What Do You Really Want?

By Roland Boike

As a child, Alex Wilkerson grew up on his familys nine-hundred-acre estate near Plainfield, Connecticut. His dream had always been to just live out his life enjoying the scenic beauty of the landscape and roaming the hills, valleys, and streams of his beloved birthright. The original nine hundred acres had been in the Wilkerson family for nine generations. The property was part of a land grant to one of his great grandfathers for his participation in the Revolutionary War against England.

The dream suddenly came to an end when more than half of the land owned by the Wilkerson family was taken by eminent domain. During the Cold War, the federal government acquired 775 acres of the Wilkersons Connecticut estate for a secret military operation. Alex was enraged by the actions of the federal government for unjustly taking away his heritage.

Having lost a big portion of his birthright and his direction in life, Alex closed the estate house and wandered aimlessly around the country, not knowing what it is he really wants in life. After much meditation and soul-searching, Alex decided he wanted to get revenge on the entities that unjustly took his birthright and to regain the 775 acres of land that the government took from his family.

Alex set out by instigating a daring plan that would either regain the 775 acres of land or cause him to spend the remainder of his life in prison.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524592431

Roland Boike

Roland Vincent Boike was born October 28, 1930 at his family home in Madeira, Ohio. He is the son of Dr. Stephen Boike and Ludvica Rensi Boike and is one of seven children. During the Korean War, Roland served in 134th and the 147th Field Artillery as Chief of Section of a 105 Howitzers Battalion. Roland attended Western Kentucky State University, Ohio State Department of Agriculture, and the University Of Cincinnati Department Of Applied Arts. He was awarded a full scholarship to attend Lincoln College of Chiropractic where he graduated in 1962 with a Degree in Chiropractic. Roland practiced Chiropractic in Loveland, Ohio for thirty- five years and was a Staff Physician at Jewish Hospital in Kenwood, Ohio. He served as Team Physician for Loveland High School, Western Brown High School and Wilmington College Girls Soccer Team. Roland served as Mayor and Vice Mayor in Loveland, Ohio, a community of over 10,500 residents. Roland was a founder and Director of The Community National Bank, Loveland, Ohio and Chairman of the Loveland 1976 Centennial Celebration, which produced a live outdoor spectacular, The History of Loveland. Roland was a founder, past president and member of the Board of Trustees of The Loveland Chamber of Commerce. He designed the Valentine postage meter stamp and the Logo There Is Nothing In The World So Sweet As Love. He was recognized with an award from The National Safety Council for saving the lives of three children in a submerged automobile at Lake Isabella in May, 1964. Roland was honored by the City of Loveland, Ohio for dedicated service to the community with a commemorative marker In the Veterans Memorial Park. Roland is a Kentucky Colonel and has received numerous awards for civic achievements.

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Copyright © 2017 by Roland Boike.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017904105

ISBN:       Hardcover       978-1-5245-9245-5

                 Softcover         978-1-5245-9244-8

                 eBook               978-1-5245-9243-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Pixaby are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Pixaby.

