The Incorigible Mr. "B"

Perhaps incorrigible is not strong enough a word to describe Mr. "B." He, of the thick spectacles and ultra bushy mustache, was lean of physique, unusual for his Austrian heritage. Mr. "B" was just his nickname.

If the name of his business, Bordan Blotz Brothers was a clue, his name could have been either Bordan Blotz or some other deliberately concealed moniker. By the way...he had no brothers, only two sisters, Janetta and Pauline, neither of whom spent much time with him.

Mr. "B" was born in 1920 to relatively well off parents...for those days. His father, Horst and mother Tisa, were upper class Austrians who left their home country for America as World War I began. They settled into a traditional, New England enclave known mainly for its even more traditional university, Eddington.

Horst was an unusually intelligent man who could have been a wizard of Wall Street if he had been born 150 years later. He had the habit of never spending money unless he could justify it as a "need" he or his family couldn't do without. Not that he was going to refuse education to his only son. Oh, for sure. Horst had high hopes for Mr. "B."

Horst's mainly hoped his son would be as keenly interested in his business as he was. The family business was limited to a small antique watch repair shop his son had rarely spent much time laboring in. In fact, Mr. "B" had his mental clock set to become a scientist of some kind. Upon this discovery of his son's future intentions, Horst decided the family name could be far more valuable with a son who was a big success in science.

Horst wasted no time sending his son to Eddington. He didn't have any trouble pushing his son into that Ivy League school either. It was a simple as convincing a customer who was an Eddington professor on the prowl for a very old and very priceless antique Grandfather clock, that Horst's son was already a scientific wizard.

This was only partly true. As a young boy, Mr. "B" wanted a chemistry set to do "experiments."  His mother was concerned playing with chemicals might make the child ill. Janetta and Pauline thought it amusing that their brother was in his makeshift "lab," really a corner of his bedroom, exploding who knew what with his chemistry set.

Once at Eddington, Mr. "B" didn't do as well as his father hoped. His son found ten or twelve hours of school, homework and having to actually prove he could keep up with classmates to be something of a nuisance. He managed to finish his education with barely a passing grade to receive his degree in biology. He mulled over whether or not he wanted to go on to his master's degree. Then, realizing that meant more years of study, he decided against it.

Fortune seemed to always fall his way. Or, at least it did when John Raneur walked into Horst's shop and Mr. "B"  overheard his father discussing the customer's job opening at Blanken, Admore and Sherpan, a local, small chemicals manufacturer.

Horst wasted no time getting his son a position in the lab at the customer's chemical business. Mr. "B" was used to being outnumbered by females at home. He was a relatively autocratic father who had expectations of grandeur for his only son.

At "BAS" as Mr. "B" referred to Blanken, Admore and Sherpan, his inability to work with ten male chemists didn't go unnoticed by John Raneur. It wasn't that Mr. "B" was a troublemaker. Quite the contrary. He just wasn't a team player who would share his scientific findings with the rest of the chemists on staff.

The end of his career as a chemist at "BAS" came when he decided to publish his white paper on the very chemical the company sold to customers: ethyl alcohol. In his room at night, he worked feverishly on the technical paper. When the paper was published and John Raneur read what Mr. "B" wrote, he knew what had to be done. The supposition of the paper seemed to point out ethyl alcohol was a dangerous product. Mr. "B" managed to cause the loss of several major clients for the company.

He was summarily "relieved" of his job. In a state of anger and belligerence, Mr. "B" attempted to justify his released from his job by telling Horst about how "unfairly" his work had been viewed and how the other chemists constantly showed their "dislike" for him.

Mr. "B" found another job and another and another.

"Tisa! This is your doing! I warned you about spoiling the boy. Now you see what it has gotten you? He can't keep a job," Horst said.

"You are his father! Don't you blame me for the way you raised the boy. When I disciplined him, you always interfered."

Horst's autocratic manner notwithstanding, Tisa still managed to neutralize his paternal power with his son. After each loss of a job, Tisa compensated her "boy" by making his favorite dinner: Jaeger schnitzel and for dessert? Also his favorite, apple strudel. His sisters ignored this favoritism, figuring being the only male sibling in the family had its privileges.

Tisa always soothe her son's ego with comforting, if not, outright defense of him.

"Mama! You made my favorites again," he would say, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, darling. A young man like you needs good food to keep your mind strong," she'd say.

The conflict of child rearing between Horst and his wife was not new. Tisa relied on her old country ways to continue the pattern of discreet maternal authority.

By the time Mr. "B" was nearing the end of his twenties, Horst nagged at him to find a wife. Tisa was appalled at the thought of losing her only son. She sensed Janetta and Pauline favored their father since they were little girls. That didn't change even after Janetta married.

Pauline seemed destined to be a spinster. Where tall, blonde, leggy Janetta was so obviously outgoing and pretty, petite, dark-haired Pauline was shy, retiring and barely considered "handsome."  By age twenty-three, Pauline was already wearing thick lenses like her brother.

After the loss of his last job, Mr. "B" thought perhaps going back to school wasn't such a bad idea after all.

This "idea" "coincided" with a small inheritance left to Horst by his brother, Otto back in Austria and Tisa's inheritance from her parents, both deceased of late. Unlike Horst, Tisa was her parents' only child. In addition to his brother Otto, Horst had a sister, Gizzie, Griselda by birth.

None of their children ever saw their grandparents or aunts, uncles and cousins due to Horst's limited income for traveling. Or, perhaps, it was his unwillingness to spend money so freely. Either way, neither Mr. "B", Janetta nor Pauline ever met their European relatives.

There was another odd thing about Mr. "B's" family where money was concerned. Tisa never seemed satisfied that Horst earned enough from his business. Even though over the years, Horst managed several lucrative deals on antiques he'd so carefully searched high and low to find. Tisa knew her husband relied mostly on his European relatives to ship him as many of the antique time pieces as they could find. They used their old cameras to take photographs of these timepieces, mail them to Horst for his approval and then, ship them to his shop.

Horst was thrilled when to his surprise a rather large crate was delivered to the shop. When he opened the crate, he found a wondrously valuable old grandfather clock that was owned by one of the royal families in Germany. He knew it would sell for a tidy sum. Most of which, he kept from Tisa, whom he knew would find some way to make the profits disappear, usually on their son.

Horst was not unhappy that his son decided to go back to school in Wyoming, a state half way across the country . But then, Mr. "B" wasn't either. Horst gladly paid the cost of his son's additional four years of education, the cost of his accommodations in a small rooming house off campus and other miscellany Mr. "B" claimed he had to have.

Tisa grew more sullen and hostile with her son so far away. She wanted to visit her old immigrant friends who lived several states north of the family home. Horst viewed that as an unnecessary expense. It was a kind of game between Horst and Tisa. She knew he had money and he knew she knew he had it and refused to spend it, always claiming austerity and poverty.

Mr. "B" created a full new life in Wyoming. He loved not having to dress in the style his mother considered that of a "gentleman." No one on the college campus dressed that way. He opted for blue jeans, brightly colored flannel rancher shirts, a cowboy hat and boots. He even learned to ride a horse, play college soccer and tennis.

Now, nearly thirty years old, the one thing Mr. "B" didn't have was a woman to love. That was about to change. In his economics class, he was drawn to Sharon Bartley, a Wyoming rancher's daughter.

To his five feet and ten inches in height, Sharon was just a slight half-inch shorter. To his lean, wiry body, she was slightly buxom and had a figure the college boys couldn't ignore.

For Mr. "B," Sharon's long raven locks were also a drawing point. Her oval shaped face had a slight dusting of freckles and her nose turned upward at a perfect angle.

Sharon knew Mr. "B" was not a college boy from Wyoming. His slight Boston accent gave it away. Eddington, was, after all, only two hundred miles north of Boston.

He took a chance on impulse and introduced himself by asking her a question about their economics lesson. From that point on, the two were seen together on a regular basis. Mr. "B" loved that Sharon was not in the least inhibited by the type of mores he would find in women in Eddington.

He knew he was seriously smitten when they spent a weekend at her father's cabin in the Rockies that wended their way across the state. He had never in his life felt such peace, happiness or joy. Secretly, he planned to make Sharon his wife and start their lives together.

Sharon had different ideas. She wanted to turn her father's ranch into the most productive business she could.

Her father, Duke Bartley, was already nearing seventy and was having a difficult time with the upkeep of the ranch. Sharon was the only child of Duke and her deceased mother, Constance. So, she felt a natural obligation to help save the ranch that had been in the family for over one hundred years.

Sharon and Mr. "B" casually and very cautiously discussed their personal plans for each other.

"Will you be happy living here in Wyoming if we do marry?" Sharon asked.

"I would never be happier anywhere but here. We could have a place of our own, have kids and settle down to growing old together," Mr. "B" said.

"What about your parents back home? Would they approve of that?"

"My parents have never really had a happy marriage. I'm sure my father is glad to be rid of me. My mother would be the one who might object. But, I'm twenty-nine years old. I have a right to choose what I want for my life without their influence," he replied.

Somehow, Sharon was not so sure. As their senior year of college drew to a close, the couple knew a hard decision had to be made. She introduced Mr. "B" to her father, who took an instant disliking to him.

"Why do you want to tie yourself down to a husband who has no ranching skills? Isn't that why you spent four years studying?" Duke asked.

"Daddy, he's kind and thoughtful. I like him. No...I love him," Sharon insisted.

"I think you are in love with that bushy brown hair and thick mustache. I don't think you will be in love with him in ten years from now when he leaves most of the hard work of ranching to you," Duke said.

On Duke Bartley's seventy-second birthday, he was in the hospital recovering from a serious stroke. Sharon dutifully tended to the ranching. Mr. "B" saw first hand how much hard work there was involved in it. Now, he was unsure of whether or not he could live the rest of his life tied to a ranch with so much labor.

"Would you sell this ranch after your father passes?" he asked.

"SELL this ranch? That's out of the question. This ranch has been in Bartley hands for one hundred and four years. I would NEVER sell it," Sharon said emphatically.

