Titan

By charles fisher

What happens when an eighteen year old girl takes over a major corporation in 1920s Connecticut? Murder, infighting, and intrigue happen, set against the roaring twenties and the stock market crash of 1929. Kathleen Ryan goes on to establish herself as a major figure in American business, aided by her friends. Together, they teach men what women in business can do. Ruthless, violent, and crafty, the Irish girls take on the Depression, Roosevelt, and the Mafia. Al Jolson plays a part as well, giving Kathleen's adopted daughter Veronica Manning her start in show business. Quite a long novel, but historically a good ride through the fifties, sixties, and up through the 911 disaster; Kathleen saw it all, and conquered it as well. Lots of action and classic cars.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Feb 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201528485

Book preview

Introduction

The Ryan Estate: Blackthorn

22 Cummings Point Road

Greenwich, Connecticut

November 10, 1996

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Cold out, Kathleen Ryan said as she huddled into her Donald Duck bathrobe and bunny slippers. Shannon O’Riordan looked at her and shook her head. 

Crazy old person, she sighed as she fixed her Irish Oatmeal.

Well, it is, Kathleen said. Ask the dummy over there. Hey Patricia, what’s the temperature outside?

Fifty two, Patricia said as she continued to work on Kathleen’s bacon and eggs with home fries. Ya loony old bat.

What did you call me? Kathleen exclaimed.

Nothin’, Missy, Patricia said.

You insulted me, didn’t you, Kathleen said. And don’t call me Missy. I’ve been telling people that all my life, and nobody listens. They call me Shirley, too.

Who’s gonna listen to some old coo-coo bird in a Donald Duck bathrobe? Shannon said. Ya look like a mental patient in that getup. And stop eatin’ bacon; yer arteries is gonna clog up.

I’m eighty five years old, Kathleen said. If they haven’t  clogged up by now, the hell with them. They can take their chances. And fifty two degrees is cold.

Horse crap, Shannon muttered. Ya lost your mind fifty years ago. What makes ya think anybody will listen to ya now?

They have to; I’m a billionaire, Kathleen grinned. First billionaire  woman in the country. I even beat that old bag Marjorie Post who owned General Foods. I’m worth more than she ever was.

You ain’t worth a good fart in a wind storm, Shannon said. If ya didn’t hide all that gold from the feds back in the 1930s you wouldn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.

That’s not true. I made a ton of money with my companies.

Made more when ya sold them, Shannon said. And that gold made ya rich. Tell me it didn’t.

It didn’t, Kathleen grinned.

Lyin’ old skunk. Why don’t ya spend some of it and get your hair fixed? Ya look like somethin’ out of one of them Stevie King books.

You should talk. I like my hair; white becomes me. I’m not a teenager, you know.

Jesus, at least put a brush to it. You got hair down to your ass. Probably got rats livin’ in it.

It’s clean; what more do you want? I don’t go out much; nobody sees it. And you aren’t exactly Miss America yourself. You’re what, two years younger than me?

I am thirty seven, Shannon said, looking up.

Sure you are. You have underwear older than that.

We got that interview with that Conan fella comin’ up. He ain’t gonna appreciate it if ya show up lookin’ like Frankenstein’s daughter.

Oh all right, make me an appointment at the beauty parlor. There; are you happy?

I am. Which car are ya gonna drag out of mothballs for Andy to drive us to New York?

I don’t know; I’m partial to my ’56 Continental. We’ll use that.

It ain’t big enough. Let’s take the Duesenberg LaGrande, Shannon grinned. You ain’t drove that since 1940. Why not?

It’s worth five million dollars is why not, Kathleen said. You think I’m going to take that through the Bronx? We’d need the Army for an escort.

Then take the train.

Very funny. We’ll take the ‘56 Fleetwood limo. The one registered in Florida.

Whatever, Shannon said. Check the trunk for dead Dagos. We might have forgot one back in the day.

Oh my God! Kathleen squealed. You’re right. Be quiet about those days when we’re on TV; there is no statute of limitations on murder.

There ain’t no bodies or evidence, neither, Shannon said.

There never was. What’s gold worth today?

$387.00 per ounce.

Kathleen took out her calculator and ran some numbers.

Wow; one billion, thirty nine million, five hundred thousand. And that’s just the gold, not all the other shit I own, and the cash in the money market. I’m richer than I thought.

And just what are you gonna do with all that money? Shannon said.

Save it for my old age, Kathleen giggled.

Yer already in it, Shannon laughed.

Then I’ll hire a team of the best doctors; their job will be to keep me alive until I’m a hundred.

To do what? Pee yerself and wonder who you are?

That sounds like fun, Kathleen said. My father used to do that before he croaked.

That were in 1929, and he were fifty three. Why you want to live so long, anyway? Ya don’t do anything but sit here, drink Jameson’s,  and look outside at the birds.

I like looking at the birds. I’m bored; let’s start a new company. Name something.

Dirty movies, Shannon grinned. There is big money in that. You can be the new queen of porn.

Not my style, Kathleen said as she started in on her bacon and eggs. I know; let’s breed Irish Setters. Robbie the tenth or whatever he is needs company.

You do that, Shannon said. You can clean up the poop, too.

Patricia can do it.

The hell I can, Patricia said. I draw the line at pickin’ up dog shit.

Well, somebody will have to do it, Kathleen snapped. You don’t think I’m going to do it, do you?

Hire a dummy straight out of college. They don’t know shit; maybe they’d smarten up if they worked with some, Patricia said.

Good idea. Now, I have to have something nice to wear when I see Conan. Go to the boutique and buy me a mini skirt and some high heel shoes.

Yer a sick maniac, ya know that, don’t ya, Shannon sighed.

Well, I never said I was perfect, Kathleen shrugged.

1956 Cadillac Fleetwood 75 Limousine

Late Night with Conan O'Brien

Studio 6A  30 Rockefeller Plaza

New York City

November 18, 1996

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It isn’t often that I have such distinguished guests, Conan said. In the history of this country, there is only one woman who truly deserves the tile of Titan; and she is here tonight. Please make welcome Kathleen Ryan, and Shannon O’Riordan.