Rev. date: 04/06/2017

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Contents

Chapter 1 Losing My Birthright

Chapter 2 Helping An Old Friaend

Chapter 3 Initiating My Plan

Chapter 4 Grandfather’s Bomb Shelter

Chapter 5 The Dream Machine

Chapter 6 The Inside Man

Chapter 7 Meeting Ralph Hedger

Chapter 8 A Lady In Distress

Chapter 9 Giving A Helping Hand

Chapter 10 My Prison Connection

Chapter 11 Getting Organized

Chapter 12 Sarah Meets Her Friend

Chapter 13 Building The Dream Machine 13

Chapter 14 Obtaining Investors

Chapter 15 Spending Spree

Chapter 16 Return To Stonehedge

Chapter 17 The Bomb Shelter

Chapter 18 More Things To Buy

Chapter 19 Purchase Of The Ship

Chapter 20 Dream Machine

Chapter 21 Dream Machine Purchase

Chapter 22 Finding A Forger

Chapter 23 Raphael

Chapter 24 Gin

Chapter 25 Gin’s Escape

Chapter 26 Moving Back To Plainfield

Chapter 27 A Desk For Gin

Chapter 28 Goodbye Marietta Georgia

Chapter 29 The Travel Coach Delivery

Chapter 30 Arriving Home

Chapter 31 Dinner At Vernerdi’s

Chapter 32 The New London Marina

Chapter 33 The Inmates Wardrobe

Chapter 34 Preparing The Investors

Chapter 35 The Seven Seas Leaves Port

Chapter 36 Opening New Accounts

Chapter 37 Grand Morel Restaurant

Chapter 38 Angela’s Secret

Chapter 39 Captain Yeager

Chapter 40 Obtaining My Driving License

Chapter 41 Becoming A Bus Driver

Chapter 42 Making Ready

Chapter 43 Arrival Of The Seven Seas

Chapter 44 The Ships Dedication

Chapter 45 The Money Arrives

Chapter 46 Angela’s True Confession

Chapter 47 Running The Dream Machine

Chapter 48 Soul Searching Cession

Chapter 49 Trading Cars

Chapter 50 Uninvited Guest

Chapter 51 Working Aboard Ship

Chapter 52 Last Minute Planning

Chapter 53 Instructions For Our Guest

Chapter 54 The Escape

Chapter 55 The Jail Break

Chapter 56 Mop Up Operation

Chapter 57 Indictments

Chapter 58 The Aftermath

Chapter 59 Money Well Spent

Chapter 60 Life In Prison

Chapter 1

Losing My Birthright

I t is almost dawn and the rays of the sun are shining through the bars of the window of my cell. Particles of dust gently float about the room and as I sit here reminiscing about my past. I imagine the dust particles are part of a miniature timeless solar system traveling through space.

Is there a blue planet amongst them I wonder? Do the inhabitants realize they are held for perpetuity within these prison walls?

It is light enough now for me to put on paper the words that will reveal the events that sealed my fate and landed me here in prison in the Plainfield Connecticut Facility

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Plainfield Connecticut Facility

As I look back on the lives that I touched and the outcome of our chance meetings, I sometimes question whether I would do it again.

It has been over three years since I started what I called the Five Million Dollar Club, but before I tell you about the club let me start at the beginning. I shall attempt to relate to you the events that occurred exactly as they happened and as my memory serves me.

Stonehedge, a 900-acre estate, has been in my family for six generations. I was born in the limestone mansion.

I lived there all my life and except for five years of college, I pretty much spent every waking minute roaming and playing on the property.

Stonehedge was my love and my life. I could not ever imagine, even in my wildest dream, of ever leaving.

The 900-acre estate, fields and stone quarry was named Stonehedge because the road frontage had a stone wall running the length of the property on Spaulding Road. The stone hedge was put there by my great great grandfather using stones from the quarry which was some 2,100 feet from the estate house.

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The stone hedge was put there by my great great grandfather

When I was a child, the stone quarry was operated by my grandfather. It was closed sometime after the end of the Second World War.

My grandfather was an alarmist and he believed that the Japanese would eventually bomb cities in the United States. As a result of his concerns, he tunneled a bomb shelter into the wall of the stone quarry.

I was told the project was never completed during my lifetime. The walls and the ceiling of the shelter were never shored up or reinforced. To my knowledge, it has never been used, ventilated or improved. The bomb shelter has remained all these years as just a hole in the side of the stone quarry.

As a child, I was never allowed to enter, inspect or play in the bomb shelter. I was in the stone quarry many times with my grandfather, but I never dared to go near the entrance of the bomb shelter.

As a youngster, I imagined that my grandfather actually stored bombs in the tunnel.

Whenever Grandfather ran out of orders for rocks, rather than lay off his skilled help, he would have them work on the bomb shelter. Before the quarry was finally closed, the bomb shelter had grown beyond any practical use as was originally intended.