At graduation, Tisa flew out to see her son receive his Masters Degree in Biology. He introduced her to Sharon.

"Son, I know it isn't any of my business, but you can't possibly think you can stay out here in this godforsaken state, can you?"

"Mama, I love Sharon. But, no. I don't think I want to be tied down to a ranch for the rest of my life."

"Have you told her that?"

"No. Not yet. I plan to this very evening. I'm flying back home with you," he said.

"What about your things and your room?"

"That's all taken care of. My things are already on their way back home and I've paid the rest of what I owed with the money Pop sent me."

Mr. "B" had the idea he could muscle Sharon into moving back east. He decided to cool off the communication. His borrowed money from his mother to create his own science lab. He scouted around for the least expensive facility he could find. The least expensive facility turned out to be located over the state line in New Hampshire. In a way, he thought this might be a good idea. He didn't want either of his parents interfering with his new business.

At first, he thought he could manage a lab all by himself. Then, he realized there was much more to running a business than just performing science experiments. He found that out rather quickly when his monthly rent began to fall behind.

Disgusted by this reality, Mr. "B" was forced to hire a salesman and a second chemist to handle the overflow work that was coming in. Worse, he hated the demanding tone clients took with him. The truth was that Mr. "B" just wasn't prepared for managing a business. A fact, he would never admit.

He hired Lila McCracken for the reception business and Timothy Peganess as the second chemist. He then dubbed himself business manager. As always, he was easily distracted with some pie-in-the-sky project or other he hoped would mean instant wealth and fame.

Timothy Peganess held an MS degree in chemistry and also a BS degree in biochemistry. Mr. "B" didn't bother to read resumes and barely plodded through Timothy's interview. The fact that Timothy had less than three years actual lab experience was ideal for Mr. "B." It meant he could low ball the annual salary.

"Are there employee benefits?" Timothy asked.

"We don't have any as yet," Mr. "B" replied.

"Why is that?" Timothy asked.

"We are just starting out and I had no employees before," Mr. "B" said.

"I see," Timothy replied

"Tell me about your prior work experience," Mr. "B" said.

Timothy explained that he worked in a large chemical company owned by a well-known corporation. He told Mr. "B" he was headhunted by the company shortly before he left college. He noticed this didn't seem to impress Mr. "B" in the least.

"Yes, but what was the actual "hands on" work you performed?" Mr. "B" asked.

Timothy couldn't ignore the man's attempt to reduce his job applicant's work experience.

"Well, you don't have much experience. So, I can't offer you a top salary until you "prove" your skills are adequate for "my" needs," Mr. "B" said.

Timothy left the interview unsure of whether or not he was actually hired. Mr. "B" gave the inaccurate impression he had many more job applicants to interview. He didn't. He did receive a glut of phone calls and emails but when he responded, applicants who responded sensed something wasn't quite right.

Timothy was sure the interview hadn't gone well. He decided to continue his job search. A few hours after the interview, he received a call from Mr. "B" telling him he was hired and to report to work at the start of the new week.

"I need to give my employer two weeks notice," Timothy said.

"Well, I can't keep the job open for you for two weeks," Mr. "B" said.

Timothy felt as if he was being cornered. Already the suspicions about his new employer began. Over time as new employees were hired, Timothy saw the same kind of "bait and switch" tactic Mr. "B" used, mostly to get the employees on board whose salaries were below the national average. Several years went by and Mr. "B" continued to ignore his employees' requests for healthcare and retirement benefits.

"This is a profit sharing company. When you stop being so lazy and make profits, you'll have enough in bonuses to pay for your own benefits," Mr. "B" said.

Some employees moved on when they realized the company was making profits that were not being shared. The worst case scenario was when annual audits were due and showed that those "profits" were gobbled up by Mr. "B" for debts he managed to amass. Horst was not pleased at all. He always paid his debts. Tisa, as always, took her son's side when the bill collectors began to threaten her "boy," as she always referred to him.

One morning about five years after he began the business, two bill collectors were at the front door. Mr. "B" told Lila McCracken to "deal with them. I am busy!" Lila tried to put them off. They were insistent they would repossess all of the lab equipment, if the bills were not paid in full in two weeks.

Two weeks came and true to their words, the repo men arrived and carried out several critical pieces of equipment. Mr. "B" hid away in his office to avoid the anger of his lab techs and chemists who would now have to work without the proper equipment.

In order to avoid further legal problems, Mr. "B" decided to fire all of the employees, including Lila McCracken, all of whom he claimed, "didn't do their jobs." How could they? The equipment they needed was gone.

The incorrigible Mr. "B" waited till the end of the day, looked around the now empty lab and walked out of the leased building owning nearly six months rent to the property owner. He knew he couldn't stay in the state. He headed for Wyoming and Sharon.

He used employees payroll deductions he knew were not yet dispersed to the IRS, a total of nearly $33,000 in payroll tax deductions. He figured if the business went belly up, the IRS wouldn't go after him for the payroll deductions since he no longer had any employees.

He didn't bother to tell Tisa or Horst he was leaving for Wyoming. He boarded a plane in the wee hours of the morning and landed at the Cheyenne airport by nine that same morning. At the airport, he rented a car and made reservations at a Cheyenne hotel for only two days. He thought he could convince Sharon to let him stay on at her ranch.

What he didn't plan for was that while he had been running his business and was out of touch with Sharon, she married, J. Severeid Hickston who managed the ranch with Sharon. "Jay" did quite well breeding horses and selling them.

Mr. "B" drove out to the ranch expecting Sharon to be waiting for him with open arms. He knew if they were to be married, he would have to make the sacrifice and stay in Wyoming on her ranch.

As he neared the ranch, his mind wandered to the days he's spent with Sharon. She was the only woman he admitted he ever really cared about. He couldn't say the word "love." He respected her and admired her drive and ambition. But love? Maybe, he would come to love her in the true meaning of the word. He told himself when they met he was infatuated because he was a young man. Now, he was forty years old, unmarried and a failure in business.

A woman with a Wyoming ranch could be a great investment for me. 

He reached the front gate and saw the sign was different. It read: "The Hickston-Bartley" ranch. Mr. "B" felt confused. He walked up the planked driveway to the lodge. It also looked different than he remembered. He told himself that in the years since he'd left Wyoming, things always change.

He heard a pickup truck pull up along the outside gate. He recognized the driver instantly. It was Sharon Bartley.

He ran toward her as she strained to recognize the man with the full head of salt and pepper hair and the thick glasses.

"Sharon? It's me," he said.

"Oh my Gawd! How are you?" she said.

He ran to kiss her, but she shrank back quickly.

"I'm a married woman now. That's my husband, Jay, out there on the ranch...the tall man on the gelding," Sharon said.

Mr. "B" felt as if the earth had opened up under his feet. Married? Sharon? The woman he planned to marry?

"Won't you come in and have some coffee or stay for dinner?" she asked.

"No. I was just out here on business. I'm looking into a major project for my lab back home. I thought I would say hello," he said.

"A lab? A major project?" she asked.

"Yes. I am looking into working on tests for a government project. I have my own lab in New Hampshire now."

Mr. "B" lied. He couldn't tell Sharon he failed in business. He refused to let her think he was a failure. He returned to his hotel room several hours later. He knew he couldn't fly back to New Hampshire, not with the mess he left behind there. The only safe place for him now was back home with Horst and Tisa, a fate he considered akin to death itself. What else could he do?

On the flight home to Massachusetts, Mr. "B" had an idea. He would borrow the money from his mother to clear his name in New Hampshire and get rid of the business debts.

When he arrived home, Tisa welcomed him back as if he'd been gone for years.

"How is your business, son?" she asked.

"Mother, that's what I need to talk to you about," he replied.

"I had to close the business," he added.

"What? Close your lab? Why? What happened?"

"It wasn't my fault mother. It was my employees. They kept squeezing me for wage increases and expensive benefits. But, they were so lazy. They hardly ever got the work done so I could afford their demands. And then, the property owner doubled the rent and that's when they came and repossessed the lab equipment," he lied.

Tisa patted her son's back gently.

"Mother I am deep in debt now. Is there any way I can borrow some money from you...just until I get back on my feet," Mr. "B" said.

"Certainly, my boy. How much do you need to resolve your debts?"

"About $50,000."

"$50,000? But son, I don't have that kind of money. I'm sure your father doesn't either. We could probably scrape up about half of it if we borrow on our life insurance policies. I would have to ask your father first."

"No, mother. I have a better idea. Remember when Father put this house in your name to protect it from being taken in case his business went belly up? You could borrow on the equity of the house. It's worth much more now than $50,000," Mr. "B" said.

Tisa was silent.

"Well, drive me over to the bank tomorrow. And uh, don't mention this to your father. You know how he gets when he has to spend money," Tisa said.

She knew Horst would be furious if he found out she had high handedly borrowed on the equity of their home. But, she also knew she couldn't disappoint her son.

The next day, she gathered the papers together she needed to request the equity loan. Mr. "B" was thrilled when he had a cashier's check in his hand for $50,000. Now, all of his worries were over. He deposited enough in an interest bearing savings account. That way, he'd turn $50,000 into $50,000 with interest. He decided to delay paying the IRS until he accrued enough in interest to pay what he owed. He figured they wouldn't find him in another state.

He was wrong and right. They didn't find him. They found his father's business not two days after Mr. "B" returned home. When two government agents told Horst what his son had done, Horst was livid. He feared they would shut his shop down and take what assets they could.

"So this  is why you came back home? To bring shame on our family name? Government agents came into my shop this very day. They told me what you'd done. You tried to bilk the government? Are you stupid?" Horst said.

"Father, it's not a big deal. Businesses go belly up every day. The government is just trying to scare you into handing over what I owed. Stop worrying. Besides, I plan to pay them back," Mr. "B" said.

"You damn well had better!" Horst yelled.

