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Through the front door’s peephole, I see that my visitor is none other than dearest Zoey.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. Upon opening the door, I realize I never set the deadbolt earlier or manually turned on our security system. I was expecting Denny to return, unaware at that point that he was one of those missing. “And why are you here so late? Do you know what time it is?”
“Didn’t you get my text? I said I had to come over. So here I am. And after twelve is not that late. Where is Denny, and why didn’t he answer the door? I must talk to you both, now.”
Let me introduce you to my best friend. She’s smart, quick-witted, and together. She’s one who rarely gets ruffled, although I have to say she appears to be so now. Her black, sleeveless, A-line dress that stops double-digit inches short of her knees accentuates her Middle Eastern beauty. But tonight, she has dark circles under her almond-shaped eyes, and her usually pinned-back, jet-black hair is loose and unkempt.
There’s no point in beating around the bush, not with Zoey. “Denny’s gone, taken, missing,” I tell her. “He is not here.” I try to keep fear out of my voice; she doesn’t appreciate hysteria.
“Ugh, I wanted you two to do something right away. Now.” Typical Zoey. Skip any chit-chat or implications and cut to the chase.
However, I’m not yet ready for that. I am still getting my bearings straight after my brief, medically induced nap. In abbreviated sentences, you hear me tell her about my findings in Denny’s office as well as Silvia’s missing kids and my parents surviving the earthquakes.
“No way! Denny? Well, that’s a shocker. I never thought he’d be missing. Bummer on Jack and Jasmine. Glad your dad and mom are fine.” She throws a glance toward the upstairs office door and continues to the kitchen, dropping her briefcase on the countertop and kicking off her four-inch stilettos. “You just never know, do you? Many are gone, and there’s no rational reason.”
She finally takes a good look at me with her head tilted to one side. “Oh, Sarah, nice rags you’re wearing. Did you dress for me? And what is it with those silly-looking socks? I don’t think I’ve ever in my life seen socks that ugly—or, for that matter, you wearing any socks. Ever.”
You can ignore her digs like I do, as I’m used to her clipped tongue. I disregard her comments, telling her instead about the plane crash and James and his mother.
As I speak, she doesn’t respond, but opens the refrigerator and pulls out the Tupperware container of leftover lasagna.
“You don’t mind if I eat this, do you? I never got a full meal at dinner tonight, and I’m starving. Boy, date night was pathetic.” She picks out a fork from the silverware drawer and digs into the cold food without bothering to put it on a plate or reheat it.
“Perhaps you’d like some wine with your meal?” I ask, miffed that, so far, she has turned a deaf ear to my incredible story about the day’s events.
“Yes, please—anything you got, I’m game.”
I retrieve the over-half-full bottle I had earlier and pull out two wine glasses from the cabinet above the wine rack. After removing the bottle’s rubber cork, I pour us both a healthy drink, leaving about one glass.
Zoey pulls a laptop out of her briefcase and sits on a barstool. Between bites, she rambles, “You must do this; you have to do it before it’s too late. It's a shame Denny isn’t here; that may complicate things.”
Placing her glass of wine on the counter, I grab mine and take a seat on the other chair. “It’s a shiraz,” I tell her. “Not great but doable for now. We need to finish this one before I open a pinot noir. I know you like something fruitier.”
“Fine. Whatever. Now listen to me, Sarah. I’m telling you this in confidence and out of respect for our friendship. What I tell you can’t be repeated, got it?” She takes forkful bites of the lasagna between sentences, trying to swallow each one before speaking again. “However, you can tell your folks or sister; just don’t name me as your source.
“I’m giving you a heads up. As of 5:00 a.m. E.S.T., all American banks are shutting down, not closing completely but shutting their doors temporarily. The international ones have already done so. There will be a freeze on all transactions. No money in, no money out—until who knows when they can verify that the entire world will not go belly up.”
“Really? For sure?” I am flabbergasted. I look into my friend’s eyes, knowing that this woman holds a top position at one of the United States’ largest banks and has reliable insider information. I completely trust her when it comes to banking and money issues, and so should you.
“Yes, and that means we have less than two hours to protect ourselves.” As if in a sudden rush, she packs up the lasagna and returns it to the fridge, then licks her fork and puts it in the dishwasher, thankfully, prongs down.
Holding her laptop in one hand and the wine in the other, she heads for the dining table. “Do you mind if we work over here? That way we can spread out more. And bring your computer.”
Compliantly, I follow her to the dining area, turning on the modern glass lamp hanging over the table. I gather the spread-out photographs and papers from a work project on the pros and cons of the LGBTQ movement and its effect on society, piling them on the far end of the table. We each pull out a white-padded chair and sit down.
“You access your savings and checking accounts online, right?” Zoey is all business. “Including your retirement accounts?”
“Of course, who doesn’t these days?” I think of Amy—as you know, she’s too fearful of electronics to attempt the feat. I boot up my laptop, click over to our bank’s website, and log into our account.
“Okay, first we must tap into your savings accounts and move the money into liquid funds, like checking accounts. This way you’ll be able to keep paying your bills if the banks remain closed for more than a few weeks or months.”