Well my perfect little world ended abruptly when the Federal Government took 775 acres of the estate for a secret government facility during the Cold War.

The stone wall abutting the front of the 775 acres was the first to go and undoubtedly much of the virgin timber in the heart of the property.

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The virgin timber in the heart of the property

I only knew this because I could see the trucks loaded with fallen trees on their way to some distant landfill.

I was heartbroken to see this reckless destruction of my childhood dreams.

The former estate property was soon sealed off and even getting near the 15-foot barbwire and chain link fence brought security guards and snarling dogs.

After a second warning and a promise that I would be prosecuted if I persisted in approaching the property, I decided it was time to pack up and leave my childhood behind me.

My parents had passed away several years before and I was an only child. I chose not to stay and watch my childhood loaded onto trucks and carted off to the landfill. I packed up my belongings, closed the estate house and left.

I had been wandering around the country ever since and eventually, I found myself in Marietta, Georgia.

My lavish lifestyle was slowly depleting the financial part of my birthright. I had no intention of allowing my funds to dwindle to a point where I would no longer be a millionaire.

My name is Alex Wilkerson. My parents both died soon after I finished college. I did not like living in Stonehedge by myself. I had so many happy memories growing up there. Now that everyone was gone, it seemed to make me sad.

I had a nanny by the name of Inez Spencer up until I reached the age of 12. Inez was the love of my life and a second mother to me. At the age of 12, my parents decided I should become self-sufficient and would no longer need a nanny. Inez and I have remained great friends and we have corresponded frequently over the ensuing years.

That is how I happened to take up employment with T. S. Duncan and Associates Accounting Inc. I had been wandering around the country trying to decide what I wanted to be in life. Oddly enough, I still have never been able to answer that question, but I continued on my quest.

Inez had written to tell me there was a position open in the accounting firm of T. S. Duncan in Marietta, Georgia where she was presently employed. Since business administration was my college major and the pay was extremely good, I decided to move to Marietta, Georgia and take up employment with T. S. Duncan and Associates Accounting Inc.

If you think standing on your feet on an assembly line doing piecework by putting a screw into a widget for eight hours a day, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year is boring, I have news for you. Try sitting at a desk for eight hours looking at a computer screen checking the numbers on some company’s financial report.

I have worked here now for nine months and I have grown to hate the job. I would have quit sooner except for the pay and my friendship for my old nanny, Inez Spencer. Inez is so much like my real mother that sometimes it is almost spooky.

Inez will be 65 years old in six months. She is five foot seven inches tall with auburn hair and still maintains her girlish figure.

This morning Inez brought my lunch for me. It consisted of a homemade meatloaf sandwich on rye and a small slice of homemade carrot cake.

Today will be my last day here, Inez, I said, as we sat eating our lunch. I wanted to tell you personally so you did not hear the news through the grapevine.

Inez’s eyes grew red and I could tell that she was about to cry. I can’t believe you’re leaving Alex, Inez said.

I need to get on with my life Inez, I feel like I want to make people happy and help them. I truly do not feel like I am accomplishing either of those goals working here at T. S. Duncan.

What are you planning to do? Inez asked.

"I’m going to spend some serious time in my apartment contemplating my future. If I don’t find the answer, I probably will return to Stonehedge.

I am hoping that you will stick around until my 65th birthday party. That is when I plan to retire and take a permanent vacation from T. S. Duncan, Inez said.

I wouldn’t miss your retirement, birthday party for the world, Inez. Would you like me to bring something?

Yes, as a matter of fact I would. You can bring the wine or you can bring the food for the barbecue.

I seldom drink, Inez. I’ll bring the food for the barbecue. How many people are you planning to have at the party?

I’m expecting about 60 guests, Inez said as she smiled at me. Well, Inez, I promise you I won’t leave until after your retirement, birthday party, I said.

One Sunday afternoon as I laid in a lounge chair at the pool, I tried to develop a plan to make some sort of financial gain which did not involve working eight hours a day, five days a week, 52 weeks a year in an office.

