Fading Memories

 

There are moments in life when decisions are made;  sometimes these are not well thought out and the resulting ripples become an undertow, then a veritable tsunami of issues and life-changing consequences. I am not sure I will ever finish these memories, but ...

CHAPTER I – THE BEGINNING.

The year was 1997 and the month, I believe was November. Something that would impact the decision to come had happened some 2 months before. Almost like the stage being set by that great force in the infinite, for what was to be the future direction of our lives. My employer and I had parted ways. The whys and wherefores of this are not relevant to this tale. What is, is the fact that I was (un)gainfully unemployed when the aforementioned conversation took place. Even though my severance packet (didn’t quite make it to “package”) had been generous (no doubt due to some degree of guilt on the part of my employer), the cost of living and daily expenses index sent us a strong signal these funds would not last forever.

Just about that time, my wife received a call from a friend and old insurance colleague who was visiting Miami, where we then lived. After the initial pleasantries, long time no see you and “how are uses” were duly completed, he asked us to meet him since he had something that only “we (meaning my wife, and I by extension) could do”. 

We met at a Howard Johnson on US1 in Miami (well, it was really in Coral Gables…) and the usual “what have you been doing since we last saw you” exchanges were not interesting enough to be repeated here. So, I won’t. Then we got to the core of the pitch. 

- “I have access to a cache of currency which needs to be sold” He said.

- “What currency are we talking about and where is it?” I replied. 

By this time, I had already been doing some (very) minor work in the “international trading world”, getting my feet “wet”, so his answer did not initially raise eyebrows. After all, this was nothing but an exploratory conversation, right?

- “It’s a load of Iraqi Dinars and it is in a buried container in South America” then he continued -“We know there are buyers in Europe who are willing to buy them at “official” exchange rates.” 

This is where you, the reader, come in and with a totally incredulous look on your face, say… HUH??... YOU HAVE WHAT??... WHERE??

In truth, that should have been my response as well. It wasn’t. A combination of a nascent knowledge about this business, with the “I don’t really want to sound dumb” syndrome (long since overcome... fully) held my reaction to my innards and stopped me from asking this last set of questions. Chalk one more instant to the “I’d like to have another shot at that moment, but I know I can’t” syndrome (we are full of these syndrome things this morning…) more easily recognized as “regret”.

 We agreed to go along with the proposal.

And that moment, our future became redrawn in the cosmic sense. And in the real world too.

to be continued... maybe...