I know, I know… recreating “Bogliq Blue” takes time. 
Thursday, January 4, 1954
Jack muttered incoherent profanity as he took a drag of his cigarette. The memo in his hand made little sense to him, at least as far as an from an Executive’s viewpoint.
“There’s no way this garbage is legitimate,” he growled at Robert Maxwell, Chief Financial Officer of Ardent Motors.
Robert shook his head. “It appears that it is, Jack. I’ve gone over it with Jeffrey Moss three times already. He claims that, somewhere in all the Townsend archives, there’s a notarized copy of the loan paperwork.”
Jack slid the memo back onto the desk, took his glasses off, and with dramatic flair, tossed them onto the offending paper. “But you haven’t been able to find it. You’ve searched high and low, and all you have is Moss’s word that everything is on the level.”
“That,” Robert squirmed in his chair slightly, “and the regular monthly checks that have been coming in from Anhultz. All of which have cleared.”
“All of which are probably also drawing some rather curious attention from the government, I might add.” Jack took a pull on his cigarette until nothing remained but a long, limp trail of ash. He buried the butt in his crystal ash tray. Turning from Robert, he rose and walked to his dry bar. He grabbed an old fashioned glass, produced two cubes of ice from the silver bucket on top, and poured himself a generous helping of Kentucky bourbon from a crystal decanter. Reflexively, he swirled it twice and brought it to his nose for a sniff, before taking a sip.
“And this is the only irregularity you’ve found with the Townsend accounting?”
Robert shrugged. “The only one we can’t find the entire paper trail for, anyway. Moss has repeatedly claimed that the Townsend brothers weren’t exactly careful with their spending in the final years, and he has had to amend various statements multiple times. This is the only one that I can’t fully explain the reasoning for.”
Jack wandered to the window to the right of his desk. With his sleeve, he rubbed a circle of condensation away so he could overlook his dominion. A light dusting of snow covered Ardent’s original factory, with rows of vehicles in the holding yard beyond appearing as muted, multi-color mounds under a thin veil.
“It’s all idiotic if you ask me,” Jack added. “To be just coming out of the war, needing to convert rapidly back to regular production. And then giving up two hundred thousand dollars? To a foreigner? No, Robert. There’s something wrong with this.”
“Well what would you like me to do about it? As far as I can tell, they’ve never missed a payment.”
Jack turned on his heel, nearly splashing bourbon from his glass. “Wait a minute, what did you mean when you said the Townsend brothers weren’t careful with their money in the later years?”
Robert hesitated a moment. “Well, they often ordered more steel than they needed, or repeated invoices, things like that. They even brought Thomas’s granddaughter to Toledo a few times on the company’s dime.”
Jack nodded. “Not exactly what you should be using company funds for, not when you have your own private worth.” Jack furrowed his brow as he took another sip. “Did Moss say anything about ownership of Anhultz?”
“No. It was just a loan. Nothing more.”
Jack’s lip curled. “Not likely. How much is the principal at this point?”
“About a hundred fifty four thousand, give or take.”
That raised Jack’s eyebrow. “That’s not exactly a small chunk of change. This smells. Embezzlement, laundering, not sure what.”
“Again, Jack, what do you want me to do about it? Without those documents from the archive…”
“The damn documents don’t exist, Robert,” Jack snapped. “That’s why you can’t find them.”
Robert fell silent, cradling his chin in his hand and tapping his foot as his boss worked through it in his head.
Wednesday, March 10, 1954
Anhultz Corporate Headquarters
Willem van der Roest double-checked the address of his delivery. He stood before the corporate offices of Anhultz, a revered Dutch company. He sighed heavily before tucking the parcel under his arm and walking toward the front door. This was the most disdainful part of his job. He knew what was contained within, and it was something that would not be well received.
Such was a courier’s life. Occasionally that would require delivering legal summons. This one pained him particularly, as he and his wife had designs on purchasing an Anhultz Mimas of their own.
Willem entered the building and stepped to the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the desk smiled and asked if she could help him.
“I have a delivery for Mr. Bastiaan Rynsburger,” he replied. She stood and smiled, ready to receive the package. He stopped her. “Unfortunately, I must deliver it to him in person, with his signature received.”
The receptionist paused, and gave a courteous nod, before sitting down and reaching for her phone. She dialed Mr. Rynsburger’s office and exchanged a brief conversation.
“Mr. Rynsburger is in a meeting, can I have his assistant help you?”
Willem pursed his lips and shook his head. “This must go either to Mr. Rynsburger or Mr. Anhultz.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Anhultz is not in today.”
“It is fine, I will wait for Mr. Rynsburger.”
The secretary nodded, and turned her attention back to the papers in front of her. Willem found a chair near the entrance door, and sat down with the package in his lap. He looked at his watch, then at the package. He noticed the secretary occasionally shooting him glances.
Fifteen minutes passed, and Willem began to fidget. The secretary looked up at him again, and smiled courteously when he caught her looking. She then put her head down and reached for her phone again. There was a quick, hushed exchange of words over the phone.
About five minutes later, Bastiaan Rynsburger emerged from a hallway. “What is going on here?” he asked.
Willem stood, pulling a small ledger from his coat. “Mr. Rynsburger, I have instructions that I am to deliver this personally to you,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “It is…” he stopped.
“It is what?” he looked around. “Why am I being pulled from a meeting for this?”
“It is a legal summons, Mr. Rynsburger. From the United States of America. I require your signature here that you have personally received this summons.”
@Elizipeazie … ball is in your court