Kathleen and Shannon came out, shook hands with Conan, and sat down. Kathleen’s hair was now shoulder length and nicely combed with a part on the left side.

Thanks for coming, Kathleen, Conan smiled. It’s great to have you here.

What about me? Shannon exclaimed as the audience laughed. I been holdin’ her hand for nigh onto seventy years. Without me, she’d be workin’ in a massage parlor or somethin’.

I was about to get to that, Conan said. You were her Executive Vice President at Goliath, correct?

That’s right, Shannon nodded. I made that company what it is today.

Yeah, right, Kathleen laughed. All you did was keep the Jameson’s flowing.

Aye, and I done a good job of it, Shannon said.

You ladies drink? Conan exclaimed.

We’re Irish. What do you think? Kathleen said.

I wouldn’t know, Conan said, looking into the camera. I am a pillar of morality.

Kathleen got a pillar on her bed, Shannon said.

You have a taxi meter and a change maker on yours, Kathleen smirked.

You began your career at a time when female executives were frowned upon. Tell us about that, Conan said.

I took over my father’s company, Goliath Brass and Copper, in 1929 after he died. In those days, women didn’t run companies; they didn’t have executive positions at all. Men resented me, and tried to run me out of business. Some of them even tried to have me killed.

Really? Conan exclaimed. Can you say who?

I could, but it might get you fired if I do, Kathleen said. Let’s just say it was a prominent executive in the communications business, and leave it at that.

How did you deal with that situation? Conan said.

Do I need a lawyer for this? Kathleen said as everyone laughed. In my day, we did things differently. We were in business positions normally held by men, so we acted like men. We were very ruthless and direct. Some of our adversaries found that out the hard way.

Did you ever ..... you know, use violence?

No comment, Kathleen said.

Oh, okay, Conan laughed. Gee, I hope I never make you two mad at me.

Ya best mind yer manners, fella, Shannon nodded. I still got me mohaska.

What’s a mohaska? Conan said.

Some Irishman you are, Shannon said. It’s a gun.

Good grief, you didn’t bring it with you, did you?

You wanna find out? Shannon grinned.

Uh, no. So, they tried to have you killed? That’s amazing. Come to think of it, I did see Jay Leno in the parking lot with a shotgun, Conan said. I wonder what he wants. Boy, I’d sure like to know who that executive was.

Kathleen leaned over and whispered something in Conan’s ear.

Whoa! Him? Are you serious?

Yup, Kathleen said.

That’s hard to believe.

Go to the library and look up stories about him; you may find something of interest around 1930.

I never would have dreamed somebody in his position would do that. He died of natural causes, you know.

I know, Kathleen grinned. Sometimes staying alive is worse than the alternative.

I seem to remember some stories about the police taking an interest in you, Conan said.

Oh, yes, they did. A federal agent took a serious interest in me. If somebody tripped on the sidewalk, he blamed me. It never went anywhere, of course. I never did find out why he was so adamant about locking me up. It did give me something to do, though, Kathleen shrugged. We looked at it as a form of entertainment.

Those were rough times, what with Prohibition and the Mafia gaining all that power.

Yes, they were. You had to have your wits about you. It wasn’t all bad, though; I met some nice people along the way. I was good friends with Al Jolson, you know. That miserable socialist FDR did not appreciate me, though. He wanted to uh, shall we say liberate my money. He felt it would be happier in the treasury. He was proven wrong.

Miserable socialist? Conan laughed. He is generally recognized as having saved America from the Great Depression.

By doing what? There wouldn’t have been a depression if government kept their noses out of everybody’s business. All he did was create a permanent welfare state at the expense of business. He also got us into a war, which was his only way to stimulate the economy. I guess he never heard of freedom and capitalism.

Capitalism caused the crash.

Stupidity caused the crash, and greed. Contrary to popular opinion and that movie character Gordon Gekko, greed is not good when properly defined; it is the quest for the unearned by those who are unable to earn anything. The movie confused greed with ambition.

But that stock market crash ruined everything.

It only ruined speculators who had no business being in the market in the first place, like my father. The only reason Goliath survived is because I got him out of the market just before the crash and converted all his holdings to gold.

And he didn’t mind you doing that?

He had no say in the matter; he was drunk in bed when I did it. He died shortly after that.

Well, I’m glad you survived all that and went on to be the first legitimate woman to achieve billionaire status.

Need a loan? Kathleen smiled.

Well, there is this car I’d like to buy, Conan mused. Speaking of which, you have one of the best collections of antique cars in the world.

I always liked cars, Kathleen said. I bought a Duesenberg roadster with a couple of thousand miles on it for two grand. That was back in 1929 as I recall, right after the crash. I still have it, too.

I still have my Ford Pinto, Conan huffed. Beat that.

Why would you buy a piece of junk like that? Kathleen said.

It’s all I could afford at the time.

Kathleen were brung up with a silver spoon in her mouth, Shannon said. Had to squeak by with the Rolls Royce  takin’ her to school. Built her a two million  dollar mansion in Greenwich in 1930. We still live in it. Nice little house.

I bet it is, Conan laughed. Running water and everything, right?

Oh yeah, Kathleen said. Back then I had every electric appliance they made. I still do; I upgrade every three or four years. I even have a computer.

Well, that’s good to know. You’ve had quite a life, haven’t you?

Yes, I can’t say that I haven’t. It taught me a lot about both parts; life and death. I don’t know how much time I have left, so I try to make the most of it. Shannon’s mother worked for me; she used to tell me I shouldn’t spend so much money on houses and cars, things like that. I always said money is no good just sitting in a bank. In some ways, she was right; I learned that people have more value than money. You can always make more money; you can’t always make a new family member or a friend, and when you do, they never seem to live up to the old ones.

You do have a reputation for living an extravagant lifestyle; kind of like the female version of Donald Trump. Does the criticism bother you?

Not in the slightest. Look who it comes from; a pack of envious nincompoops who never accomplished anything in their lives, so they resent anybody who has. They refuse to answer the obvious question; if I had never existed, how would that have improved their lives? They simply do not like having someone else’s success thrown in their faces because it reminds them of their own failures.