Tisa was in shock. Never in nearly forty-nine years of marriage had she ever heard her husband curse or swear. She knew it was a mistake taking out an equity loan without telling him. She walked out of the room. Later, she approached her son as he was on his way out the door.

"Son. It is important you never tell your father about the loan. You see how he gets. He won't understand that the loss of your lab wasn't your fault," Tisa said.

Mr. "B" knew he'd hid the truth from his own mother. But, he had the money he needed now to pay off the debts. He hoped to delay payments longer to accrue interest. He would find a way to make what remained of the money double.

Joblessness was anathema to Horst. When his son remained idle for nearly three months, Horst knew something had to be done. He was worried he would have to take out an equity loan on his home to keep up with the additional bills his son's living back home was accruing. He was unaware Tisa's already borrowed on their home's equity.

Tisa had many arguments with her daughters over their belief she was "overindulging" their brother and no good would come of it. Janetta's marriage to a lawyer allowed her to have what their brother didn't.

"Momma, does it bother you that Janetta and Charles have amassed such a lot of wealth and don't share it with us?" Mr. "B" asked.

"Yes, son. It does. But, what can we do? We can't demand they share it," Tisa said.

Charles Timson, Janetta's husband, was a big city lawyer who often worked more than ten hours a day on legal cases. It was through his willingness to work such long hours that his law firm became one of the most prestigious in the Boston region, a fact that made Mr. "B" seethe with rage.

Pauline took a job in the town library. It suited her shy personality. At first, she was just stocking the bookshelves. Then, she decided to take college course to get her MLS degree so she could be promoted to full library staff. Most nights, she stayed home and spent evenings studying for her degree.

Horst was such a proud father when his daughter received her degree.

"So, she has a librarian degree. What is she going to do with that?" Mr. "B" said, enviously.

"Something you have yet to do...get a better position. When do you think you will be ready to rejoin the employed?" Horst snarled angrily.

Mr. "B" knew not to respond. He didn't want to be homeless. Not that he felt that could happen so long as Tisa stepped between father and son. Besides, he had big plans. One he didn't want his father to know just yet.

There being no other resource for work, the money that remained of Tisa's handout wasn't enough for him to start another business. He glared at his father who stared straight ahead as if his son wasn't there.

"So this is how I am to be treated, Papa?

"I don't know what you are talking about," Horst said.

"You have always favored my sisters," Mr. "B" said.

"Someone had to. Your mother was always spoiling you. What good came of that? Your sister, Janetta, is doing very well, has a beautiful home and children. Pauline is happy with her library job and you? What do you have? No job, no wife, no family and you are becoming a drain on my wife and I. You must have a job by the end of the month or you need to find another place to live and I don't care what you mother says or does to the contrary. Do you understand?"

Mr."B" didn't respond. He slammed the shop door until the storefront shook.

He thinks he can bully me into leaving home? I'll have a job before the end of this week, never mind the end of the month! 

Mr. "B" got another idea. His father's shop was full of priceless antiques. They could bring in quite a bit of money if he could take them to Boston to sell them at Withers, Drome and Corsten, a top name in antique auctioneers.

The problem was that his father would not permit him to just take one of the valuable antiques. Mr. "B" knew what he planned to do was wrong.

Horst had never installed an electronic security system and Mr. "B" knew he could get in through the back entrance of the shop without being seen. All he had to do was avoid the patrol car that passed by routinely on the hour every evening.

He decided not to return home by dinner.

"Horst, have you seen your son?" Tisa asked.

"No. I am not his keeper!"

"It isn't like him to forget dinner," she said.

"Tisa, I hope your son is out looking for a job. I gave him an ultimatum. He has until the end of the month to get a job or he has to go! And I don't want any of your excuses either!" Horst said angrily.

Mr. "B" entered the shop around 10:20 that evening. He walked in darkness to the workshop door and closed it. He turned on the light in the workshop and cautiously opened the door to the front of the shop. He carefully closed the workshop door leaving just a sliver of light. If the patrol car passed, it would appear Horst was working late.

Mr. "B" found two antique Austrian regulator clocks. The tiny white tags on them had no price. Horst had always told his family that a price tag with no price meant the customer had to ask the price because the clock was of greater value.

He tucked a wall clock and a free standing clock into his shirt. He gave the premises one last look to make sure nothing appeared amiss. His father would probably not even notice the two missing clocks. So, he thought.

When he arrived home, he hid the two clocks in the family garage in one of the upper eaves of the ceiling. In the morning, he'd take the clocks to Boston to the auctioneer.

As always with Mr. "B," he was able to present himself as a comprehensive businessman at Withers, Drome and Corsten. He called early in the morning and mentioned he had two very valuable antique Austrian regulator clocks a family member wanted to sell from their estate.

He met with Roger Drome at eleven that morning.

"Where did you say these clocks came from?" Roger asked.

"Actually, my father's estate. My mother is a widow now and you know how it is, she needs the money," Mr. "B" lied.

"Yes. We have a lot of widows who sell off family heirlooms from their estates," Roger said.

"Yes. Heirlooms." Mr. "B" repeated.

"Are you interested in antiques?" Roger asked.

"I lived with antiques all around me," Mr. "B" said.

"You might want to consider antiques as a business. What business are you in?" Roger asked.

"I'm a biologist. I moved back to this area after I closed my business in Wyoming. It's not a good area for laboratory work," Mr. "B" countered.

Of course, he had no lab business in Wyoming and never did. But unwittingly, Roger Drome had just planted an idea for Mr. "B's" next "business."

Sure, why didn't I think of it! An antiques business. There are plenty of antiques in the Eddington area. I could become quite well off buying cheap and selling high! 

As usual, Mr. "B" hadn't quite thought out his "new business" thoroughly. No matter. To him, anywhere he plunked himself was a great place for his next business.

Roger Drome assessed the two clocks Mr. "B" had stolen from his father's shop at $10,000 each. Mr. "B" tried not to show his surprise. He left Withers, Drome and Corsten with a certified check for $20,000...the fastest money he ever made. He left the auctioneer's emporium thrilled with his new found financial windfall.

He knew exactly what he would do next. He'd get busy and scour the area for antiques.

"If those two clocks were worth that much, there have to be other antiques just as valuable," he muttered to himself.

It also occurred to Mr. "B" that his father had more money than he had ever let on to his wife and children. If those two clocks were worth $20,000, how much was Horst taking in all? Mr. "B" knew he had to put a buzz in his mother's ears. However, now was not the time to do it. He had more important business. He had to make solid plans on how to become an antique dealer and, if he was successful, buy out his father's shop.

The beauty of being a dealer is ...no employees and no one at the IRS needs to know how much I am earning!

Mr. "B" was ecstatic. He finally found a business that suited him perfectly.

Within only a year, Mr. "B" earned enough from selling antiques to auctioneers to lease his own shop in Boston. He wanted to be as far away from family as possible. He forgot that his brother-in-law, Charles Timson, Janetta's husband was now a Boston circuit court judge and still had his own law firm in the big city. He figured that Charlie Timson would be too busy to pay attention to anything any antique dealer was doing.

Mr. "B" managed to "acquire" most priceless antiques from unsuspecting little old ladies who lived in the wealthiest areas of the state. He would stake out certain areas with Victorian or Edwardian homes and approach the owners only after checking the tax registers to see who owned these homes and properties.

Maggie Pitzler, a Boston region tax clerk was quite helpful, perhaps a tad too helpful, when it came to discovery of real estate ownership.

Maggie always reminded Mr. "B" of Sharon Bartley. She had the same dark hair and deep chestnut brown eyes. She was also the same height and weight as Sharon. Which meant to Mr. "B," she was quite "well built."

Maggie also was quite taken with Mr. "B," she had been married once to her high sweetheart, Adam Orier. He turned out to be a jobless loser and a heavy drinker. She had the marriage annulled after only eighteen months and her father insisted she return to using her maiden name.

When Mr. "B" finally asked Maggie to dinner, she was thrilled. Even more so, when he asked if she wanted wine and she said she wasn't a "drinker." She was thoroughly impressed that Mr. "B" wasn't either.

The truth was that Mr. "B" had not really had a drink since he left Sharon in Wyoming. Then, he and Sharon had a good old time with a bottle of cheap wine or one of those flavored liqueurs. The thought of Sharon sent him drifting away from Maggie.

"Penny for your thought?" Maggie asked.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I was just trying to remember the last time I had a drink of anything alcohol. My, but that was such a long time ago!" he said.

The couple got to know each other over a steak dinner and then Mr. "B" asked if she was interested in walking along the river pier. Maggie thought it was his way of broaching a more romantic scene. She was wrong.

Mr. "B" dated Maggie Pitzler for the next seven months never once so much as hugging or trying to give her a goodnight kiss. Maggie wondered if perhaps there was something wrong with him.

"You and I have been seeing each other frequently for the last seven months. Do you find me unattractive?" she asked.

"No. Certainly not. I am just not a romantic sort of man," he said.

Maggie was perplexed. His response gave no clear indication of his feelings for her. She would later learn that his "feelings" were rarely expressed at any truly intimate level.

So it was that she was caught totally off guard one year later when he asked her to dinner and mentioned he had a very "important" question to ask her.

Mr. "B" long since relinquished steak dinners for more "sensible" meals at what Maggie considered a "cheap" diner.

Over two hamburgers and fries, Mr. "B" angled to where he could broach the subject of marriage.

"I'm thinking we get on quite well. We, neither of us, are getting any younger. We should make it official and get married, don't you think?" Mr. "B" said.

Maggie was silent for such a long time that Mr. "B," thought she was rejecting his offer.

"I...why, yes. I think we should," Maggie replied.

That was it. There was no big wedding. Just the two of them high tailing it off to a justice of the peace out of town and a short weekend spent in a Nantucket motel. Maggie noticed he seemed to rankle each time they had to spend money. How he managed this trait of character so much like Horst's was due more to his lack of funds, unlike his father who had money and rarely shared the specific amount with Tisa or his family members.