I nod, pretending I understand but really can’t grasp it. I am blown away by the idea of long-term bank lockdowns.
“See, once we move the money out of savings or mutual funds and into a checking account, we can move it again into a more liquid account. That’s what I’m doing with my accounts, and I want you to do the same with yours.”
Zoey is typing on her computer, whipping through multiple screens at a time, and clicking buttons willy-nilly as she speaks.
“Okay,” I agree, opening my first savings account and considering my next click. “I’m with you so far. But won’t that mess up my savings and mutual funds?”
“No, we’ll leave the minimum amount there, so there won’t be any monthly penalties. Do you remember the least amount you can keep without having to pay fees? The average is three to five hundred dollars on standard accounts, but I’m keeping a couple thousand in each of my money-market accounts.” She watches my screen as I work, oh so slowly and painstakingly compared to her flying fingers. “That’s it. Keep some in savings but move a decent amount to your checking. You can always move it back when things go back to normal.”
“Got it. I understand.” I nervously move twenty thousand dollars to checking, leaving three thousand and trusting that this girl knows what she’s doing. I click on our travel account and move another four thousand over to checking, again leaving three thousand in the account. I tap on Denny’s profit-sharing account with our bank, and it asks for Social Security verification.
“What do I do now, Zoey? They want Denny’s info.”
“I know it’s illegal, and I, in the banking industry, would never say this, but pretend you’re Denny—type in whatever lets you get into their system.”
I add his memorized nine-digit number, but a rejection notice flashes. I show Zoey the screen.
A slang word pops out of Zoey’s mouth. “Looks like they’re locking out the retirement accounts already. We better hurry.”
My eyes widen as panic sets in. “Then I won’t try to touch my IRA. What’s next?”
My friend’s fingers continue to soar over her keyboard. “Just a second, I’m almost there on my stuff. One more account to do.” Zoey is well paid and seems to have plenty of money; I question whether you and I combined have as many accounts as she has. “By any chance, do you or Denny use cryptocurrency—you know, bitcoin?”
“I don’t, and I’m not sure about Den. He’s always moving our money around. Do I need to be concerned about that, also?”
“Just checking. If you don’t know, then let’s forget about it right now. We could always buy some for backup later if it gets bad. I think online money options will pop up everywhere to keep things going. Of course, all with a hefty fee.”
I glance up at the framed oil painting Silvia did in college hanging above the dining-area side of the fireplace. It’s a turbulent seascape of waves crashing against coastal rocks with white sea foam showing the ocean’s power. When she gave it to me years ago, she said it matched my strong personality that never quits, like the waves. She knows me well. As I’ve often mentioned, I like to be in control, including of my money.
My short nap plus the drugs must have helped me center back to my normal, logical self. I feel empowered again.
Are there any other bank accounts I should consider? I recall a savings account I’ve hidden from Denny. I was going to surprise him with a used motorcycle as a birthday present next year—well, that won’t happen now, unless he reappears along with everyone else. Perusing the list of accounts, I scroll down to another window and find the funds, moving seven thousand to our checking account.
“Done,” Zoey declares triumphantly. “Next, we need to prepay any upcoming bills: mortgages, car payments, and estimated taxes if you or Denny do those. Throw a couple of hundred dollars on your phone, cable, and utility bills.”
I ask her how many months to pay in advance. “Pay at least one or two; that’s all. I’m doing three. This way we won’t be on anyone’s radar for a while. It’ll show you care enough to circumvent a future problem. No one will be able to take away your house or car keys; they’ll hit others before you show up on any past-due report. Hopefully, in a month or two, when everything is normal, you’ll be ahead of the curve because you paid in advance.”
“What about our student loans?” I hate paying them back but know we’re responsible for them.
“Don’t bother with those—with everything that’s going on, maybe they’ll end up being partially paid off as others have recently, even though you two make decent incomes.”
“That’d be great.”
We simultaneously grab our glasses and take a drink. I click on “Pay Bills” and the “Automatic Pay” section, verifying two months of payments for each bill as I go.
“When you’re all done with that,” she says, “we need to further liquefy our money. You need a way to get the cash quickly if the banks close long-term, and there’s no cash. Credit cards may still be usable; be sure to pay them off completely, so they can be reloaded. But I have a feeling they’re going to get maxed out quickly in the next few weeks since so few of us use cash. Plastic is the easy way to go.”
“Where’d you find out about this?” I’m sure her info is reliable, but I might feel a tad more comfortable with all this if I knew her source.
After funding our mortgage and two car payments for two months, I cringe when I realize how much money I’ve spent in a few clicks and then again when I pay off both credit cards that total over four thousand dollars.
She laughs. “One top-level administrator who flirts with me daily called me when I was driving home. I pulled over to a gas station, shut my car off, and talked to him for over a half hour. That and the traffic are why I got here so late, as you say. He suggested all this stuff and told me a bunch of interesting things.