Been reading Ayn Rand, eh? Conan smiled.

She can’t read, Shannon grinned as the audience laughed.

I can read, Kathleen huffed. I have the comic books to prove it, she giggled. But to answer Collin’s question, yes; I have read Ayn Rand.

Uh, that’s Conan, not Collin, Conan said.

Whatever, Kathleen said. About what we were just discussing when the Irish version of the trampoline interrupted, I don’t pay any attention to the legion of moochers who insult the rich, but are always first in line to take their money if they can get it. I don’t apologize for my lifestyle; there is no reason why I should.

You have a foundation, right?

Yes. Five years ago I established the Celtic Foundation, also called the Ryan Foundation, which pays to educate children who have nothing; primarily the Irish. I never knew what it was to have nothing until I lost ..... never mind, I can’t bear to talk about that one. The Foundation has helped a lot of people; that’s a good thing, isn’t it?

Yes, it is, Conan said.

I have put a billion dollars to work in that foundation. When I’m gone, everything I own will be sold, and the money will go into the foundation. I have no children; neither does Shannon. The world is our family.

Goliath still exists, doesn’t it?

Yes; after I sold it they gave it a different name; some whiny, crappy corporate name that won’t offend anybody. The guy who runs it is a fruit, Kathleen grinned.

Uh oh, I sense a bleep coming, Conan smiled. That is an offensive term to gay people.

He isn’t gay; he’s queer. Gay means happy; queer means you take it up the ..... never mind. I shouldn’t talk like that on TV, right?

Right, Conan laughed.

In my day, we only had radio. That was up until the early 1950s, when TV became all the rage. We had fruits back then too, she shrugged. No big deal. I even hired a few.

You should be put down, Shannon laughed. Lives like it was 1930, she does.

Well, we’re running short of time. Would you come back some time?

Sure, anytime; if I’m still around, Kathleen said. You never know; I may still have some people looking for me.

Book

One

1929-1930

The Crash

1929 Rolls Royce Phantom Limousine

The Ryan Estate: Laurelwood

17 Cummings Point Road

Greenwich, Connecticut

September 26, 1929

––––––––

––––––––

Eighteen year old Victoria Kathleen Ryan, the only daughter of John Black Jack Ryan, the notorious owner of Goliath Brass and Copper, sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring down her face.

No, she whispered. It can’t be.

But it was; the dream was as real to her as the Irish Setter sleeping next to her bed. There could be no doubt about it; Grammy, the matriarch of the family for whom Victoria was named, had given her a message. It consisted of one sentence, repeated over and over. The sentence was sell the stock.

Victoria, who had always thought her name was too stuffy, had always gone by Kathleen, or Kathy to her friends. She jumped out of bed and bounded down the hall to her father’s room.

Fat chance, she whispered to herself. He’s probably so drunk he won’t understand a word I say.

Indeed, Black Jack Ryan had a severe case of alcoholism. He was the richest man in Connecticut, and one of the richest in the country; he ranked right up there with the Vanderbilts and the Morgans. The Brass, as he called it, was worth about six million dollars. However, it was heavily leveraged by local banks and had been for several years, beginning when the stock run up had begun. Jack may have been a drunk, but he was as shifty as they came; he believed in using other people’s money to finance his empire.

The real bulk of Jack’s  fortune was in the stock market; he bought anything that came along, all on margin. It was a wild time; a huge gamble where men risked their very lives on the next margin call. He had been lucky; he’d run a million borrowed dollars into fifty seven million at last count, and there seemed to be no end in sight to the monstrous scheme.

Kathleen knew all it would take was for somebody to question why they were paying a hundred dollars a share for companies that had practically no liquid value. Somebody had to blink, and the whole thing would come crashing down. Grammy had just indicated to Kathleen that somebody was about to blink.

Daddy? she whispered. Jack continued to snore away. Time was of the essence; she had been planning for something like this for quite some time due to Jack’s drinking. He probably wouldn’t live five more years, and she was not about to let the company and the family estate go into bankruptcy. She ran back to her room and unlocked her jewelry box. She removed a document, grabbed a fountain pen, and ran back to Jack’s room. She shook him awake and put the pen in his hand.

What is it? he groused.

Ben wants you to sign this, Kathleen said. It’s something about the mill.

Oh, Jack sighed, and scribbled his name on the paper, which had already been notarized  by one of the biggest crooks in Greenwich. All she had to do was fill in the date. Jack rolled over and went back to sleep.

Kathleen ran back to her room and got dressed. She rang for Carlton, their chauffeur. Get the car, she commanded. I have to go to Stamford. Clutching the purloined power of attorney in her hand, she waited for the Rolls Royce to appear in the driveway.

Gallagher and McCoy, Stock Traders

65 Stamford Center Road

Stamford, Connecticut

September 16, 1929

What’cha got here, Lassie? Ronan Gallagher smiled as Kathleen handed him the papers.

Power of Attorney. Give me a sell order, Kathleen said.

This paper real? Gallagher said.

It’s real, Kathleen snapped. He signed it about an hour ago, and it’s notarized.

By Nate Sennenfeld? Gallagher laughed. Boy would sign his own death certificate if there was a buck to be made.

Don’t get smart with me, Gallagher. You can call the old drunk and ask him if you don’t believe me. Are you telling me that’s not his signature?

Sure as Hayman it is, Gallagher said. But how did ya get it?

None of your business. Get that sell order, or else.

Or else what?

Look, Gallagher; I am in charge of my father’s affairs because he’s too drunk to handle them himself. If you resist, I’ll have you in front of a judge before you can digest your breakfast. Now get that sell order.

And if I refuse? I know some judges, too.

I will have you killed if you botch this up for me, Kathleen said, a dead look in her eyes. You know I can have it done, too. I know a lot of Italian gangsters. Maybe I’ll do it myself to save money. Ever see what happens to a man when he falls off a scaffold into a 900 degree batch of brass?

Gallagher looked at her for a long minute, then shook his head. Okay, he sighed. What you want to sell? Fancy yourself a stock picker, do ya?