Maggie agreed to the hurried wedding since she had no family in the Boston area anyway. Her father, John Pitzler, passed away ten years earlier leaving only her mother, Anna and a brother Conrad, "Connie," as he was referred to by his sister. The family home was in Acton, Maine, a rustic town, that held to its traditional New England austerity. Connie finished college barely and went on to become a New York City accountant, where me met and married his wife, Annette Rendall. Like Maggie, Connie wanted no reminders of Acton. Anna refused to leave the old, two-story salt box style home. She hoped to take in renters. But, Acton was already a town with a small population and the only tourists were those headed for bigger Maine cities with more to offer. The town's train station gave tourists a small glimpse of Acton as a sleepy town without much big city entertainment.

Over time, Anna Pitzler simply closed the doors to the unused rooms and lived mainly in the kitchen, living room and converted a downstairs pantry into her bedroom. What use was a pantry to an old woman living alone?

Maggie visited her mother rarely. The last time the two met, Maggie pleaded with Anna to sell the family home and move into her apartment in Boston. Anna would have no part of it.

"All my friends and neighbors are here," Anna said.

"Mama, you don't have any neighbors. Yours is the only house on this street still occupied. And all of your friends are either in nursing homes or they have passed on," Maggie said.

Maggie knew reasoning with her stubborn mother was to no avail. She left wondering if one day the Acton sheriff would phone to say Anna was found dead for more than a month in that house.

Now that she was married, "they" mostly Mr. "B" decided they would both keep their jobs. Maggie secretly hoped that she could become her husband's business associate. He allowed only that she would do his secretarial and accounting work for him.

He soon found out that he didn't like her keeping his books. Maggie found out why.

"Maggie, I wanted to talk to you about your bookkeeping and accounting," he said.

"Yes?"

"I...uh...Well there is just too much "information" the IRS doesn't need to know," he said.

"I'm not sure I understand. This is how bookkeeping is done in the city," she said.

"That's the city's "way." I am a small businessman. I can't make it appear I am turning a profit or I will be taxed heavily on it at the end of the year. Do you understand?"

Maggie understood. He wanted her to keep two sets of books. The one he would present at year end and the one that he kept that showed business was profitable. By the time they were married five years, his business showed year after year "no profit." For this, he was eligible to collect state and federal tax subsidies to help keep his business "afloat."

Mr. "B" soon realized that was how Horst also did business. Only in Horst's business, the "profits" were carefully placed within each fiscal quarter to make certain some "profits" were legitimate. Mr. "B" had a better idea. Why bother with all of that when Maggie could keep two sets of books?

By the time Mr. "B" reached his forty-fifth birthday, Maggie had "unexpected news." She was pregnant. He didn't see how that was at all possible. Maggie was five years younger and should really have been past the childbearing age.

He secretly hoped the pregnancy would end due to her age. When it didn't and their daughter, Teresa was born, Mr. "B" was not quite the thrilled "father" even when Tisa and his sisters came to see the newest addition to the family.

"She's beautiful!" Tisa said, upon seeing the child for the first time.

Janetta and Pauline brought several baby items for their new niece.

"Maggie, I have some of my daughter's layette wardrobe if you would like them," Janetta said.

"I...why yes," she answered.

She paused because she waited for Mr. "B" to give his nod of approval. He almost always gave his approval if he didn't have to spend more money on what he considered his newest unnecessary expense.

Things between Maggie and Mr. "B" began to sour with each new bout of colic Teresa had and each time she outgrew her baby clothes.

"We are going to need a bigger place. This apartment is too small," Maggie wailed.

"It has to do. I can't afford anything bigger right now," Mr. "B" said.

"But, you business is doing okay. I know because I do your books. Remember?"

"Yes. About that. How soon will you be able to get back to your job at City Hall?" he asked.

Maggie was shocked. Teresa was barely two months old and he expected her to just drop the infant off with a sitter?

"We'll need a sitter. You can't afford a bigger apartment. How will you afford a full-time baby sitter?" Maggie asked.

Mr. "B" had not planned for that.

"Can't you take her to work with you?" he asked.

"No! I can't!" Maggie barked.

"Why not?"

"She needs feeding and changing every four hours. I'll tell you what. You have your own shop now. You take care of her while I go back to work at town hall!" Maggie said.

This was the first time Maggie and Mr. "B" had a disagreement. It wouldn't be the last.

"This was my apartment. You didn't want to find something because you said this apartment was more economical for a newly married couple. That was five years ago. We need a bigger apartment at the very least with two bedrooms. Teresa is going to need a room of her own," Maggie said, sternly.

"Don't take that tone with me Maggie! I won't have it!"

"I'll look for a place then, if you won't," Maggie said.

Maggie knew her husband was hiding a lot of his income. She didn't know where. She hoped it was in some kind of savings account so they could buy a home of their own.

A few days later, Mr. "B" tried to smooth over the stormy waters.

"Maggie, I've been saving for a house. I didn't want to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise," he said, coyly.

"Oh! That's wonderful. When can we start looking?" she asked.

"Well, first I have to save enough for the down payment," he said.

"How much do we need for that?"

"It depends on the type of house we buy. I don't want to buy a house we have to sell because we need more room in another five years from now," he said.

Teresa passed her first birthday and they were still no closer to owning a home of their own. By the time she was nearly ready to start school, the apartment was so crowded that Teresa's clothes had to be kept in cardboard boxes. Mr. "B" refused to spend money on a dresser to keep the child's things neatly stored.

Mr. "B" insisted they be "careful" so that Maggie wouldn't become pregnant again. On her forty-fifth birthday, she announced she was pregnant...again!

He was livid!

"How could this happen? I, we, were so careful!" he yelled.

"So what? We are married. It isn't as if we did something so terrible!" Maggie said.

In truth, Maggie knew her husband had grown even more tight with his money and had no plans to ever buy a house. She figured if they had two children, he would have to face the fact they needed a home of their own.

"Well, I hope you are happy now, Maggie!" he barked.

"I am. I didn't want Teresa to be an "only" child."

"You mean you planned this pregnancy all along and didn't ask me first?"

"And, just why do I need to "ask" your permission?"

"I am the one who will have to support these kids. How will you keep your job now?"

"Teresa will be starting school in a year. Your business is not going broke even though you like to pretend it is. Don't think for one minute I didn't know about that "windfall" you managed with the Heyland Estate sale. You got the lion's share of their most valuable antiques," Maggie said.

Mr. "B" realized it was foolish of him to allow Maggie to have such close proximity to his business. She wasn't as dumb as he hoped. Growing up with his two sisters, he could pull the wool over their eyes quite easily. With Maggie, it wasn't that simple.

When his son, Harold, was born it surprised Mr. "B" that he actually felt some sense of paternity toward his son. He resolved that he would have a better relationship with his son than he'd had with Horst. He was adamant that Maggie would not have the kind of influence over his infant son "Harry" as he called him, as Tisa had with him.

By the time the 1940's arrived, like a domino effect, Horst passed away and Maggie's mother Anna, leaving an estate to her son and daughter owing huge unpaid land taxes. Connie managed to pay most of the bills only after Mr. "B" flatly refused to offer to help. Maggie was incensed that her husband had become what she called a "tightwad."

Now that Horst was gone, Mr. "B" had the idea he could consolidate his and his father's business. Although his father was mainly buying and selling priceless antique clocks, Mr. "B" felt that he could do better for his father's business by opening the stock to a broader range of antiques.

This decision was the beginning of Mr. "B's" business empire. With two mouths to feed, he knew he had no choice but to prevail upon Maggie to continue working for the municipality. The benefits there were great, something he refused to provide. In fact, he made a decision that even if the business should expand to where he needed to hire employees to work in the shops, he would not be responsible to pay for any worker benefits.

Why should I pay for their benefits? They get a paycheck. They can pay for what they need out of what I pay them.

Horst's would have been rolling over in his grave if he knew what his son was doing with his old antique clock business. Mr. "B" asked Maggie to go through the list of Horst's customers with a fine tooth comb and keep only those who brought in the most valuable clocks. She was soon to discover that Horst's clocks were coming out of Austria from second and now, third generation relatives whom Horst split the profits with.

"Your father agreed to pay your Austrian suppliers a percentage of the profits of the sale of those antique clocks," Maggie told him.

"I own the shop now. They'll get no more than 1% of the total value," Mr. "B" said.

"But they won't accept that," Maggie countered.

"They'll accept it or I won't pay them a dime at all!"

Maggie knew that Mr. "B" was becoming far more linear in his thinking. When they first met, she was impressed with this ability to contain costs. After they married, she saw how he contained costs. He either refused to pay what was owed or else, he would hang onto to what others would consider junk.

No matter how hard she tried to reason with him, he was resolute. When she said they needed a car, he bought a second hand clunker he found. He spent the next two years spending more on repairs. Yet, he would not get rid of it. He'd only bought it because it was one of those "woodies" that had wooden side paneling that in the mid 1940s was so popular with college students. The problem was that Mr. "B" wasn't a college student and he had two children who needed transportation to the doctor when they were ill.

When Teresa came down with the measles, Mr. "B" refused her medical treatment.

"I had measles and Mother didn't run to a doctor. These things just take their natural course," he said.

Yet, when Harry came down a few years later with mumps, Mr. "B" hurried him off to Dr. Swartzenfelder in Boston.

Maggie saw that her husband ignored Teresa and doted on Harry. When she tried to mention this to him, he rebuffed her saying,

"I'll not have a son of mine being a Mama's boy!"

What Maggie didn't know was that her husband had been the ultimate "Mama's boy." Her mother-in-law, Tisa, was becoming a rock hard older woman closing in on her 70th birthday. She constantly prevailed upon her only son to look "after" her for things she could so easily do for herself. It was clear that the years of arguing with Horst and their mutually kept secrets had taken its toll on Tisa.

She doted on her grandson, Harry, just as she had her son. Just like her son, Tisa ignored her granddaughter, always comparing Teresa to Janetta's daughter, even though there was a ten year age difference between the two girls.