I needed something that would be financially rewarding and a contribution to my dwindling bank account.

However, it wasn’t until I read an article by Charles Clifton in the Wall Street Journal entitled Where are our Millionaires that I sat up in my lounge chair and decided to make a career change.

Charles Clifton’s article was an exposé of the life styles of a certain class of millionaires. The life style of these millionaires included such amenities as free housing, free TV, free gym membership, free clothing, and free meals which were all prepared and served in the free dining facilities. In addition, it included housing and all medical benefits.

There was freedom from real estate tax, income tax, and city tax. They have no grass to cut, no household repairs or maintenance to blow their savings on and very few of them have nagging wives, alimony or child support to pay, in fact, very few have remained married.

Wow, I thought, that’s where I want to be and those are the people I want to spend the rest of my life with. As I read the article, I asked myself, how does one go about joining this unique segment of Americana?

I read on with great anticipation, wanting to share in their secret of success as revealed by Charles Clifton.

The article went on to point out that there were, in fact, 275 of these millionaires and an additional 98 billionaires living in such luxurious, totally free facilities.

I was almost breathless as I continued my reading. Skip all this Baloney and let’s get down to facts, Charlie. Tell me how I can get down to some real financial gain and change this miserable life of mine.

Well, as I continued reading down the page, it finally looks like Charlie is going to tell me how to join.

The article went on to say, you may be wondering where 275 of these millionaires and an additional 98 billionaires live.

I read on, Yes! Yes! Charlie, damn it, I am wondering the same thing myself. Get to the point, I thought.

All of the aforementioned millionaires and billionaires are all guests of the Federal Government. They live in Federal Prisons all over the U.S.A.

Charles listed all the Federal Prisons and the number of millionaires and billionaires at each facility. Topping the list were 32 millionaires and 15 billionaires housed at the Federal Penitentiary in Plainfield, Connecticut, serving out their terms for various criminal activities.

I stopped reading right there. I had no immediate plans to spend the rest of my life in a Federal Penitentiary in Plainfield, Connecticut. However, the millions of dollars seemed to intrigue me to no end and besides that, one of the Federal Penitentiaries was on the land that the government took from my family. Of course, my parents were paid but you are missing the point.

Don’t you see, the government had taken away my birthright, my love and my dreams and destroyed all my childhood planning?

I have heard it said that a perfect real estate deal is where the seller comes away from the closing with a check in his hand and a smile on his face. He smiles to himself and thinks the buyer is the stupidest person in the universe. Why would anyone want to buy that worthless property for that large an amount of money?

On the other hand, the buyer comes away from the closing with a smile on his face believing the seller was the stupidest person in the universe. He is thinking why anyone would want to sell that prime piece of property for such a small amount of money.

As you can clearly see now, my problem is how to relieve these millionaires of a few million, put a smile on my face and perform a service that will put a smile on their face. I would want them to wonder how I could perform such a great service at such a small price.

I was truly depressed. Just imagine all that money just sitting in some bank, probably in a numbered Swiss Bank account.

I was consumed with the idea of just how to manage my dream of relieving some of the inmates of a portion of their holdings in their numbered Swiss Bank account. Strange as it may seem, these crooks might presently have their ill-gotten gains stashed in a FDIC Federally Insured Bank here in the U.S.

I think it ironic that the Government would put their biggest depositors in a Federal Prison and then, turn right around and insure their ill-gotten gain in a Federal Reserve Bank.

Not being greedy, I made the supreme sacrifice that I would not try to relieve all of the inmates of all of their money. I would limit my voracity to a select group of the very rich. I decided I would limit my scheme to twenty of the inmates, and I would charge each one of them five million dollars. I am hoping that the plans I initiate will put a smile on my face and a smile on the faces of the yet to be named inmates.

Chapter 2

Helping An Old Friend

I t was the Friday one week before Inez’s birthday and retirement party. I was walking down the canned soup aisle at the supermarket when I ran into Inez.

Just the guy I was looking for, Inez said as she pushed her shopping cart up alongside of mine.

