Page 45 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
WHAT DOES A billion dollars look like?
Virgil Tighe was curious about that. And he was on his way to Randolph Schraeder’s place in Omaha, Nebraska, to find out.
Virgil had taken this flight countless times over the past year, a private jet from Burbank to Omaha. The flight ate up three hours, maybe a little less if the pilot pushed it. He wished the old man stayed in his Bel Air castle more often.
Not that Schraeder’s Omaha spread wasn’t impressive, but it was more of a small town than a mansion. As a young man, he’d inherited a dilapidated A-frame built at the turn of the century that was still underwater to the local savings and loan.
Schraeder’s uncanny knack for savvy investments turned that around.
The first thing he took over after he started making money was, naturally, that savings and loan.
Then he bought the land all around that sad A-frame, then the next parcels of land, then the next, and so on until Randolph Schraeder owned a sizable chunk of Sarpy County and found himself clubbing with Warren Buffett.
The original family house, now essentially a museum, was surrounded by buildings in a variety of architectural styles.
WELCOME TO SCHRAEDERTOWN, POPULATION ONE GIANT EGO.
One of the company drivers met Virgil at the private airfield and sped him to Randolph’s “work shed,” a euphemism for a brutalist structure the size of a small airplane hangar.
Virgil Tighe had seen many crazy things in his career, but nothing compared to the sight waiting for him inside the work shed.
“Virgil! Get on over here and help me think.”
The interior of the work shed was lined with folding tables, each of them supporting tall piles of cash bound with paper wrappers.
Each table was manned by an armed guard—personnel vetted and hired by Capital, naturally.
A few of the tables held gold bars. Fewer still had a variety of jewelry in Ziploc baggies.
The place looked like it contained the life savings of the head of one of Mexico’s more successful cartels.
And still, it was only a fraction of Randolph Schraeder’s fortune.
“Looks like you’ve got the situation well in hand” was all Virgil could say. He knew his boss had been pulling from his investments all over Omaha, which was where most of his money was tied up.
“Eh,” Schraeder muttered, “I don’t think we’re even ninety percent of the way yet. And I’m still waiting for the duffel bags to arrive. Can you believe that? It’s easier to gather all this folding money than a pile of goddamned duffel bags.”
“I’ll make a call, Mr. Schraeder.”
“Don’t bother. They’re on their way. No, I need your brain for something else.”
This was the primary reason Schraeder had hired Capital: spare brains. Logistics bored him, even logistics involving the return of his abducted family. If something bored him, he delegated it.
“Anything,” Virgil said.
“What’s your best guess on the payment instructions? I mean, should I be thinking about higher denominations in fewer bags? Or will the drop-off involve some kind of shipping container? Your expert guidance, please.”
His expert guidance, huh? All Virgil could think was There’s no way any kidnapper would want all this fucking cash.
But Virgil swallowed. He’d known this question was coming, and he’d spent much of the flight crafting the best possible answer, one that would reassure his mega-wealthy client but also not sound like total bullshit.
“The best thing to do,” Virgil told his boss, “is what you’re doing. Stay flexible and prepare for all possibilities. Most kidnappers like to keep their targets scrambling. But here’s the mistake these guys made: They chose you as a target. And you’re way ahead of the game.”
It was flattery, yes, but also true. Schraeder didn’t waste time on emotions. The moment he’d understood the situation, he began gathering the cash, knowing that time was the only commodity that truly mattered in this predicament.
“And remember,” Virgil told his boss, “this is for show. Because there is no scenario in which these sons of bitches get away with part of your fortune. We guarantee it. And we guarantee you’ll be with your children and the beautiful Mrs. Schraeder very soon.”
Old Man Schraeder looked out over the tables of cash, seemingly lost in thought.
Virgil knew better. Schraeder was not one for idle reflection.
He was calculating… something. Virgil was steeling himself for another logistics question, so he was surprised when Schraeder said, “You have no idea how much I love her.”
Virgil had to pretend he wasn’t stunned. “Of that, I have zero doubt.”
“I was on the verge of divorcing her,” the old man said. “Yeah, nobody knew but my lawyer. But you want to know something, Virgil? Success is a lousy teacher.”
“Sir?”
“It seduces people into thinking they can’t lose. And I very much do not want to lose my wife.”