Maggie tried to keep Harry and Teresa under control. As soon as both of them were in school, Mr. "B" insisted Maggie try to get full time hours. She'd worked in a flower shop part-time on weekends while Mr. "B" drove Harry and Teresa on his "buying trips."

He was glad his son and daughter were in school. Now, he felt free of responsibilities again. Maggie could take full charge of his children as he wanted.

Harry did well in kindergarten and Teresa was a "B" average student in third grade. By the time Harry reached the third grade in school, he was already showing signs of belligerence and disobedience to his teacher and Maggie.

"I don't have to listen to you!" he'd say.

"Yes. You do! Do you want me to call your father?" Maggie would say.

"Daddy won't punish me. Daddy loves me," Harry said with a slight lisp.

"Momma, Harry got a note home from his teacher today. She gave it to me to give to you because Harry said he'd rip it up," Teresa said, with a slight grin.

Maggie read the teachers note.

"Please come to a special meeting to discuss your son's behavior." Mrs. Redmond.

"Harry! What did you do?" Maggie yelled.

"Nothing, Momma. That boy, Ralph Meyers, he pushed me. So, I pushed him back harder," Harry said.

"That's not what happened Momma. Harry was outside on the playground and he was pushing and shoving the other boys. Ralph Meyers told Harry to stop. Harry gave him a hard shove to the ground. Ralph skinned his knee and had to be taken to the school nurse," Teresa said.

It gave Teresa some satisfaction that her brother, whom her Grandmother Tisa and her father believed was incapable of ever doing anything wrong, was in trouble at school.

What would they think now of their precious little boy? 

Teresa knew that no matter how good her grades were, Harry would be the one her father would fawn over.

"Your father will hear about this, Harry!" Maggie said.

"I don't care," he replied.

Harry, at six years old was already more than Maggie could handle. Yet, her husband seemed to distance himself more and more from his children. He rarely said more than two words to Teresa or Maggie at dinner. He took Harry fishing and even planned a family trip to Maine for the summer so he and Harry could go hunting and fishing "where your mother was born."

The family drove up to Maine, a five hour trip, in that beat up old station wagon only after Mr. "B" spent his entire weekends tinkering with it. In addition to congratulating himself on his sales and business prowess, he was now "saving money" by repairing that old clunker.

Maggie remembered that her brother had a cabin in the woods near their old home in Acton. Mr. "B" urged her to call and see whether or not Connie still had possession of it.

"We can stay in the cabin for free!" Mr. "B" said.

Somehow, Maggie knew that it would come down to something for nothing with her husband.

"I'm not even sure I know where to locate my brother," she said.

"What do you mean? He's an accountant isn't he? He should be easy enough to locate through the licensing bureau," Mr. "B" said.

When Maggie located Connie, he told her he was about to sell the old cabin and the forty acres with it. Mr. "B" had a better idea.

"We are going to make a deal with your brother to sell us that cabin. Then, we'd always have a place to go for our family vacations," Mr. "B" said, after Maggie relayed Connie's information.

Maggie called her brother a second time. Mr. "B" wanted the cabin and property for five times less than the selling price.

"I can't give you that property for nothing, Maggie. If he wants it, he'll have to pay fair price for it," Connie said.

"Connie, if you recall, that cabin and property were all part of our mother's estate. It was the only thing that had no lien against it," she said.

"Only because our father bought the place cash on the line when the state decided to shed some of its public lands," he said.

"Look, Maggie, I know your husband well enough to know he will only fight me like a devil if he thinks he can force me to give it up. He will cost me more in legal fees than the place is worth. What if I just deed the it all over to you? At least, I'll know I can use it if ever I have the time for hunting and fishing. What do you say to that? You'll be a property owner. That should please you," he said.

Maggie knew Connie was right and she did like the idea of owning her own property for a change. Everything else they owned was in Mr. "B's" name. She decided to concoct a little white lie.

She had no money of her own. Her husband claimed that his income from his business went right back into paying business expenses. What little money Maggie had, she kept in a small box at the back of her dresser in a drawer with her under things. She knew her husband would be too embarrassed to go through them. When Connie offered to hand her the property in Maine, she saw this as "insurance" in case her husband and she parted ways. She refused to repeat the mistakes she saw her mother making all her life.

"So, What did that oaf brother of yours say?"

"He...uh... he said he won't sell it; but, we are welcome to use it whenever we like," Maggie said.

"He won't sell it? I'll force him to the wall. I want that cabin for Harry and me," Mr. "B" said.

"You won't force him to sell. My father left that property to him before he died. You have to contest that will and my mother's and that could cost you a fortune and you'd lose the lawsuit anyway. You know how old wills are in New England. Virtually impossible to undo, especially since you are not even a blood relative," Maggie said.

Mr. "B" was unused to not having his way. The older his age, the more willful he seemed. He decided not to tell Maggie that he planned to get some legal advice. His father had used a law firm once when he had their house and property placed in his mother's name. She had only recently paid the loan Mr. "B" begged from her when he returned to pay the debts he owed years before. He found the phone number of his father's law firm, "Kantroff and Denowich," and made an appointment.

He lied to Maggie about having to "be on the road" for a day or two to hunt down antiques for the business. He just wanted to have plenty of time to wrest that cabin from Connie's grasp.

He met with Thomas J. Denowich the eldest son of the lawyer who had been his father's legal advisor.

"You say your father was a client here?" Thomas asked.

"Yes...my father owned a business back in the day and he wanted to make sure if the business failed, their home and property was safe from debt collectors," Mr. "B" said.

"I see. My father, Thomas J. Denowich Sr., passed away over a decade ago," Thomas said.

"My father is nearing a decade since he passed," Mr. "B" said, stiffly.

"How can I help you?" Thomas asked.

"There's a cabin and some forty acres up in Maine that belongs to my brother-in-law. He is refusing to sell it. It was all part of my wife and his parents' estate. My wife's mother died deeply in debt and her son won't sell the place to pay those debts," Mr. "B" said.

Mr. "B" knew it was a lie; but, he was desperate to have that cabin. Nothing would stop him.

"Well, if the property is out of this state, you need legal assistance from a lawyer in Maine. I can't litigate against the property owner from this state," Thomas said.

"I really just want to know if it is possible to have my brother-in-law's name removed from the deed," Mr. "B" said.

"Let me be perfectly honest. It is your wife who must litigate against her brother. I can tell you that if there are any legal documents in existence alluding to your brother-in-law's ownership, it could take years to overturn them and you'd have to have a good reason. Can you prove debts are outstanding from your mother-in-law's estate?" Thomas asked.

Mr. "B" knew he couldn't. Connie paid off all of the outstanding debts years ago.

"Well, I just wanted legal advice really. Thank you for your time," Mr. "B" said.

He left abruptly and angry that he might only be allowed to "use" that cabin and property.

When he returned home, he asked Maggie if there were any outstanding debts from her mother's estate.

"You know there aren't. Connie paid for them, remember? You said you wanted no part of helping him to pay them off. Why do you ask?"

"I want that cabin! Damn it! Connie is never going to use it. Harry and I could have so much fun up there," Mr. "B" said, scowling under his bushy mustache.

"He sounded very resolute that he wouldn't consider selling it. I think maybe it has some kind of sentimental attachment for him," Maggie said.

"Sentimental attachment? Your brother? I seriously doubt that he could feel sentiment toward a wart on his on finger," Mr. "B" said, angrily.

Maggie knew her husband's temperament when things didn't go as he envisioned them. At first, he would become sulky and pouty. Then, he would scamper off by himself in a room with the door closed. An obvious subliminal message to stay out.

Mr. "B" did he best plotting and scheming when he was off by himself. Now, for the first time in his life, he couldn't think how he could wrest the cabin away from Connie. Normally, his strategy was to uncover something shady in his opponents. But, he knew Connie's work was always submitted to the Internal Revenue Service and as such, was unlikely to have any red flags Mr. "B" could use to threaten his brother-in-law.

Then, it came to him. All he had to do was assume Connie's identity and have the cabin's title switched. He would make Maggie help him.

He placed a phone call to Acton Town Hall. He had to couch his questions to make it appear he was the property owner. But first, he had to know if Connie had ever been seen by anyone at Town Hall.

"Hello, this is Conrad Pitzler. I am calling to ask if you received my last payment of the taxes on the property I own," Mr. "B" lied.

"Do you have the property ID number or your taxpayer ID number?" the female voice asked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I am on the road at the moment. You see I had a bank error I am trying to track down. I'm not sure if the error is mine or the bank's. Is there a way you can check without that information?" Mr. "B" asked.

The clerk on the phone asked for the location. All he could do was provide the nearest main highway and access road to the cabin and property.

"That'll be fine. I can look up the information from the location description," she said.

Mr. "B" knew he had to be cautious about any questions he asked.

"I found the information sir. Yes. We received your last tax payment for the second quarter one month ago. The next payment will be due in two months," she said.

"Oh, I do have one last question. Can you tell me what the fees are for changing the title to the deed for that property? I am considering "gifting it" to my wife for a birthday present," he said.

"Mr. Pitzler, the title to the property was already changed as you know fairly recently. The property owner your sister, Margaret. Have you forgotten you made this change?" she asked.

Mr. "B" was astounded. Maggie was now the owner of the cabin? She never said a word about it. He ended the call abruptly. His plan to take property ownership from Connie was all for naught. He fumed the entire way back to his home.

Maggie knew from the screeching of the tires he husband was annoyed about something.

"Maggie! Maggie!" he bellowed.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I want to talk to you NOW!" he yelled.

Maggie thought it was just another of her husband's tantrums.

"Why didn't you tell me that Connie turned that cabin ownership over to you?"

"How do you know that?"

"I...I called the Acton Tax office. The clerk told me the property was deeded to "my sister, Margaret." You want to explain why you never mentioned this to me?" Mr. "B" demanded.

"No. I don't want to explain anything to you. My brother offered the place to me and I made the decision that I'd like, for once in my life to own something that doesn't have your name on it," Maggie said, brazenly.