Sell all of it, Kathleen said. Every last share he owns. Payment to me will be in gold bars from the Federal Reserve, delivered to Cummings Point by armored car. Are we clear?

You’re daffy, you know that? Your daddy will skin you alive when he sees what you done.

I doubt it, Kathleen said. Besides, who cares. He can get as angry as he wants; he’ll have sixty million dollars in gold to calm his conscience. And you, my friend, get your last commission. I would advise you to get out of the market too. Otherwise, you’re going to get it straight up your arse.

The Ryan Estate: Laurelwood

17 Cummings Point Road

Greenwich, Connecticut

October 1, 1929

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I’m having your father committed to a sanitorium, Maureen Ryan declared at dinner. He hasn’t gotten out of bed since last Thursday, and Colleen is tired of cleaning up his shit.

Mother! You swore, Kathleen giggled.

Kathleen’s dimwit brother Bryan just stared at his steak. He was first in line to the throne, but the IQ of a possum made it nearly impossible for him to comprehend what that responsibility entailed. All he did was laze about the mill, drink,  and screw street girls.

Kathleen had plans for Bryan Ryan as he was mockingly known, and they did not include taking over Goliath. A purloined  power of attorney assured that he would never see a position of power in the family business, or any proceeds from Jack’s new will.

The Goliath attorneys already had a copy of the power of attorney; the original was in Kathleen’s safe in her office. As long as Jack was alive, Bryan was to be given a salary commensurate with his abilities; the janitor made more. He would not be given a position in the company. If he complained, Kathleen had another surprise ready for him. She would send him on vacation to Ireland, and leave him there. He would only get one way passage on a steam ship; she knew he wouldn’t even bother to look at the ticket. He could pound sand when it came time to return home.

Father is a pitiful drunk and a wastrel, Maureen declared. He has everything a man could wish for, and look what he does; he swills illegal Scotch all day courtesy of that rat Joe Kennedy, and vomits on himself. Someone will have to take over Goliath. Any volunteers? she smirked.

Me, Bryan grinned. I’ll run it.

Into the ground, Kathleen laughed. Shut up and eat your dinner. Give me any guff, and I’ll throw you out of the house. I’m taking over Goliath.

Horse feathers, Bryan snapped. You can’t take over anything.

Try and stop me, Kathleen smiled. You are an insignificant little worm who can barely tie his own shoes. You cannot run that company, and I will not let you try.

What can you do? Bryan said. You’re a girl.

I already had you banned from the plant. Don’t even bother going to work anymore; the guards won’t let you in. Your check, such as it is, will be sent here.

The big boss has spoken, Bryan leered. Give me some Scotch, mother.

I poured it in the sink, Maureen said. There will be no Scotch in my house from now on.

I’ll put some gasoline in a baby bottle and you can suck on that, Kathleen giggled.

I’m going to enjoy taking father’s position, Bryan smiled. My first act will be to fire you.

You couldn’t fire the furnaces in the mill, Kathleen said.

We’ll see who does what, Bryan shrugged. Father is a strong man. He will recover; he has a good constitution.

And a liver a starving dog wouldn’t eat, Maureen said. The doctor gave him a month to live.

See that, Bryan Ryan? Kathleen mocked. Better find another place to live, because in one month I’m going to throw your ass out of this house. Physically, if  I have to.

Why do you hate me so? Bryan exclaimed.

Because you are a poor excuse for a man. You barely made it through high school, and you flunked out of college. You screw whores endlessly and will probably die from syphilis. You know nothing about business and even less about life. You had a magnificent opportunity granted to you merely by the fact that you fell out of Mother’s uterus, and you squandered it as no one else could. And believe me, brother dearest, your days of sucking on the company tit are over.

We’ll see about you when Father is better, Bryan said.

Father isn’t going to get better, Maureen said. Get used to that fact.

Robbie, Kathleen’s Irish Setter, snuck up behind Bryan’s chair, squatted, and deposited a huge load on the floor. He then snuck off into the parlor.

I’ll show you ...... good God! What is that smell? Bryan exclaimed.

Your future, Kathleen grinned. I bet it tastes good, too. Have some.

Goliath Brass & Copper

940 Grand Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

October 7, 1929

––––––––

What do you mean, I can’t come in? Bryan yelled. I own this place!

Ya own shit, Laddie, Sergeant of the Guard Mike Malone smiled. The girl runs the place now, and she says you don’t get in. Now beat it.

You bastard, Bryan seethed, and tried to muscle his way into the office building. Malone grabbed him by the shirt collar with his left hand and drove his right fist into Bryan’s face, breaking his nose and cheekbone. He ran with Bryan in tow and threw him into the gutter on Grand Street, which was filled with dirty water.

How ya feel now, Laddie? Malone laughed. Want to go another round?

I’ll have you arrested for this, you bastard! Bryan cried. He got up and headed back towards the building; Malone put his hand on his pistol, and Bryan thought better of it. He got into his Packard roadster and tore down the street. Malone phoned Kathleen.

Whacked him pretty good, I did, Malone said. Busted his nose.

Good for him, Kathleen said. Maybe that will teach him to keep it out of my business.

Ya gonna relent and give the boy a job? Malone said.

No, I am not. The only thing I’m going to give him is a good ass kicking if he doesn’t smarten up. He is all done, Mike. He will never enter this office or the plant again.

Aye, and enter he will not do. You got me word on me daughter’s eyes on that.

How is she doing? Kathleen said. Erin is her name, right?

Yes. She just finished high school with top honors.

Is she going to college?

Not unless she gets a job; I got four mouths to feed. I can’t afford no college on a guard’s pay.

Tell you what; I’ll call Yale and get her in on a scholarship. We have friends there. But she has to work for me when she graduates.

Well now; thank ya kindly, Missy. I will tell her that.

You do that. And don’t call me Missy.

The Ryan Estate: Laurelwood

17 Cummings Point Road

Greenwich, Connecticut

October 8, 1929

––––––––

What the ..... Bryan mumbled. He put down the straw he had been using to sip his breakfast gruel and peered out the window as a tow truck backed up to his Packard. I didn’t call anybody.

