The Art of Making Money - Jason Kersten [103]
ART WAS COMPLETELY UNAWARE that his father and Anice had given money to the Shanigans. He made arrangements to get back to Alaska, this time enlisting Natalie’s brother in the same ticket-switch scheme that had allowed him to anonymously book flights twice already that summer. He caught a flight north from Dallas-Fort Worth, and in keeping with his policy of revealing his movements to as few people as possible, he did not tell his father he was returning. Instead, he waited until he was back at Chrissy’s house in Anchorage before calling him. When they finally talked, Senior made no mention of counterfeiting and Art was relieved.
Natalie was still on the warpath when he arrived. She’d lost thirty pounds in water since giving birth to Andrea, and was infuriated that Art hadn’t returned earlier with Wensdae and Senior. Wensdae had already gone back to Chicago, but the sisters-in-law had gotten into some petty squabbles—one more stress that Natalie blamed squarely on Art. But once she calmed down, she took Art into the back bedroom. She had a surprise for him.
While Art had been road-tripping, Natalie had been hunched over a laptop, polishing up scans for the new fifty-dollar note. She’d gone ahead and assembled a few dozen prototypes, and Art was speechless when he saw them. “They were just perfect,” he says. “The best bill we’d ever made. After she put on the finishing touches, it just sparkled. The lines, the color . . . I could have a spent a million of those.”
He almost regretted that he wouldn’t be staying in Alaska to make more of them with his father. The next day, he drove up to Chickaloon to inform Senior of his decision. But his dad was in a good mood when he arrived, and Art didn’t have the heart to bring it up right away. Thinking a scenic drive might help relax them both, he suggested his dad hop in the Trans Am. As they drove along the Matanuska, Senior updated Art about their plans. All the equipment had arrived. Most of it was in storage, but now that Art was there they could set it up in the coach house. Senior had also reached out to Terry Cartwall, and the Angels were ready to receive money as soon as possible.
“They want a million dollars. How long do you think it will take to print that much?” he asked his son.
Art was dumbstruck. In his own head for much of the last week, he’d forgotten—or, more accurately, denied—that from Senior’s perspective everything was going according to plan. And the optimism in his father’s voice was infectious. Art could see the new fifties rolling out en masse—the foundation for his own homestead, a reason to stay. But given his production process, the amount of money his dad was talking about was almost unfathomable.
“A million dollars would take months,” he replied.
“Well, we can break it up into several runs,” Senior went on, unfazed. “And you’re gonna love this, my friend Jim Shanigan has a float plane, and we can use it to pass or make money wherever we want. He knows the backcountry like you wouldn’t believe. He says he can set us up on an island in a lake he knows where nobody would find us, real remote shit where nobody goes.”
And that’s how Art learned that his father had broken his promise.
“Shanigan knows about the counterfeit?”
“This guy can help us,” Senior said, and continued to extol how valuable and trustworthy Jim was, how he and Anice had given Vicki and Jim money to pass, and how the couple was poised to receive a vast fortune from South Africa.
Art exploded. Once he learned that strangers were passing his money in Alaska, every fear that he’d been harboring about partnering with his dad came true. He pulled over to the side of the road and demanded that his father get out. He told Senior that he had made