What are you doing home so early on a Friday afternoon? I asked.

"Yesterday was my last day and I’m headed on my way for a week’s vacation before my 65th birthday.

Where are you going? I asked.

My friend and I are going to spend a week in the Smoky Mountains in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

Sounds like fun. Is everything set for the party next Saturday?

I will be back early Friday morning. I will be rested up and ready for that retirement and birthday party. I wonder if you would do me a favor, Alex? I’m on the way to pick up my friend but I forgot to take a box out of the back seat of my car. I do not want to drive all the way to Gatlinburg and back with that in the back seat. Who knows, we might get lucky. Would you mind keeping it for me until I get back? Inez asked.

I’ll be happy to do that for you. I am about ready to check out so I will meet you in the parking lot in about five minutes, I said.

I loaded the box into the trunk of my car, gave Inez a hug and a kiss on the cheek and we parted ways.

That would be the last time I would ever see Inez. She was buried in a small cemetery just outside of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Inez and her friend were both killed in an automobile accident on the expressway to Gatlinburg.

The day after I heard about Inez’s death, I guess the box in the trunk of my car now belongs to me. I decided to open the box that Inez had given me, to check out the contents.

I was deeply saddened by the memory and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Since Inez had no living relatives, there was no one to give the box to.

I took the razor knife that I keep in the glove compartment of my car and cut the tape that sealed the cardboard box. When I opened the box, I discovered that Inez had, in fact, removed all of the financial ledger for all of the companies that she handled for T. S. Duncan and Associates Accounting Inc. I taped the box back up and put it in the bottom of my bedroom closet.

After two months of sleepless nights and unfocussed days, I had not really developed any feasible plan and I still had Inez’s death on my mind.

Then out of the blue, I received a call from the superintendent of schools in Marietta, Georgia. He was my old college roommate at Vanderbilt.

After the usual small talk, Bill Campbell finally popped the question and said. Alex, you always seemed to be able to get people to respond to your ideas and resolve problems, so I decided to call you to see if you could help me with a pressing financial dilemma, I find myself in.

Woo…Bill if its money you want, I am really broke, I said. Actually, I was down to my last four or five millions but, Bill did not need to know that.

As a matter of fact Bill, I am presently trying to work out a plan to provide service to a select group of people for what I hope will substantially compensate me.

No, Alex, I do not want money from you, but what I do need is to draw upon your expertise in dealing with people.

Bill continued and re-counted the following incident to me:

Old man Hoskins owns a two hundred acre farm on Rapid Run Road behind the old high school. He has been promising to give the property to the board of education for the new high school for some eight years now. Every time I talk to him, he says yes, I plan to give you the property soon, but he never does. I have asked him over and over what he wants and I usually get the same response.

Well, I would like the school named after my son who was killed in the second world war and I would like to have my lake remain in the design of the school grounds so that the migrating ducks and geese can stop and rest.

You know I feed many of them that get a late start and arrive here in the winter months. Oh yea, I would like to stay in my house for free as long as I live.

Well, old man Hoskins is 92 years old and the board sees no problem with his request. We have had the land surveyed, our attorney has drawn up all the necessary documents and Hoskins has been given copies of them all. He looks them over but I still cannot get him to sign them after eight years of negotiations.

What do you suggest? Bill asked.

"Well, Bill, it appears to me that you have not been able to get to the meat of this situation. Let us make some assumptions here:

1. Hoskins is 92 years old so I am sure he does not buy green bananas.

2. You have agreed to name the school after his son.

3. You have agreed to keep the lake for the ducks.

4. You are letting him stay in the house until he passes on."

I would guess Bill that he has one or more desires that he is not willing to share with you or is too embarrassed to tell you what it is that he really wants. Perhaps he wants a young bride, a Rolls-Royce Phantom VI, maybe a cruise around the world. Perhaps he wishes to have a testimonial dinner given in his honor. Maybe he wants to be grand marshal in a parade in his honor. I can only guess what is going on in that old man’s mind, I said.