I did, Kathleen said. 

He’s taking my car! He can’t do that! Stop him! Bryan exclaimed.

It isn’t your car, Kathleen said. It belongs to the bank.

What? Father gave me that car! There is no note on it!

There is now, Kathleen grinned. I had United Finance put one on it for full value, in your name. I also showed them one of your salary checks. You can’t afford the payments, so they are repossessing it. Don’t worry; there’s an old bicycle in the barn. You can use that to squire your prostitutes around town, if you have any money to pay them with.

Maureen clamped a hand over her mouth and turned away.

I can pay for anything! I’m rich! Bryan mumbled through his bandaged face.

You aren’t rich; Father is. And me, of course. You don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. That car is worth four thousand dollars, which is more than you’re worth. You make thirty dollars a month now. The payment is forty dollars a month. You lose.

I make what? Thirty dollars? What am I supposed to do with a lousy  thirty dollars?

Stick it up your ass, Kathleen smiled. Give me any guff, and I’ll reduce it by half.

My, my, Maureen smirked. Now you’re in the soup, Sonny.

You can’t do this to me, Bryan grimaced. Father won’t let you.

Father doesn’t know what his own name is, Kathleen sighed. The most important event of his day now is when he shits his knickers.

Noooooo! Maureen squealed, and ran for the bathroom.

I will hire an attorney, Bryan declared.

With what? You have no money, and no lawyer in town will extend you credit. Keep it up, and you’ll have no job, either.

What good is a job if you have that goon Malone keeping me out of the plant?

Your job is to stay away from me. That’s worth thirty dollars a month; not a penny more. Don’t like it? Go seek employment elsewhere. Maybe the dog catcher needs help.

I’ll fix you, Bryan nodded. All my life, you made fun of me. Now you do this to me? You wait; when I get my inheritance, I’m going to use some of it to have you killed.

Kathleen moved so fast Bryan couldn’t believe it; she grabbed his broken nose and twisted it until blood started to pour out onto the table. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t; the pain was too great. Finally, he passed out. Kathleen had two servants put him in the barn. When Maureen came back, she peered at the pool of blood.

What’s that? she said.

Tomato catsup, Kathleen smiled.

Goliath Brass & Copper

940 Grand Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

October 18, 1929

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I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me, Erin Malone said as she looked around at Kathleen’s new office. This is a nice office; it must have cost you a fortune.

Not really; most of what you see is my great grandfather Patrick Ryan’s furniture; it was in one of the warehouses. It’s solid cherry wood; all I had to do was have it refinished. I had the wood floor refinished, too, and had the room painted. Total cost was two hundred dollars.

I’m sorry your father died, Erin said. It must have been terrible.

Not as terrible as living with him was, Kathleen said. There is no mystery about Black Jack Ryan. He was a drunk and a wild gambler.

But he was so rich; how did he do that?

Luck  of the Irish; literally. The man could step in dog crap and come up with new shoes.

Can you run this place? Erin said. I mean, you’re the same age as me.

Sure I can. Unlike my worthless brother, I paid attention. I’ve been working here in one fashion or another since I was twelve. I know everything, she grinned.

Well, that’s good. That way the company won’t go out of business when the market crashes.

You think it’s coming soon?

Yes. A prominent financial expert named Babson says so. That’s what I want to study; finance. Haven’t you heard the rumors? London’s  market is about to crash. It will spread here; a major panic will ensue. The way they trade those stocks is crazy. It’s all built on the hope that there will be a next sucker to sell the stocks to at a higher price. It can’t go on like that. It’s built on nothing.

I like the way you think. I could use a financial wizard here.

You don’t ..... never mind. It’s none of my business.

We’re girls. You can ask me anything.

Okay; do you own stocks?

No. My father did; sixty million dollars worth. I made the broker sell it all last month and convert it to gold.

Good move; what made you do that?

My great grandmother, Kathleen grinned. But never mind that for now. I arranged for you to have classes three days a week on an accelerated degree program. You choose the field. You’ll graduate in two years that way ... you won’t have to repeat all the stupid things they made us learn in high school; just straight up academics in the field you choose. You missed a month, but they’ll let you make it up. The other two days of the week, I want you here learning everything you can about this company. I will pay you three hundred dollars a month and provide you with a car and driver.

That’s more than my father makes.

He’ll be moving up to Captain of the Guard soon; he’ll get a big raise. It will make things easier on him, Kathleen shrugged. He works hard, and I intend to pay my people well.

I heard you fired your brother, Erin grinned.

I handed him his termination notice and severance pay on the way out of the cemetery, Kathleen said. I also changed all the locks at home so he can’t get in the house. I threw all his belongings on the front lawn.

Boy, I wouldn’t want you to get mad at me, Erin laughed.

No, you would not. But I don’t think that will be a problem. You graduate, and I’ll hire you as my Chief Financial Officer at twenty thousand dollars a year.

My God; what will I do with all that money?

Invest it. In a couple of years, you won’t believe the bargains at business liquidation sales.

You really think the economy is going down?

No doubt in my mind. I wish it were otherwise, but I cannot control that. I can, however, take advantage of it. When times are bad, cash is king. I have the cash.

They will come at you, you know, Erin said. The businessmen. Especially  the ones that work here. They won’t accept having a woman in charge.

I had a photograph of my brother taken with his face all punched in, Kathleen said. I’m putting it in the board room along with his termination papers. That should show them who they are taking on. Just remember, Erin.... I own 85% of the company stock. I am the Chairman of the Board and the President of Operations. Anybody who doesn’t like that can resign.

They won’t resign. They’ll stay, and sabotage you.

Then I’ll fire them. I’d rather have an empty office than work with traitors.

––––––––

Goliath Brass & Copper

940 Grand Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

Board Meeting

October 21, 1929

––––––––

What’s wrong with you fellows? Kathleen smiled. You look like someone peed in your coffee.

Didn’t you hear? Robert Caulfield said. A patrician looking dunce of sixty, Caulfield was on the board because he had been one of Jack Ryan’s drinking buddies, and would never have dreamed of voting against him. The London stock market has crashed.

