"I was hoping that the Land Trust would buy it, but they can't seem to come up with the money. They want to let the fruit trees go natural, which is fine with me. It beats the hell out of the developers who want to doze it over. I think it would make a fine addition to what is there now."
"How can the Land Trust compete with the big boys?"
"I gave them a better deal. The listing is for a million even, but I will let the Trust have it for six hundred thousand. Trouble is, they can't seem to be able to raise it right now. If they can't do it in ninety days, I'll have to take the option from the damn developer. That son-of-a-bitch calls me every week and I am getting tired of it."
" An option isn't a sale, is it?"
"No. The buyer buys a promise from me, to sell him the land in the next six months for the million dollars. He pays a hundred thousand for the option. If he can't raise the million, he forfeits the option payment. It is a good deal for me, I guess, but I just don't want him to have it. He has the million locked up, so he will be safe. The trouble is he has to get all six properties to make the deal work. That is why he is willing to pay more than the place is worth."
"What happens if you don't sell him the option?"
"He will lose his ass, lock, stock, and barrel. Since the Land Trust can't raise the money, it looks like Keystone has a sure thing. However, if he doesn't get this piece, he will lose the whole deal, including the money he paid for the options on the other five parcels. That's probably close to a million. His backers will walk away and leave him hanging."
"If I had the money, I'd help you out."
"Yah, that's what they all say." We both had another laugh and I left to take my hike. I found his reference to 'Keystone' to be interesting.
The benchmarks were a mile apart. That was, 'as the crow flies'. On the mountain, it was twice that. The first two were fairly easy to find and were standard surveyor markers. The last mark was a lot older and a lot harder to locate. When I finally zeroed in on it, I found a small, brick monument with a bronze plate fastened to it. It was buried under years of leaves and debris. I took a picture of it to post with the log. That is when my life changed. The metal detector was still on. As I walked away from the marker, it started to beep. It was faint, but it was definitely there. I put the headset on and started scanning the area about ten feet south of the benchmark. I finally zeroed in on it and carefully started to probe. You don't normally find metal in the middle of the woods
Five minutes later, I had a small iron box. It was wrapped in a heavily oiled piece of canvas. There was a lot of surface rust, but the box itself was still solid. The lock was heavy bronze but was still doing its job. Quite often, finds of this type on public lands, are considered treasure and must be turned over to the government or some historical agency. For some reason, that option did not make sense to me today.
I dropped the box in my pack and left for home.
On the drive home, I couldn't help but think about what was in my little box. Gold coins, was the first thing that came to mind. Maybe it was full of important documents from the civil war or earlier. The possibilities were limited only by the size of the container.
I cleaned off the kitchen table, got out a Foster's, and studied my find. I hated to destroy the lock, but I could not figure out how to open it otherwise. I had no idea if the mechanism inside the lock was still functional. I decided the lock would be sacrificed. My bolt cutter did a quick job of it.
Inside the box was another piece of the oiled canvas. I carefully unwrapped it, and found twelve pennies. Why would anyone go to the trouble to bury twelve pennies? They were not regular, everyday, pennies: they were old large cents. The newest date was 1814. The oldest was 1793. Despite their age, you could easily read the date on each of them. Amazingly, there was no green corrosion on them, which is common on old copper coins. I never bothered to collect large cents, because I felt I could get more for my money by buying the newer, Indian head cents. I did, however, have a book my grandfather left me, called Penny Whimsy. It was all about the different types and die varieties of large cents. I found it dull, since I didn't have any of them. It had been on the shelf collecting dust for close to thirty years. Tonight, it would get good use. I was up till sunrise with my grandfather's book and a magnifying glass. My scanner made beautiful, high definition pictures of each of the coins. Every die crack and scratch was perfectly displayed, and the condition of each coin was evident.
I slept until noon. I called work, just to check in. They told me that Phil Williams, one of the company executives was asking about me. They didn't know any more than that. I had other things on my mind, so I didn't pursue it any further.
A trip to the bank would be necessary to obtain a safety deposit box. After several hours on the Internet, I realized that my pennies were worth several million dollars. It wasn't their age exactly, but their condition and die variety. I now knew why drug dealers had to go to so much trouble to launder money. There was no easy way to turn my precious coins into hard cash. More work would be required. As I was eating breakfast at the IHOP, I noticed another picture in the paper of Marcie and Clayton at the opening of a new art gallery. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and holding a glass of wine or champagne. They were both smiling for the camera. My next step became clearer in my mind, as I looked at the picture.
After getting the safety deposit box, I called John Smerd, and asked him to hold off on making any decisions about the land for a few days. He seemed pleased with the phone call. I drove to the Land Trust office, and ask for information about how to make a donation to the organization. They were overjoyed to help me.
It would be four weeks until the divorce would be final. For some reason, I felt that this time frame was important. I spent the rest of the day researching coin dealers and auction houses. I wasn't looking for advertisements, but for litigations. I finally zeroed in on Towers and Burnes, in New York City. They had a strong financial position, and seemed to be able to handle controversial sales, with little problem and low publicity. I made an appointment with them for Monday afternoon. I called the girls and told them to keep Monday morning open so we could have lunch together.
The front of the Towers and Burnes office was a glitzy showroom. There was a lot of glass and lights. Display cases held the standard variety of collectibles and the walls were covered with other numismatic supplies. I identified myself and was led back to a far less showy section of the building.
"Welcome to New York, Mister Simmons. I understand you have a few interesting coppers to show us. Is this your first time to the city?"
I sat down in a straight back chair across the desk from James Towers. His picture was in the ads, but now he looked about ten years older. "Thank you. My daughters are both attending Columbia, so I have been here before, but never on business. I am not questioning your knowledge of coins, but do you happen to have someone on your staff that specializes in early copper coins? If so, I think their presence would be beneficial."
"I am not that sensitive and I think it would be a good idea also." He leaned toward an intercom on the desk." Marie, have Cookson come into my office please." Maurice Cookson had published several reference books on large cents and half cents. I was pleased with his availability. Mister Cookson also appeared older than his pictures. I guess nobody likes to look old.
"Gentlemen, I have twelve special coins I am offering for sale.
I hope to sell four of them today and leave a fifth one with you for your consideration. The seven other coins I am holding for later. If everything goes well today, I will offer them to you also. I know this seems unbelievable but I think that six of the coins will fall under the condition census status. I am sure Mister Cookson will determine if I am close or not. Since condition census cents do not come on the market often, I was hoping you would be interested."
"Where did these coins come from?"
"My grandfather left them to me when he died."
"I don't want to be insulting Mister Simmons, but that story is difficult to believe. What do you have to show us?"