"You do know that anything you own is MINE too!"

"No, I don't know any such thing. Connie already told me he checked that issue out with his corporate lawyers. He couldn't deed the place to you. You have a bad credit reputation and you know why," Maggie said.

Mr. "B" felt so angry that the color in his face turned purple.

"You thought you were so smart "Margaret. I'll won't forget this. You are my wife. You have no right to keep things from me," he said.

"You mean like all the things you keep from me?" she asked.

"What things?"

"Like you calling the Acton Tax office. What did you do to get that information? Lie? Like you always do? How do you expect anyone to ever trust you when you lie about everything?"

Mr. "B" was furious. He knew Maggie didn't know about the loan his mother handed him or how Tisa tricked Horst by taking out a loan for her son on their home and property. Maggie also didn't know about the two antique regulator clocks he'd stolen years ago from Horst's shop.

Whenever Mr. "B" felt as if ranks were closing in on him, his natural instinct was to run. It would serve Maggie right to wonder where he was for a few weeks. He knew exactly where he was headed: Wyoming. He felt if he could just recapture his former life with Sharon, maybe things would feel more in his control.

He booked the flight to Wyoming hoping that Sharon's marriage to Jay Hickston was over. It was a long shot but it was better than having to deal with Maggie's newfound advantage over her husband. Mr. "B" could tolerate many things. He would never tolerate a wife with the upper hand.

When he arrived in Wyoming, the first thing he saw was the name Sharon Hickston on a huge billboard. So, she was now a real estate mogul, was she? He felt as if the world had caved in on him.

He decided he'd visit Sharon's ranch anyway. He was totally shocked when he saw how she had aged. Now, her gorgeous figure was only somewhat plump and her hair was streaked with grey.

"I saw the billboard with your name on it. I'm out here on business," he said.

A lie added to many of his other lies.

"Yes. Jay felt he could manage the ranch for me and I needed some income of my own," Sharon said.

"How have you been?" she asked.

"Well, I have a son and a daughter now," he put in hurriedly.

"That's great! Is your son the oldest child? I noticed you mentioned him first," Sharon said.

"Harry is younger than "our" daughter, Teresa. Teresa is a handful. Harry is just a pleasure to have for a son," Mr. "B" said.

"I have three sons. James is 14, Lynwood is 12 and Lorne is 10. They are out learning ranching at the moment. Jay insists the boys learn ranching so they can take over one day when the two of us are too old to do it."

Mr. "B" felt an ache deep from within. He wished he could turn the clock back to when he and Sharon were lovers. He squinted to see Sharon as they were in college. The Wyoming sun was so bright. He saw only a kind of halo around her figure. She was still youthful as ever, unlike Maggie who had become thick around the middle and now had a pillow top tummy. Sharon's grey hair gave away the years that had come and gone between them.

Sharon noticed his lingering glance at her body.

"I've put on a little weight since last you were here," she said.

"You look as slim as you always have to me," he responded.

"Well, why don't you stay for dinner?"

"No, I'm afraid I fly back home tonight," he said.

Mr. "B" realized he was caught in a tiny lie.

"Your business is over so soon then?"

"It was only to meet with a potential client," he answered.

He wondered if she believed his story.

He spent the next two days wandering around his old college campus, the fishing holes and his favorite prairie areas. He planned to remain in Wyoming for two weeks.

"What the hell! I may as well hunt down antiques while I'm here," he said.

He felt as restless as a hungry mountain lion. When he stopped at several homes and ranch lodges, he came up empty. He found antiques; but he knew they wouldn't be of any interest to his clients in the New England region.

He got another idea. What if he bought a few of these western style antiques and sold them through ads in the newspapers? He began to expand the scope of his business.

Sure! Why not! I could sell western antiques as easily to museums and make a nice little pile of money. 
Without any appraisal skills, he picked up an old rifle he assumed was about fifty years old, several Old West pieces of artwork and sculptors and a large brass spittoon. He figured the brass itself would fetch a pretty good price. He had the items shipped back to his shop.

At first, he didn't think he would stay for the full two weeks. But, the more he hunted for antiques, the days seemed to fly by.

"Mom? When is Dad coming back home?" Harry asked.

"Your father is away on business, Harry. You know that takes a lot of his time," Maggie said.

"But, he's been gone nearly two weeks. We go back to school in another two weeks. He promised to take me to our cabin," Harry said.

"It isn't our cabin. It belongs to your uncle, Conrad, as you know," Maggie said.

It was a little lie But, it did bring to the forefront of her mind what her husband would do about the cabin now that he knew she, not he, owned it.

"Mom? Didn't Dad say where he was going? What if there was an emergency and you needed to contact him?" Teresa said.

"I am sure there is not going to be any emergency," Maggie said, flatly.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

Mr. "B" decided he had enough of business and since he was to leave Wyoming on Sunday, he felt he needed to "unwind." He hadn't been much of a drinker mostly because he never really had the kind of money to indulge himself.

Now that his business was doing okay, it was time to treat himself. He walked into the DownRight Saloon and ordered a beer. Wyoming has a lot of hard drinkers. He had only to look around and see the number of men hanging over the bar and the women at the tables. Women were not allowed at the bar at the DownRight.

He stood at the bar for no more than five minutes when a buxom redhead sidled up to him.

"You look lonesome cowboy. You want company?" she asked.

Mr. "B" shrugged his shoulders. The woman stayed.

"My name's Sally Ann Pickard. What's yours?" she asked.

"Folks just call me "Mr. "B."

"What does the "B" stand for?"

"Bastard" he answered.

"Huh? You don't seem like any ornery cowboy I ever knew. You from around here?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions," Mr. "B" retorted.

Sally Ann pursed her lips and went silent.

"So, you a married woman, are you, Sally Ann?" he asked.

"Well sure. Three times. I do believe in marriage," she said.

"Let's go over to my table. The DownRight don't like women standing at the bar," she added.

Mr. "B" followed Sally Ann to her table. They spent the next two hours getting quite drunk. Mr. "B" realized he could forget a lot of things that annoyed him to his craw when he was drunk.

By the time he got ready to leave, Sally Ann was trying to seduce him.

"I don't know. I think it's that bushy mustache or somethin'. I am just dying to take you upstairs," she said.

"Sorry. I can't. I'm married and I also have a plane to catch tomorrow," he answered.

Sally Ann was drunk and now very angry. She had this guy pegged for a man who'd buy her drinks for the night and give her a roll in the hay. She nodded to one of her guy friends, a big, burly man named Droban. Whenever Sally Ann couldn't "connect" with a man in the DownRight, Droban was there to remind him no one rejects Sally Ann Pickard.

Droban saw Mr. "B" heading for the men's room. He walked out the door and waited for Mr. "B" and then, he pummeled him and rolled him for his wallet. He took out whatever cash Mr. "B" carried while Mr. "B" lay unconscious on the pavement. He was bleeding from his mouth and his face was a mess of scratches from trying to fight off Droban.

When Droban returned to the bar, he handed Sally the cash and she split it with him.

"Not bad for a night's work, right Droban?" she asked.

Droban shrugged and headed back to his friends at the bar.

The owner of the DownRight knew Sally Ann's game but in Wyoming, no one paid any attention to a foolish drunk getting rolled.

When Mr. "B" came to, he picked himself up and started for the bar. A stranger coming out of the bar gave him a warning.

"I wouldn't if I was you. Everyone knows Sally Ann's game. You only lost your money. Be happy Droban didn't really work you over," the man said.

Mr. "B" had never been in a physical fight before. He hurried back to his car and drove back to his hotel room. He was in a hurry to get back home. He called to arrange an earlier flight.

He arrived one day earlier than he planned; but, he didn't want Maggie to know he was back. He hurried to his shop and decided to sleep there for the night. He looked around the shop to make sure nothing was missing. He always removed all of the cash and locked down any valuables in the glass cabinet at the front of the store and a metal cabinet at the rear where he cleaned up antique pieces. These were the pieces his limited staff were not allowed to handle.

He fashioned a cot out of packing from old crates and three wooden pallets. Mr. "B" never threw anything away. He wasn't a hoarder. He just didn't bother with tidying up. As he began to feel drowsy, he looked around the shop from his vantage point on the floor. He noticed that Joshua's work table still have several pieces that needed to be cleaned.

It figures. The minute I am gone, these lazy idiots do nothing.

His whole body ached from the beating he took at the DownRight Saloon. But, he soon fell asleep. He awoke at first light. He'd slept for more than nine hours. He looked at the clock on the workroom wall. In just a few hours, Joshua, Karl and Iva would soon be coming into the shop.

They'll make it look as if they were bogged down with work while I was gone.

Jason and Karl did most of the cleanup of the antiques that would be sold to antique dealers. Iva handled the books, walk-in customers and the phones. That used to be Maggie's job before Mr. "B" decided she would learn things he'd rather she didn't.

Mr. "B" considered Jason and Karl, both of whom received college degrees in antiquities and fine arts to be morons. He hated Iva and had to constantly remind her that his way of keeping books was the "only" way. Iva was an accounting manager in Boston. She'd never seen the kind of books Mr."B" kept.

Mr. "B" went to the bathroom and cleaned up as much of the bruising on his face as he could. Jason, Karl and Iva walked into the shop a few minutes early.

"Your starting time is nine o'clock. It's only eight forty-five. Why are you three here so early?" Mr. "B"
asked.

All three employees noticed the bruises on is face.

"Are you okay, Mr. "B," Iva asked.

"I'm fine. Since you are here early, could you put the coffee on?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir."

Iva walked into the back room of the shop where the coffee pot was located. It wasn't to be used by employees. Mr. "B" put a sign above the table where the coffee pot and a single coffee mug stood. The sign read, "Employees must purchase their own coffee!"

Usually, the minute Mr. "B" walked out the door to go to the bank or post office, jobs Iva always did at her other jobs, Jason would run out and pick up coffee for them.