I don’t live in London, Kathleen said. And we don’t sell overseas.

That will affect markets all over the world, Alex McCoy said nervously. My broker won’t even come into the office. I don’t know what to do.

You never did, according to the production reports, Kathleen said. We haven’t had a production increase in five years. That’s your fault, O’Halloran, she said to the Vice President of Sales. You couldn’t sell a fire truck to a man trapped in a burning building.

Watch your mouth, you little brat, O’Halloran snapped. I was selling brass when you were in diapers. You probably still are, from the looks of things.

You don’t sell brass; you take orders. Our sales are being driven by industry needs, not new and inventive ideas from men who can think. We need to expand, and you are not fit for that scenario.

Really? O’Halloran smirked. What do you know anyway, Miss High and Mighty?

I know I’ll be looking for a new Vice President of Sales, Kathleen said. You’re fired.

What? O’Halloran exclaimed. You can’t fire me! I sit on this company’s board! I own stock!

One point five percent, Kathleen said. You and nine other nincompoops. Our common stock is worth forty dollars a share. There are one million shares outstanding; that means you get a check for six hundred thousand dollars when I boot your ass out of here.

Why, you little rat; I’ll sue.

And your case will be dismissed. You have no legal basis for a lawsuit; you are an incompetent fool who works here at my pleasure. Now, be a good little boy and go clean out your desk. If you are not off company property within the hour, Sergeant Malone will remove you.

You haven’t heard the last of this, O’Halloran huffed as he jumped to his feet. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.

I bet he isn’t any better at his job than you are, Kathleen grinned. Idiots travel in the same circles. Now, as they say in those illegal speakeasies you frequent, twenty three skidoo. If I see you on company property or near my home, I’ll have you shot on sight and your body disposed of in the town dump.

O’Halloran stormed out of the office; Kathleen turned to the remaining board members.

Well, boys, what do you think? Am I doing a good job?

You won’t last a month, Reed Farnsworth said. You are a fool, suffering from delusions of grandeur. And, you’re a woman. You belong in the kitchen, not the board room. Industry is a man’s world; it was not intended to be the plaything of little girls.

You are my Vice President in charge of Production, correct? Kathleen said as she sat back in her chair.

You finally got something right, Farnsworth smirked.

And your contract expires at the end of the year, correct?

Correct.

It won’t be renewed, Kathleen said.

You may think you’re smart, throwing your weight around by firing all the best men in this company, Farnsworth said. You will soon suffer the results of your folly. I will go to work for one of your competitors, and I will see to it that you are undercut and driven out of the market. And as for replacing me, good luck. No man of my generation will hire on to work for a child like you.

And they say there is no God, Kathleen said. I don’t want any more  men of your generation. They are all the same; uppity, staid old fools living in the 1850s, smelling of that old man’s cologne. Your way of doing business is over, but you can’t face that. A new generation is coming along behind you, and they are going to run you over and drive you into retirement. I don’t need you.

Then you shall have my resignation on your desk today, Farnsworth said. I shall seek a position elsewhere. I expect to be paid for my stock, like O’Halloran.

Oh, you do? I’ve changed my mind. I’m not buying back any stock. Try to find another buyer; after your precious market collapses, I doubt you’ll be able to do so. All your phony swindler playmates will be broke.

You ..... you have to buy it back. This is not a publicly traded company.

Nor will it ever be, Kathleen said. It’s mine, and I intend to keep it that way. I don’t need your lousy one and a half percent. You’ll continue to receive dividends until you die, which from the looks of you should be very soon. Don’t count on any big checks though, she grinned. Business is going to take a big tumble when the market crashes. I doubt I’ll be able to turn a profit for a few years.

Then how shall I live? Farnsworth exclaimed. I gave my life to this company!

You wasted your time drinking with my father; you and all the other rummies that serve on this board. You reap what you sow. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to do. Are there any more resignations? Nobody responded. I didn’t think so. Good day.

The New York Stock Exchange

Wall Street

New York, New York

October 29, 1929  Black Tuesday

––––––––

No, Ronan Gallagher whispered as he watched the board.  Thursday the 24th had been bad enough; this was even worse.

The market had lost 11 percent at the opening bell on Thursday, with astoundingly heavy trading. The monstrous volume meant that prices on the ticker tape in brokerages around the country had been badly delayed; investors had no idea what most stocks were trading for. To avoid any mistakes, Gallagher went to New York to watch the action in person.

Some day, eh old man? a British trader smiled, clapping Gallagher on the back.

Yes, Gallagher said. It certainly is.

Blokes are getting skinned alive, the Brit smiled. Same thing happened in London. I warned them months ago to stop this foolishness, but some people never learn. Oh well; I got my clients out of the market in August. Now I’m here to mop up. You?

Gallagher just stared at him, then walked away.

Several prominent Wall Street bankers had met to craft a solution to the panic; the meeting included Thomas W. Lamont, acting head of Morgan Bank, Albert Wiggin, head of Chase National Bank, and Charles E. Mitchell, president of National City Bank of New York. They chose Richard Whitney, Vice President of the Exchange, to act on their behalf.

With the bankers’ huge resources backing him, Whitney placed a bid to purchase 25,000 shares of U.S. Steel at $205 per share, a price well above the market price. As traders watched, Whitney placed similar bids on other blue chip stocks. The tactic was similar to one that had ended the Panic of 1907 and succeeded in halting the slide. The Dow Jones recovered, losing only a little over six points for the day.

On October 28, or Black Monday as it would be known in the future, investors facing huge potential margin calls they couldn’t meet bailed out of the market while the getting was good, and the drop continued with a record loss for the day of 38.33 points, or 12.82%.

Today was judgment day; the speculators and heavily leveraged investors attempted in vain to recoup their losses as sixteen million shares went on the block at ridiculous prices. Investors lost billions; many were wiped out clean to the bone. Wednesday would fare no better; traders found they could not sell anything at any price. The Dow would lose an additional 23% in two days. It had gone from around the 375 mark in March to its present score of 230; it would founder up and down for a while, then go into a brutal long term slide. By 1932 it would stand at 41 points, the lowest in American history.