“He said that central banks globally have established two ways to handle cryptocurrencies. There is Central Banking Digital Currency, or CBDC, which, instead of print money, uses electronic coins or accounts backed by the full faith and credit of a government. Several countries have already implemented it, and our Federal Reserve has been having ongoing discussions about it. Then, other countries are considering switching to ‘payment implants,’ you know, like the chip they put in pets for tracking or the medical vaccination identification information. These convenient contactless payment microchips are already implanted in people in Europe and work great, as you no longer have to carry a wallet or purse. It would be a permanent chip in the hand or head that can be accessed easily and always monitored. Using a QR code, like those on products and your smartphone, you simply scan the chip to pay for things when you are in a store or online. Now is the perfect time to do it, with everything that is going on, and either one would be an easy solution to get anything you want without having to think about money. Pretty simple to set up if the banks are closed for a few weeks or months. I’m sure there’ll be ample incentives to get the implant to purchase things. But we need to act fast and now, just like he told me.”
She stops, takes a breath and sip of wine, and continues. “Next go to PayPal, Stripe, GoCardless, or any of the top online money accounts you use and apply about five hundred dollars to each from your checking account. You may want to do it with Amazon, Target, and even Whole Foods so you’ll be able to get tangible goods, although they may be at an exorbitant cost.” She turns her attention back to her laptop. I watch her make her arrangements on PayPal and GoCardless. “And don’t worry, Sarah, I know these money-transfer sites are tracked by the government for transactions of more than six hundred dollars, but we’re staying under the minimum. Down the road, you’ll be able to get ahold of this money when needed.”
I’m nothing if not obedient in the face of feminine authority. I log onto PayPal and prepare to follow Zoey’s orders, wondering if I will have any money left when this is done.
She keeps up her running commentary. “Plus, I doubt the IRS will care about a measly five hundred bucks here and there—we’re not moving millions, only trying to survive. With any luck, shipping may not shut down completely, and we’ll be able to order groceries, staple items, prescriptions, et cetera, online without having to go into a store and deal with people trying to grab it all. Another rumor starting is an intense shortage of food—and I’m not just talking toilet paper, baby formula, semiconductor chips, diesel fuel, pet food, or eggs. I hope that doesn’t happen.”
“But what if these companies crash?” I’m sure that is a possibility. We’ve seen so many businesses go under in the last couple of years.
Zoey barely glances at me. “Well, that could happen, but I doubt the big dogs like Amazon and PayPal will; they’re worth too much. I mean, think about it. The Internet and banks may crash, also, so all this moving money around may be useless. That’s why this cool chip idea needs to start being used right away. But, in the meantime, you can’t cover every possibility, and this is how the industry insiders are protecting themselves. We need to do what they do. These are ways to make sure you can get to your money to pay for things over the next few weeks or months before everything goes back online.
“Another option is actual cash. Although banks do not want to keep using it as they move to digital currency, we still should be able to during the transition. Do you keep any at home?”
“No, but I do have my coin collections hidden upstairs.”
“Which types of coins?” She asks as she picks up her glass of wine, adding one word at a time between drinks. “Pennies?” Sip. “Nickels?” Sip. “Dimes?” Sip. “Or . . . ?”
I stop her by rattling off my list, purposely not taking any drinks. “I have almost a complete dime book, a full set of state quarters, Walking Liberty halves, Morgan silver dollars, presidentials, plus some proofs, a few gold coins, and others. My grandfather handed most of it down to me before he died, and I’ve added to the stash whenever I was in the mood.”
She’s impressed. “Great! Those are keepers, especially the silver and gold. They should work for a while.”
I turn back to my work. I’m not entirely comfortable with her reasoning or with the fact that I have spent so much of our savings, but what do I know? I transfer funds to Amazon, PayPal, and Zelle.
One last click, and I’m finished.
“That’s it, Zoey. I think I spread it out enough. Thanks for your help. Let’s hope it doesn’t get as bad as you predict.”
“Agreed. But remember how blindsided our grandparents and their parents were when the Great Depression hit. We don’t want people going crazy and jumping out of high-rises again.”
We both close our computer browsers as she brings up another topic, “I’m sure Denny has life insurance?”
“Yes, a million-dollar policy.”
“Unfortunately, you can kiss that goodbye. I can promise you no insurance company is going to be paying off any plan if there’s no body.”
“My dad was asking about that,” I add. “Silvia might know for sure, since she works in the insurance business, but considering her children being gone, this is no time to ask her.”
“True. But tomorrow, if you can, cancel the life insurance contract,” she tells me, as she shuts the lid of her laptop, leaving it closed on the table. “Even if you had a body, they’re going to call this a catastrophe, an ‘act of God,’ and refuse to pay anything. They would all go bankrupt if they had to pay out. That’s what I believe.”
“You sound so negative, Zoey.”
“I’m only trying to protect you. Cancel any life insurance you have on yourself, for that matter. Maybe the insurers will at least refund some of your premiums. Don’t procrastinate. Tomorrow is going to be a roller-coaster ride in the finance industry. Pay attention and trust me, girlfriend. Big changes are coming.”
With that said, my best friend drains her wine glass and stands. “The last six hours have been a nightmare. Let’s finish off that bottle of wine while I tell you about date night.”