Iva poured Mr. "B" his coffee. His hands were shaky. She knew not to ask any more questions.

"Iva, what is the tally for the last two weeks?" he asked.

This was a question he usually asked every day. But, since he was away, he must have expected a huge windfall from paying clients. She knew he was going to be enraged when he found out for the past two weeks there were no checks received for purchases.

She handed him the accounts receivable report and waited for the explosion.

"For Chrissakes! Iva! Where the hell are all of the incoming checks?" he demanded.

"As you can see, sir. There are none."

In the back room, Jason and Karl looked at each other and knew what was coming next.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times to get on that damned phone and get these clients to pay their bills."

He was so angry that he pounded his fist on Iva's desk, shocking her and adding a bruise to his already bruised fist.

He stormed out of the shop. His foul mood prevailing, he decided to take account of the situation at his home.

Maggie had already left for her latest job, a teacher's aide at Harry's school.

"Damn her! Look at this place. She works part-time and still can't keep this place in order," he yelled out to the empty house. Or, what he thought was an empty house.

Teresa came bounding down the stairs.

"What the hell are you doing home!" he demanded.

"Mom said to stay in bed. I think I must have the stomach flu. I feel kind of green," Teresa said.

Mr. "B" smirked. He knew his daughter well enough to know she played hooky whenever there was a test to be taken.

"You may fool your mother, young lady, you don't fool me! Let me guess. You had a test today and you decided to skip out on it?"

Teresa approached her father and noticed the bruises on his face.

"What on earth happened to you?" she asked.

"Don't worry about it. You will be in class tomorrow or else. Do you hear!"

Teresa didn't bother to answer and ran back upstairs to her room.

She heard her father rustling around downstairs and wondered what trouble he was in this time.

Oddly, Mr. "B" and Teresa had a lot in common when it came to staying on the straight and narrow path. With Mr. "B," it was always a matter of his fanatical will. With Teresa, more of it was just immaturity, not that her father ever considered that.

She watched from her bedroom window as he walked out the front door with several of her mother's favorite pieces of bric-a-brac under his arm.

Oh jeesus! When Mom finds out he's taken them, she'll be really angry.

Mr. "B" needed some extra cash until the crates from his Wyoming antique hunting spree arrived. He calculated it to be another two or three days.

The minute Maggie arrived home, Teresa warned her of her father's foul mood.

"These days, he is always in a foul mood for one reason or another. I used to think it was just the stress of business. Now, I am beginning to believe it is just a serious personality disorder. We will have to tip toe around him at dinner," Maggie said.

"Mother, there's more," Teresa said.

The minute Harry heard his mother and sister lower their voices, he hurried to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"More? What more is there?"

"Dad must have had an accident or something. His faces is all bruised and his left eye is partially swollen."

"Your father must have had an auto accident."

"No, it can't be. The woodie is in perfect condition."

Teresa hesitated. She didn't like having to "squeal" on her father. But, she also didn't want him to take things that didn't belong to him. He'd taken her mother's things. Maybe, hers would be next.

"Teresa? Is there something else?"

"Yes. He walked out of her around noon with several of your things. You know...that funny looking statue of the lady in the blue gown, the brass candlesticks and that cut glass vase,"

"What! Are you sure?"

"What is he going to do? Sell them?" Teresa asked

"That means he must be low on money," Maggie said.

It was true that Mr. "B" had lost all the cash he had to Sally Ann and Droban. But, he always had money set aside he didn't tell anyone about. He kept it in a bank in Eatonton, forty miles away. He kept the deposits in a small opening in the wall in the rear of the shop and covered it with an antique lithograph.

It amused him that Jason and Karl worked at the table with thousands of dollars hidden behind that lithograph and had no idea the money was there.

Maggie called everyone to the table for dinner. Teresa waited for her mother to ask her father where he got so badly bruised and why he took her things. Maggie remained silent.

Afterward, Teresa and Maggie cleared the table and washed up the dinner dishes.

"Mother why didn't you ask where Dad got those bruises or why he took your things? Don't you want to know?"

"I think you want to know more than I do," Maggie answered.

Mr. "B" felt justified in taking Maggie's things since Sally Ann and Droban had stolen his cash from him. That's how his attitude would remain for the rest of his life. He would justify one wrong for another.

By the end of the following week, the Wyoming antiques still hadn't arrived. The pieces he took that belonged to Maggie brought in less than the money he'd lost in Wyoming. He felt unsated and very angry. He pulled a bottle of bourbon from his desk and a small shot glass. He promised himself that he'd only take a drink if he felt his nerves were fraying.

Liquor was forbidden in his early childhood household by Tisa. Mr. "B" couldn't remember a time when his father ever took liquor. His father always told him "Liquor and business are a deadly match."

Since that beating, not only had Mr. "B's" ego taken a bashing, but he constantly felt violated because Droban rolled him and stole his money. He began to develop a deep need to get even.

Never again will anyone, man, woman or child, steal from me. This thought pervaded his every action for the rest of his life and, not always to his advantage.

Now, Iva was always his first line of offense from the minute he walked in the door, with Jason and Karl bringing up the rear. It didn't take much for Mr. "B" to begin his snarling and bellowing either.

With the arrival of the Wyoming antiques nearly three weeks late, Mr. "B" decided he would open for business seven days of the week. The problem was that Iva refused to work seven days straight. Jason and Karl didn't mind for the first few weeks. Until the winter holiday season started in mid November and they asked for a six-day week.

Mr."B" refused. Iva prepared the payroll as usual. When Mr. "B" saw the wages increase by fifty percent, he knew he that wasn't what he planned.

The week before Christmas, he decided to reduce wages by fifty percent. For his employees, this meant a loss of over eighty-five dollars. When they balked at the wage decrease, Mr. "B" had another plan. He switched from paying his employees every week to every two weeks and after the first of the new year, he planned to change the pay schedule to twice a month.

Jason and Karl were outraged that Mr. "B" never informed them of these plans.

"It's bad enough he is stiffing us the week before Christmas. Now, he wants to pay us reduced wages every two weeks?" Karl said.

Of the two young men, Karl Jueling was the more outspoken. Many times, Mr. "B" had to warn him that if he wanted to keep his job, he'd better watch his complaints.

Jason was the more laid back and fumed silently.

"Karl, if you say anything to him, you now what he'll do. He'll refuse to pay us the overtime he owes us," Jason said.

But, Mr. "B's" revenge was getting worse and worse as the months went by. By January of the new year, Mr. "B" had another idea. He decided to call a meeting of all three employees.

"I brought you three together to tell you that we are having a short fall in revenue. I'm afraid I cannot pay you for another four weeks," he said.

"Four weeks? I have rent to pay!" Karl said.

"I have a car payment. How am I supposed to avoid having my car repossessed?" Jason asked.

"Mr. "B," my salary is lower than Karl's and Jason's, I won't be able to pay my utilities," Iva said.

"Look, I don't want to hear any more complaints. There is nothing I can do about this short fall," Mr. "B" said.

"But, Mr. "B," the shortfall is only a matter of a few hundred dollars. It isn't as if it's thousands," Iva said.

"Iva, if you three hadn't been so lazy, "my" business wouldn't be doing so poorly," he replied.

"Wait a minute! You had us working seven days a week since mid November of last year, dammit! You owe us time and a half for working those extra days!" Karl said.

"I "owe" you? I OWE you nothing! If you don't like it, there's the door," Mr. "B" said.

"I don't know what happened when you were away. But, when you returned, you act as if we three are your enemies. That's not how a professional business man treats employees," Jason put in.

"Nothing happened while I was away! I am just fed up with the three of you using me as your only source of income!"

Karl, Jason and Iva all looked at each other with expressions of shock.

Mr. "B" walked toward the door of his shop and opened it wide.

"There's the door. Any of you who don't like the way I run my business feel free to take a hike!" Mr. "B" said.

Karl started for the door. Iva put her hand on his arm to stop him. He wrested himself free and stopped to face Mr. "B" standing at the open door.

"You won't get away with this. I'll sue you for lost wages! Not to mention severance pay!" Karl bellowed.

"Oh yes? See if you'll get it. I won't pay one dime!"

"You'll pay or you'll go to jail!" Karl said, the rage showing on his face.

Mr. "B" stepped toward Karl with his face contorted. He tried to push Karl out the door.

Karl pushed him back, sending Mr. "B" flying into a table filled with antiques.

"Stop this! Both of you!" Iva screamed.

But it didn't end there. Mr. "B" stood up and drew back his fist.

"No one pushes ME!" he yelled.

He punched Karl in the face. Iva heard the cracking sound and knew Mr. "B" had broken Karl's nose. Karl, blood dripping from his nose, grabbed Mr. "B" by his hair and punched him as hard as he could in the face. The two men scuffled until both were on the floor.

Iva called the police and within seconds they were at the door tearing the two men apart.

Both were hauled off to the police station and both swore out complaints against each other.

Iva and Jason stared as the two men were taken in two police vehicles to the station.

"I can't believe what just happened here," Iva said.

"Nor, I," Jason said.

"What do you think will happen?" Iva asked.

"No doubt they'll swear complaints on each other and both will have to go to court," Jason said.

"I've seen Mr. "B" angry and so have you and Karl. But, it was almost as if he was in a blind rage," Iva said.

"Now, he'll have to pay Karl for damages and the back pay he owes him," Karl said.

"You know he will never do that!" Iva said, tears running down her cheeks.

"Iva, you still can find another job. Why would you stay here if he is going to cheat his employees?"

"What are you saying? You are leaving too?" Iva asked.

"I have to. This guy is a loose cannon. He could get angry with me like he did Karl," Jason said.

"Do you think he will?" Iva asked.

"I know he keeps a bottle of booze in his desk. I caught him taking a drink as I passed to go to the bathroom the other day," Jason said.

"Oh, I don't think he...Do you mean you saw him drinking on premises?"

"Yes. Whenever he gets bad news or thinks he's gotten bad news, he pours himself a drink," Jason said.

"He's never done that before," Iva said.