Ronan Gallagher didn’t wait for Wednesday; he was wiped out and he knew it. Every dime he owned had been dumped into stocks, and they all turned out to be the heaviest losers. One company, Amalgamated National Products, was one of his biggest holdings. He had bought ten thousand shares at fifteen dollars each; today it was offered at four cents, and there were no takers. People had discovered that the fancy sounding company was actually located in a cattle barn in Iowa; it had never produced anything. It had been  a scam from day one.

Gallagher put his papers in order and went into the bathroom. He closed the stall door and sat down on a toilet. He took a big pistol out of his pocket, loaded it, and stuck it in his mouth. The last thought that went through his mind was what Kathleen Ryan had said to him; you’re going to get it straight up your arse. Gallgher pulled the trigger, and ended all his problems in this world. Nobody could or ever would speculate about what he must have faced in the next world.

Goliath Brass & Copper

940 Grand Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

November 1, 1929

––––––––

Well now; that was interesting, Kathleen said as she listened to her new RCA radio. Ronan Gallagher blew his brains out in the stock exchange bathroom .... I hear there was a line of idiots waiting to get in so they could do the same.

People actually jumped out of skyscraper windows in New York, Erin said.

Good. Less idiots to  muck things up for the rest of us.

Will it hurt sales?

Of course it will, Kathleen said. But on the other hand, the price of copper and zinc will go down as well, and lead is almost free as it is. The sheds are empty, so I will order production to go ahead at a normal pace until they are full. By then, I’ll have more storage space. Lorenzo Steel is going under; I heard it last night from a man who works there. The owner dumped all his profits into the stock market. Thursday took care of that; he’s broke. I can buy the whole place for a song.

Just for storage?

No .... I can convert it to brass production very inexpensively. That way we have two plants. When the economy comes back in a few years, we’ll be in the catbird seat. Meanwhile, their sheds will hold two years’ production. It’s a big place.

And if sales don’t keep up to expenses? Erin said.

I’ll lend my own money to the company; sixty million goes a long way. We’ll have to cut back on payroll if it gets too bad, but all that brass we’ll pile up is a huge capital asset. We’ll make it all back in the long run. But why am I telling you this? Kathleen smiled. You’re the financial whiz.

You just fired your head of sales, Erin said. Converting that capital asset into money requires orders. Where will you get them?

I’m going to interview some salesmen next week. After the market mess, there will be a lot of them looking for jobs. Meanwhile, I have to talk to Lorenzo.

Bring a gun, Erin snickered. He is  alleged to be with the Black Hand.

––––––––

Lorenzo Steel Products

1150 East Main Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

November 2, 1929

––––––––

You from Goliath? Mario Lorenzo said, eyeing Kathleen up and down. I was expecting a man.

So was I, Kathleen smiled.

Hey; don’t get smart with me, you hear? Mario said.

It was a joke, Kathleen laughed. Here; I brought you a present. She handed Mario a twenty dollar bottle of Italian wine.

Hey, this is good stuff, he nodded. I know. I’m Italian, he grinned.

I never would have guessed. Stick an O in front of your name instead of on the end, and you might pass for Irish.

I’ll stick with what I am. Thanks for the vino. Your old man wants to buy this place, huh?

My old man, as you call him, is dead. Didn’t you hear?

No, I been busy. Sorry to hear that. I never met him, but I hear he was okay.

He was a peach, Kathleen said as she sat down. Give me a price.

You want it as is?

Yes.

Two million. Kathleen got up and headed for the door. Hey! Where you going? Mario exclaimed.

I said a price, not an opium induced dream. Nice meeting you.

Siddown, he laughed. I see you never negotiated with a Wop before.

No, I haven’t. You just lost all your money in the market. This place is collateral for about a million dollars in bank loans. Your sales are nonexistent, and your inventory is crap. So is your mill.

Then why you want the place? Mario shrugged.

That’s my business. Your price is asinine; my offer is two hundred thousand dollars, payable to the bank in full settlement of your loans.

Youse is nuts, Mario grinned. That leaves me holding the bag for eight hundred large. I gotta take the gas pipe for you?

You don’t have to take anything for me. I said full settlement ... there will be no balance for them to come after you for. Besides, I haven’t finished. The bank will accept my offer; it’s  better than dickering around for five cents on the dollar in a bankruptcy sale. In case you haven’t noticed, things aren’t going very well this week economically speaking. Even if they find a buyer, the city will put a lien on the place for property taxes, which means the bank could end up losing money.

Youse got a point, Mario said. But where does that leave me?

It leaves you with twelve of these, Kathleen said, taking a gold bar out of her bag. Certified Treasury gold bullion; each one is 12.4 pounds. That’s a little over $107,000.00 at today’s gold price. Nobody will know you got this gold except you and me. Do we have a deal?

Mario stared at the gold bar. Yeah, he grinned. We got a deal. You don’t tell nobody about the gold; I could go to the joint for fraud if the bank finds out. That would be bad for me, and worse for you.

Nobody will know; I wouldn’t want to see the inside of a women’s prison. I would suggest you leave the state of Connecticut. If you stay here and start flashing the cash, they’ll suspect something. That would be bad for both of us. I hear Rome is nice this time of year.

Calabria, Mario grinned. I’m Sicilian. That’s a real good idea. I could live like a king in Italy on that much dough.

All hail King Lorenzo, Kathleen laughed. He screwed the First Bank of Connecticut.

That’s rich. Speaking of getting screwed, do you ....

No, I do not. Stick to business. What I have in my safe is better for you than what I have in my pants.

Dames, Lorenzo sighed. Where does a dame like you get that kind of cash?

Daddy, Kathleen grinned. He left everything to me.

Yeah? How much you got? Mario said.

More than you. I’ll take care of the bank, and bring the contracts, a lawyer, and the gold  here in two days. You have a lawyer here, too, and a jeweler. Make sure they are trustworthy people.

