Chief, he’s got a point.”
A glare from the Chief silences the speaker. “We have crimes to solve. Now get to work.”
It takes weeks of coordinating investigative efforts with global law enforcement and intelligence organizations to turn up bumpkus. The police entities can’t identify who is behind the mayhem. The killings have stopped: the spree is short-lived and focused. Nowhere is there sympathy for the victims.
Over and over, excerpts from the Angelides article appear on television. In coffee shops, barbershops, taxicabs and airports, the buzz is the same: the banks and their leaders have faced no real political, economic or legal consequences for their wrongdoing. The banks are cozy with the regulators and with legislators. Wall Street is solipsism, a world of utter madness that, till now, others could not affect.
——-
Somewhere in Hong Kong, an octogenarian is on his deathbed. He is thinking about the Year of the Dragon; it is a year of bravery, of passion, a time to eliminate negative chi from the past. He considers his life. He has been favored in business and industry. His personal fortune exceeds the total economy of many individual countries. Before he dies, he wishes to leave a gift to his children and grandchildren. He believes he has done it. He believes he has made their world better.
How does he know?
He is watching the news. The broadcaster describes a global reordering of the financial world. In the aftermath of the multiple murders, fear seizes those who ran the old order, and they flee to hide in their hidden bunkers. Systems that have been in place for decades are being disassembled. The central banking system breaks up into small localized units. Fiat currencies are replaced with asset-backed money. Sovereign debts are forgiven. Taxpayers are off the hook. Governments cut size and balance budgets. International banking criminals are arrested and prosecuted vigorously.
Optimism and hope are in the air. Economies will be rebuilt. He can die in peace.
Fay Moore: I Want To Be a Writer 
I do love happy endings!
Happy? Maybe on the surface.. For the moment.
Complicated, yes. Like you, I’d love to see those who actually created the world’s financial disaster–and who continue to enslave future generations with sovreign debt–pay for their dirty deeds. However, is the way this story resolves really happy?
Whenever one person–or a handful– has the power and resources to kill others in order to re-order the world, the outcome is not utopia. It might look god on the surface–at first–but it historically leads to suppression, oppression, and other difficult circumstances. Think Russian, German and Chinese history.
Unless there is active involvement of the people in creating their own fate– think American Revolution–a situation as described in the story can be changing one task master for another.
I wonder how Americans would like living under Chinese domination. The reality of that proposition may be more likely than we allow ourselves to think.