Maggie was called to the jail to bail her husband out.

"What on earth have you done now?" she asked.

Mr. "B" was in no mood for Maggie's questions.

"Let's just say I had enough of Karl. I fired him and he got violent with me," Mr. "B" lied.

"He was your more experienced employee! What will you do now?"

"Oh please. Guys like him are a dime a dozen. I'm going to call the local college and see if they can get me a replacement."

"How will a college student replace Karl who had several years of experience and a PhD?"

"Karl was getting too mouthy and I was paying him way too much!"

"You?  Pay too much? I doubt that," Maggie said.

"Look, you just pay more attention to Teresa and Harry. I'll take care of my own business and I'll thank you to keep out of it."

"What if Iva and Jason quit next?"

"No one is ever indispensable. All employees are disposable," he answered.

For the next several weeks, Mr. "B" spent his time placing ads for Karl's replacement. He fumed over the fact that the paperwork for Karl's unemployment and severance meant he had to pay out. He delayed filling out the forms. Iva knew why.

Mr. "B" had been using those payroll deductions for the state and federal taxes to build up a "nest egg." He kept them in the bank long enough to accrue interest. Several times, he was sent warnings. He'd open these letters, scan them and then toss them in the garbage.

Without a replacement for Karl, Mr."B" saw a lot of the work of dating, cleaning and restoring of antiques getting behind. He now expected Jason to do the job Karl once did.

"It's high time for you to work harder. You can do Karl's job. I shouldn't have to hire another employee and spend more money I don't have!" Mr. "B" bellowed.

"I don't have nearly as much education or skill as Karl," Jason said.

"Well, no time like the present to learn, right?" Mr. "B" said, in that snarky tone to his voice.

Jason cursed him under breath.

"What did you say?" Mr. "B" asked.

"Nothing," Jason answered.

Jason was livid. Now, he wished he also had left like Karl did. He received numerous letters from the bank who furnished the car loan for his vehicle. He was forced to choose between paying his car loan or keeping his rent on his apartment paid.

Iva was also running into problems. She lived on a widow's pension of only $150 a month. It wasn't nearly enough to pay all her bills. Mr. "B" handed her and Jason their paychecks always with the caveat that they couldn't cash them until there was "more money to cover them."

Iva was barely able to cover the taxes on her home. Twice she had to borrow money from her sister and her brother to make ends meet.

"Iva, why don't you just find another job?"

"You think it's easy? I'm no spring chicken anymore. I still have another ten years before I can afford to retire," Iva told her sister, Bess.

"But, you have a job. You should be more careful of your spending," Bess said.

"If I tell you this, you promise you won't breathe a word to a soul?" Iva asked.

"Of course not!"

"My employer withholds our paychecks. I am not sure why. I do all of the bookkeeping and it isn't like he isn't making any money," Iva said.

"What do you mean he "withholds paychecks?"

"I mean he gives us our paychecks and then tells us not to cash them until he tells us it's okay," Iva said.

"He can't do that! That's against the law!" Bess said.

"If I report him, I lose my job. Then what?"

"Iva this guy has you scared silly of him. What is he? A fascist?"

"He might as well be," Iva said.

Iva knew there was enough money to make payroll. Mr. "B" always had money to hand to his wife when she came begging at the shop door. He always spent money on son, Harry, who wanted for virtually nothing. It was curious though. Whenever his daughter stopped by looking for money from her father, his routine was the same. He'd ask what she needed money for and then the two would end up in an argument.

Iva could see that his marriage and his family were a disaster and Mr. "B" was the common denominator.

After eighteen months of Mr. "B" withholding his employees' paychecks, Jason's car was repossessed. One morning, he just didn't who up for work.

"Where's Jason?" Mr. "B" asked.

"I don't know," Iva said.

"Well? Get on that damn phone and find out where the hell he is!"

Iva called Jason's apartment number. It was disconnected.

"His phone is disconnected."

"Great. That's just great. We have a big order in house and he takes the day off. He'll rue the day he pulled this. I want his wages docked for the entire week!"

At the end of the day, Iva had the suspicion that Jason left the business. He never took time off. Not even for a single day. Not even when his mother was in the hospital after she had a heart attack.

Iva finished the last of the invoicing for the day and prepared to leave. Mr. "B" was in his office with the door closed. She heard murmuring but it was indistinct. She left. As she turned the corner, she spotted Jason preparing to board a bus. She called to him.

"Iva, I'm sorry. I couldn't take anymore. This guy is off his rocker. You best look for another job yourself or you will worse off," Jason said, in parting.

"What will you do for a job?" Iva asked.

"I already have one. I had an interview over in Lawton. I am already in my new apartment and it's within walking distance of my new job. Mr. "B" was right about one thing," Jason said.

"What? What could he  be right about?"

"Doing Karl's job gave me a boat load of new experience. I'm now the shop manager at J. Chrichton & Company. And guess what? My salary is three times what Mr. "B" paid, there are employee benefits and I don't have to work a seven day week," Jason said.

"You have no idea how I envy you," Iva said.

"Iva, you can find another job. You're a great bookkeeper. You best get out of that horrible job before he has you blamed for fraud. It isn't possible he isn't making more money than he claims. I'm no bookkeeper; but, even I can figure out by the amount of antiques that he buys and sells he's got to be a millionaire by now," Jason said.

"If he is, I have no idea where he is stashing his fortune," Iva said.

"Do yourself a favor. Promise me you will keep a record of the duties he asks you to do. I don't trust him," Jason said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Several times now, he had me change the dates on several antique items. I balked because I knew he was only doing that to raise the price of the item to double what it was worth according to the book," Jason said.

"You mean he had you make the items older than they actually were?"

"Yes. And that's not all. Several times, he had me crate items that couldn't possibly be restored. How many times did you take phone calls from angry customers claiming the piece they bought from him were damaged?"

Iva thought about it. Nearly every day or two, there were phones from customers claiming the items they purchased were damaged. It happened so often that Iva kept a template letter dictated to her by Mr. "B" stating that the business was not responsible for items "damaged in transit" and to contact the delivery company.

"Oh my Gawd! Jason! You mean he has you crate items he knows are damaged and then has me  tell customers via letter that we aren't responsible?"

"Yes."

"Well, that does explain why we go through delivery companies every other month. He's making them pay for broken antiques when he knew all along their condition. Damn him!" Iva said.

Each morning when Mr. "B" arrived, he'd asked if Iva had heard from Jason. Her reply was always the same.

Jason Scholler was going to get even with Mr. "B" and he figured out how. He needed approval from his new employer who was thrilled with Jason's idea.

"Do you recall the names of some of his buyers?"

"Yes. If you like, I'll make a list and your secretary can contact them to let them know we are glad to help them find the antiques for their collections," Jason said.

"Won't your former employer realize it is you who gave us the information?"

"He is going out of business. That's why I left."

That wasn't quite a lie. After all, only Iva remained and she would be gone too.

Word spread about Mr. "B" and his "shady" business strategy like wildfire among antique collectors and dealers. With his business drying up, Mr. "B" was unable to find any replacements for Karl or Jason. He knew he had to get out while the getting was good.

Over several shots of bourbon one night, he sat at his desk looking for a plan. With two employees gone, he was able to save nearly $40,000 a month on the wages he would have paid them. Iva's wages were barely there but, in order for her to continue to keep his books for him, he decided to give her a raise so she wouldn't leave too.

Meanwhile, he stashed $40,000 for more than a year. Then, the state slapped him with a huge tax fine for non-payment of unemployment wages to Karl and also Iva's regular wages. He owed a grand total of $640,000. Almost all of the money he saved in a tax free bank in foreign country.

Iva showed him the notices for the tax fines. He brazenly tore them up.

He knew he had to do something. He planned to take off for South America. He'd settle there and live in peace and without interference from any government.

When he received the phone call from the state agency regarding his tax fine, Iva knew something was amiss. He took the phone call, closed the door to his office and looked her way several times. She had a really bad, bad feeling.

She wasn't wrong.

"Well, you see I have a bookkeeper who does all of my bookkeeping. I think she has been pocketing money that should have paid these taxes," Mr. "B" whispered into the phone.

Mr. "B" booked a flight to Argentina for the very next morning. He would leave Maggie, Teresa and Harry behind. He didn't dare chance one of them would tell him where he was.

The next morning, Iva saw that Mr. "B" hadn't arrived. She opened the shop and turned on the lights. She hung up her coat and hat and sat down at her desk. One hour later, the mailman arrived with the mail.

She saw a certified letter with her name on it. She tore open the envelope and was horrified. She was being investigated by the state for fraud! According to the letter, the state regulators would be in that very day to speak with her.

"That incorrigible skunk! He sold me out!" Iva said.

Iva hurried to put together all of the dates and times she had recorded as Jason warned her to do. She also kept a record of several instructions and commands given to her by Mr. "B."

That afternoon, the regulators arrived and Iva did what she could to prove her innocence. The only other two people who could verify her statements were Jason and Karl. She gave them the information she had retrieved from files Mr. "B" told her to destroy. The regulators warned her not to leave town.

Before the day ended, she phoned Maggie.

"Your husband won't be coming home. The regulators were here. He tried to pin his fraud on me," Iva said.

"What do you mean he isn't coming home?"

"I mean he hasn't been in the office all day. I'm betting he has left the country," Iva said.

"He can't. He hasn't that kind of money," Maggie shot back.

"I'd check your bank accounts then," Iva said and rang off.

The regulators returned the next morning. Iva provided as much information as she could from banks. While Iva packed her personal belongings, she looked around the office, handed over the keys to the regulators and didn't look back.

Maggie, Teresa and Harry were forced to sell their home. They moved into a smaller apartment near to where Maggie worked. Teresa never made grades good enough for college. So, she took a job in a local department store. To his father's shame, Harry robbed a grocery store and ended up in jail.

Somewhere in a small Patagonian town in Argentina, population just under 30,000, is a souvenir shopkeeper with a full head of white hair and a thick bushy mustache.