––––––––

Lorenzo Steel Products

1150 East Main Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

November 4, 1929

––––––––

Ya sure you wanna do business with this Dago? Mike Malone said as he pulled the hand truck.

He has something I want, and I have something he wants, Kathleen said as Attorney Saul Ruby followed them. Two things, in fact; but he’s only going to get one of them. They went inside; Mario was waiting with two men. Saul handed over the contract and a release from the bank. Mario handed the documents to one of the two men, who looked them over.

It’s legit, the man nodded. The other man pointed at the boxes on the hand truck.

I gotta test it, he said.

Be my guest, Kathleen said as she sat down.

The man took out a bottle of chemical, a drill, and an eyedropper. Half an hour later, he looked at Mario.

It’s all good, he grinned. Real gold. Youse is in the dough now, Sport.

Saul handed Mario a pen. Sign here, here, and here, he said. Mario complied, and Saul collected the contract.

Good deal, Kathleen said as she stood up. Of course, none of us were here today.

Of course, Mario said. Enjoy your new plant.

On the way back to the car, Malone shook his head. Never thought I’d see the day, he sighed. Little Kathy Ryan stickin’ it to a bank in a crook deal with a gangster.

That bank always gave our company a hard time, Kathleen said. It’s my pleasure to stick it to them.

Ya mind your Ps and Qs from now on, you hear? I don’t want the G comin’ around the plant lookin’ to lock you up.

They won’t, Kathleen snickered. I’m much smarter than them. Hey; let’s go shopping, she said as they got into the Rolls. I’m taking driving lessons. I want a car.

Benton Motorcars

Boston Post Road

Greenwich, Connecticut

November 4, 1929

––––––––

Oh, hello Miss Ryan, George Benton said. How are you?

I’m well, thank you. I’d like to buy myself a car. Something fast and sporty. At a greatly reduced price, of course.

Of course. I’ll be closing the dealership next week; it seems my brother made some bad investments. I don’t have anything on hand that would suit you, but I know some people who do. One of them lives right here in town. I’ll give you his name. He has a car I’m sure you’d like. And he’s ..... desperate, George snickered.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of a mansion on Riversville Road; the gate was padlocked, a Sheriff’s notice affixed to the wrought iron bars. A man was wandering around the yard, smoking a cigarette. He saw them and came over.

Yes? Can I help you? he said.

I’m Kathleen Ryan of Goliath Brass. George Benton said you have a car to sell that I might like.

Oh, that. Go around back to the other gate. That one is open.

They drove around, and the man showed them to a garage. He opened the door and they went inside; what Kathleen saw took her breath away; that she could own something like this was beyond imagining. She did her best acting job, pretending not to like the car as much as she did.

What kind is it? It’s rather big for a girl.

It is a 1929 Duesenberg Model J.

Oh. I never heard of them. Is it a good car?

It is perfection on wheels. The best there is, anywhere. Better than Rolls-Royce.

How much? Kathleen said.

It cost me $21,000.00. It’s only been driven  two thousand miles. I have to hock it so I can find a place to live. The market, he sighed, his voice trailing off.

––––––––

1929 Duesenberg Model J Torpedo Convertible

I’m afraid I can’t afford that much, Kathleen said. But thank you for showing it to me.

You uh, can make me an offer, the man said.

I’m afraid all I can offer is two thousand dollars.

I’ll take it, the man said quickly. What the heck; I didn’t pay for it anyway, the market did.

Are you sure? Kathleen said.

I’m sure. Cash, of course.

She counted out the money and the man handed her the keys, which she handed to Malone. Bring it to Laurelwood, she said. Don’t smash it up, she winked.

How about the red Cadillac over there? the man said. It was my wife’s car. It has to go, too.

It’s adorable, Kathleen said. But all I have left is another thousand.

I’ll take it, the man said eagerly. It’s yours.

Kathleen paid him and took the keys. We’ll come back for it in half an hour.

1928 Cadillac Boattail Roadster

Yer a little crook, you know that? Malone grinned as the man went inside.

He’s happy; I’m happy. What’s wrong with that? Kathleen said.

Two cars like them for three grand? You should be ashamed of yourself.

Well, I’m not. I didn’t hold a gun on him or anything. Who else is he going to get to buy those cars?

If you say so, Malone sighed. Ya need two of ‘em? What for?

The red one is for Erin, Kathleen shrugged. My executives have to look successful. I don’t want her pulling into a bank in some old jalopy.

She don’t know how to drive.

Neither do I. We can both learn together. There are a lot of things we’re going to have to learn; driving is the least of them.

Goliath Brass & Copper

1150 East Main Street

Bridgeport, Connecticut

November 5, 1929

––––––––

Here it is, Kathleen said to her new Vice President in Charge of Production, Sean McKay. What do you think?

You have a fever or something when you bought this place? Sean laughed. It’s a dump.

The price was right, Kathleen said.

How much?

Oh, around three hundred thousand total.

That’s a deal; the place is 500 acres with a railway spur and a harbor, and the mill is structurally solid. The rest of it is useless. None of the equipment in here will work for us.

Then sell it off, Kathleen shrugged. I’m sure some steel plant can use it.

In today’s economy? That’s a tough sell.

Then make the price attractive. You can give it away, for all I care. Just get it out of here and clean this place up by the end of November. Then we’ll outfit it with new furnaces, etcetera. I want to be making brass by the first of next year.

It needs new plumbing, Sean grinned as he kicked at an old cast iron pipe.

Then have it done; I want the best of everything in here, all modern. I want copper plumbing. We make the tubing, get a contractor to install it.

Copper, in a factory? Isn’t that unchartered territory? Sean said.

The ancient Egyptians used copper as a conduit material to distribute water as early as  2150 B.C. The ancient Romans used copper for water pipes and cisterns. It will work; we have the material, we may as well get some use out of it. I like to save money.

I’ve seen how you save money, Sean said. That fancy car you bought must have cost a ton.

Two thousand, Kathleen grinned. The owner was desperate.

Two thousand for a Duesenberg? Why, you little swindler! Sean laughed.

"All my life, I watched people stick it to my father. He never got a deal from anybody;