Few months later a timid scraggly-looking man in worn out sleeves and flip-flops tucked behind a car as he peeped at the engineers at the site.
For over five days now the site engineers I hired to demolish Hoffers Food had busied themselves with crushing the restaurant to mere sand so as to reconstruct it to a perfect reserved dumping ground for my people, the Rio Hondos.
The scraggly-looking man was still star struck at the sight of his restaurant being demolished. The man was none other than Hoffers Greenfield and he was disappointed to see the group of engineers’ turn his restaurant into a waste dumping site for Rio Hondo. His feeble knees trembled under his weight as his face shone with balls of sweat.
He was quietly behind the car and swore hugely under his breath. Frustration churned his stomach as he struggled to look away now but couldn’t. Right now he confirmed my words when I promised him I was going to turn his restaurant to a dumping ground.
With his gaze raised at the wooly sky above, Hoffers boiled with scorn and mumbled with himself; he couldn’t believe a restaurant that cost him fortune and years to build was being demolished to sand only for the land to be used as a dumping ground.
“Oh Mike Don…no…!” he wailed through gnashing of teeth, before his gaze settled on the credit card which seemed to be part of him now. Right now all he knew about the card was; cash withdrawal in fifty years.
“This is the height-of wickedness! Mike Don! Brian Patrick.” He stroked his hair confusedly and wept into his shrieking palms. In a moment the vanity of this world flashed in his eyes as the caterpillar pulled down the structures bit by bit until no meaningful structure could be found anywhere around
His gaze was still raised up as he sounded at the tops of his voce, “my life time investment! My restaurant!...” he pointed trembling hands at the busy site engineers. When he dared to speak, heavy sobbing stole away his voice and left him gaping. “If…If…only I could turn back the hands of time to when I should have helped him, I never expected this day would come… oh Brian Patrick…”
Hoffers Greenfield wailed on.
***
When the minister got a memo from Mr. President to organize a frown where they could gather and brainstorm over possible means of generating money to invest in the crashing economy , the minister counted it as futile.
“Greetings, Mr. President,” the minister greeted slightly stooping his neck before meeting his worrisome guess.
Mr. President rose to his feet , towering over the minister. He almost thundered, “I got your reply, honorable minister. What do you mean by futile. Do you like the snail-like movement this economy is going, huh?”
The minister’s jaw sagged before he forced a grin on his face and tendered, “Apologies, Mr. President, but I would fain want you to hear me out.” Noticing that Mr. President had lost interest by throwing his gaze on the set of picture on the wall, he enunciated, “the forum would be futile because it will still end on the same dialogue?”
He spurned his neck flashed his albino face at him, “What dialogue could be more than reviving the crashing economy. What dialogue do you speak of huh?” his blue eyes rolled effortlessly before he snorted.
“Borrowing money from Asian countries. I know countless of them that still have opened doors for us should we be in need of loan…I…”
He kept shut once Mr. President raised his hands at him and barged his thunderous face at him. “If this is what you call dialogue, then you have to rethink because I am not going to source for loan in Asian countries while we have the world richest man…”
The minister’s throat clogged in disappointment, “Apologies Mr. president for interrupting you.”
Mr. President narrowed his gaze at his offender before turning his broad back at him to appreciate the ocean view.
“Believe me when I say the Asian country would be our saving grace than Mike Don,” his voice clamored, “I have been in touch…”
“Honorable minister!” the president interrupted him with his deep voice as his gaze was still at the ocean view. “Tell me one pertinent reason we shouldn’t take loan from our own, mogul, the world richest man himself. Just tell me.”
Suddenly his gaze lifted. “It would only make him richer. Can’t you see?”
Mr. President raised a calloused brow, “What do you mean, honorable? Isn’t he rich already? Have you considered his net worth? Why do you sound impossible at this crucial time?”
The minister sucked a deep breath, drifted to the sofa and sat down impatiently as though he wanted Mr. President to do same.
“That rich kid has made enough money through our oil well which he explored to his satisfaction. It would be unwise to run to him when we could extend our needs to richer Asian countries. Mike Don…”
Enough!” Mr. President interposed, “Mike Don is worth five hundred trillion dollars today and here we are brooding over fifty trillion.” His callous, coarse voice sounded massively as usual, “Have you forgotten we accessed loan from those Asian countries you just mentioned and we nearly lost our economy to them?”
Mr. President swore under his breath and gave repeated nodding, “Listen up dear, Mike Don is honored all over the world. I had to pinch myself during the last leaders’ meeting in New York, where one of the presidents of a country enlisted Mike Don as the first VIP to consult on loan matters. It is disheartening we don’t appreciate what we have; of course it owes to the maxim, a prophet is known in his country…”
“But Mr. President…”
“Honorable minister listen to me,” Mr. President interrupted him, “Listen let me educate you. We are going to access fifty trillion dollars loan from the world richest man, because he is our god of wealth and we can’t do without him…”
A shocker was about to happen…