My suggestion to you Bill, is that you refresh Hoskins’s memory on his demands, what he has related to the Board and their agreement of his terms. I would then say, now Mr. Hoskins, what is it that you really want that you are not sharing with me? Be persistent and do not leave until he tells you what it is that he really wants. Then my friend, all we will need to do is to figure out how to go about fulfilling his desire.

As I recall now it was several weeks before I heard from Bill Campbell. I was sitting at my desk looking out at the city and wondering what plan of action I would need to peruse to reach my goal.

The ringing of my desk phone brought me sadly to reality and several additional minutes for me to focus on my surroundings and the events unveiling in my tiny world.

I picked up the phone and muttered, Alex.

Hey there Alex, this is Bill Campbell. Boy, you hit the nail on the head, so to speak. That was the best advice I have ever gotten. Old man Hoskins really did have something he wanted. It took me nearly two hours of coaxing to finally get the old man to admit what it was he really wanted.

I repeated several times the phrase you had instructed me to relay to that old codger, our benefactor.

Walter, tell me what it is that you really want? There would be several minutes of silence and then I would repeat the question again. This went on for about one and one half hours."

Walter finally got to his feet and walked to the window. The room was very quiet and Walter just stood there looking out the window. Suddenly he turned and faced me straight on.

Well, Mr. Campbell, you see I have always had this dream, even when I was a small boy. Now I am 92 years old and I will die and never realize the one dream that I have had all my life.

I have worked hard, had a wife and raised a family. I put my love ones above my personal dreams and contented myself with the love and companionship my family lavished on me. They are all gone and only I remain with the same dream. I sometimes wish I had gone first as it is so sad and lonely to see them all go and only a few faded memories of them remain.

Well, Alex, as you can well imagine, at this point I was drooling at the mouth. I thought I would have heart failure soon if he did not get to the point about his dream.

You see Bill, this farm belonged to my grandparents, they were poor Hungarian peasants who migrated to the new world. After years of hard work, saving and skimping, they were finally able to buy what then was a worthless piece of land. My mother told me when she was a little girl, the farm was in the middle of nowhere. It was over one hundred miles to the nearest settlement. Bill, I am the last of my family. I have no living relatives and all my friends have since passed on, however, my dream still remains.

At this point I was thinking for God sake, Walter, get to the point, but I knew better than to interrupt his train of thought. This was, after all, the first time in the eight years of our negotiations that Walter had even opened up to me.

Walter walked over to his rocking chair and sat down. He lit a cigarette and began slowly rocking forward and backward. After several minutes, Walter inhaled a big draw on his cigarette, blew the smoke in my direction and whispered, Before I would consider giving the Board of Education my farm I wo–li—to – b --a–-air."

I beg your pardon, Walter. I did not quite understand what you said, I told him."

Alex, at this point my pants felt like I had wet them and I was almost panting. I leaned over closer to him, almost falling off the couch.

It seemed like an eternity but finally Walter removed a hanky from his hip pocket and wiped his eyes. He composed himself and started to relate to me what it was that he truly wanted before he died.

You see Bill; I share the same dream as my great grandfather, my grandfather and my dad. We all had the same dream. They all died before they realized their dream and I am afraid I will also pass on and have never realized my dream.

"Bill, you see all the men in my family were driven by the same desire. We all worked hard and we all thought that someday we would be justly rewarded. Someday fortune would smile upon us and reward us for our labors; this has never happened.

We all thought that hard work was the answer to reach our goal in life. Sadly, I now realize that hard work is not the answer."

You see in the paper every day where some guy makes a sandwich, cooks chicken or makes a recipe for a pizza and their financial worth rises from nothing to a formidable empire. You see, Bill, I have no magic recipe. In fact, I am a poor cook and eat mostly from my microwave.

At this point, I thought Walter was going to spend another eight years hatching out the eternal babbling about his dream. Alex, that was about the time that I finally decided to get to the meat of the subject and pin the old man down to what it was that he really wanted.

