Chapter 74: Hosea’s Dignity
Valentine was just a small town, and there was no bank president there—the bank manager was the highest authority.
As manager, his power was considerable.
He knew perfectly well why Davey had invited him—Davey wanted to raise his loan limit. For a client of Davey’s caliber, the bank would be eager to oblige.
And for a manager, bending the rules wasn’t exactly unusual.
Carrit had initially wondered whether Davey would offer him a satisfying kickback. His expectation was around ten percent—eight, if he had to settle.
But when Davey mentioned twenty, it caught him off guard.
“Mr. Land, you are… remarkably generous.”
“So, Mr. Land,” Carrit said, his eyes gleaming with interest, “how much of a loan are you looking for? I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
A glint of greed flickered in his gaze—a twenty-percent kickback was no small thing.
Davey smiled. “That depends on your ability, Mr. Carrit. The more, the better, of course. If you could help me secure a ten-thousand-dollar loan, that would be perfect.”
“Let’s see… if it’s ten thousand, then I should pay you sixteen hundred dollars, correct?”
Although Carrit wanted that sixteen hundred badly, he knew a ten-thousand-dollar mortgage was far beyond his authority.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Land. Ten thousand is too high—I don’t have clearance for that. The most I can arrange is an eight-thousand-dollar loan. That’s the limit of what I can approve myself. Anything more would have to go through higher channels, which are out of my control.”
Even approving eight thousand was already against policy. If it went bad, he’d lose his position—and likely face charges.
But he also knew Davey’s moonshine business was thriving. As long as the payments came through, no one would ever question it.
Davey nodded, realizing there was no point in pressing further.
He reached into his coat, pulled out a wallet, counted twelve hundred dollars, and set it on the table.
“I have faith in your ability, Mr. Carrit. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me. Consider this a show of good faith.”
He wasn’t worried that Carrit would run off with the money—twelve hundred dollars wasn’t enough to buy a bank manager’s job.
Nor was he worried the man would take the cash and do nothing—Carrit wasn’t exactly the type to risk his own position over something so foolish.
“Oh, Mr. Land, I believe we’re going to be great friends.”
“Of course, Mr. Carrit. That’s what friends are for.”
Carrit slipped the wallet into his coat, his spirits visibly lifted. Even for him, twelve hundred dollars was a hefty sum.
“There’s one more favor I’d like to ask, Mr. Carrit,” Davey continued. “My friend here, Mr. Hosea, has a batch of bearer bonds. You know how it is—we need a buyer with real means.”
Davey lifted his glass, took a sip, and spoke in his usual calm tone.
Hosea, who had been quietly observing until now, perked up at the mention.
After witnessing the earlier exchange, he finally felt a renewed sense of hope about selling the bonds.
Carrit nodded. “I know the ones. They’re worth a fortune, but there’s no one in Valentine who can handle that kind of transaction. If Mr. Hosea can wait a few days, I can write to my brother. He’s a banker—I’m sure he’ll have more ways to deal with them. He’ll likely be interested.”
Bankers weren’t mere bank employees—they were more like professional financiers, investors who specialized in handling money and credit.
And when it came to bearer bonds, no one was better suited for the job than a banker.
“Then I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Carrit,” Hosea said politely.
Carrit nodded lightly, but his expression shifted—when speaking to Hosea, his tone carried a trace of arrogance.
He knew Hosea’s background and preferred not to associate too closely with wanted men. Of course, the generous Mr. Land was another matter entirely.
Hosea didn’t respond. After so many years, he’d seen more than his share of such attitudes.
What mattered most to him now was getting the job done.
Everyone had swallowed their share of pride at some point. At his age, such things hardly bothered him anymore.
“Hosea is my friend, my brother, my family,” Davey said simply. “For many years, we’ve relied on each other to get by. I truly appreciate you helping him, Mr. Carrit.”
He spoke plainly—no posturing, no confrontation. But those few words were enough to make Carrit reconsider his tone.
“My apologies for my earlier attitude, Mr. Hosea,” Carrit said quickly, standing and bowing slightly.
He had no intention of offending Davey—a valuable client whose farm mortgage was only the beginning. There would surely be more business between them.
And for the sake of a few greenbacks, showing a bit of respect cost him nothing.
Author's Note
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