Alex, I then walked over to his rocking chair and placed my hand on the arm of the chair to stop his rocking.

I stood there Alex, looking him straight in the eye and said, Mr. Hoskins, what is your dream and what do you really want?"

Well, Alex, needleless to say when I heard the answer, I was in shock. Do you have any idea what that old codger said, Alex?

I do not have the foggiest idea Bill, but I sure hope you are about to tell me as my lunch time now exceeds my usual one hour by 45 minutes. Alex, the old man’s dream was to be a millionaire before he dies. What do you think of that?

I think, I would recommend Nyquil, I replied. However, I think in answer to your question we should concentrate on how we get Hoskins to gift the 200 acres to the Board of Education and make him a millionaire all in one gigantic sweep.

In the meantime, Bill, I think you should go back to the board and find out what it is that they really want. When you get the answer, I am sure you will figure out a way to get what you really want and give Hoskins what it is he really wants. if not, call back and I’ll work on the problem for you.

It was almost three months before Bill called again.

Alex, he said, the board asked me to call you and personally thank you for giving us the insight for solving our problem with Mr. Hoskins donation to the Board of Education.

I just left the closing on the 60 acres that old man Hoskins donated to the school board on the condition that we save his duck pond and give him free use of the farmhouse and surrounding yard. The remaining land was sold to a developer for $10,500.00 per acre, and Mr. Hoskins is now a millionaire.

"I know you would have enjoyed the meeting. Hoskins was very quiet during the whole proceedings and only occasionally muttered a yes, or that is correct.

When the developer left the room, Walter stood up, lit a cigarette and said, I wish to thank all of the members of the board for making my dream come true. In fact, I realized a little more than my dream, some $470,000.00 more. After I pay my taxes in April, I will donate any monies remaining above my dream of one million dollars to be used for the school you promised to name after my son.

I really only wanted one million dollars, nothing more, nothing less and with that he left the room.

Bill talked for some length, giving me all the nitty-gritty details of the negotiations. My mind had drifted and all though I heard his voice and understood what he was saying, my own mind was miles away thinking of my own personal problem.

Chapter 3

Initiating My Plan

W hy could I seem to help others reach their dreams in life but completely and miserably strike out making my own dreams come true?

Perhaps I need to attack my problem exactly the same way I helped to attack old man Hoskins dreams. Hm…m…m!…What is it that I really want? That was really hard to put into a few words.

I did not want to be just a millionaire or a billionaire, I did not want to rob or cheat any millionaire out of their money. I was very willing to work and give them value for their dollar. I finally decided I really wanted was to get back the 775 acres that the Federal Government took from my birthright and restore my childhood dream of living out my life at Stonehedge.

This seems like an appropriate time to let you in on the secret project that the Federal Government built on the 775 acres they took by eminent domain.

Well, as you know, the Cold War ended and the project ended. As it turns out the government had built a Federal Prison there to house suspected Russian spies and sympathizers. No one was aware of what was going on at the secret facility as it was manned and operated by the CIA and the U.S. Army. After the Cold War the prison was used to house other federal prisoners and it was not long before the whole community of Plainfield was involved in furnishing labor and materials for the operation.

I thought it was now time to look in on the prison and see if Charles Clifton’s story held water. As it turns out, of the 287 prisoners incarcerated, there were exactly 28 millionaires and 9 billionaires prisoners housed in the Plainfield Federal Prison.

Now the problem facing me was how to get my birthright back, replenish my bank account and not land in prison myself.

I would need to find out what 37 millionaires and billionaires in a federal prison in Plainfield, Connecticut really wanted, how much they were willing to pay for it and how I would go about furnishing their desires so they could realize their dream.

Once I have given each prisoner what it is they really want, I would like to depart our brief association feeling that I had given them what it was they really wanted and achieved what it was I really wanted.

As the perpetrator of this caper, I would want to complete the escapade with cash in my Swiss Bank accounts, a smile on my face and the assured confidence that the convicts were the stupidest people in the universe for paying me