Page 90 of Booked for Theft

I sighed. “Please tell me.”

“Before the purge, the Library of Congress had over fifty million books, with a total of well over two hundred million items total, including smaller publications,” Bradley’s mother informed me, and she grimaced. “At the time of the purge, there were just over five thousand eligible employees working for the Library of Congress, all of whom were allowed to take out one box of books per day for three weeks. We managed to get the janitors, electrical staff, and so on also included on the roster of those allowed to take titles. On average, we pulled out fifty books per person, per box every day for three weeks. We rescued five and a half million books, all of them old, rare, or banned when the AD calendar had been in use. That worked out to be roughly half the collection of books slated for destruction, and we don’t know what happened to the rest. I assume the government burned them.”

Bradley’s mother owned five and a half million books, all of which were over four hundred years old? “We’ve lost so much.”

She nodded. “We have. We saved the entirety of the rare and antique book collection, so it’s not all lost. I even got special permission to take out the entirety of the antique musical manuscripts that were going to be axed, citing how much my son loves classical music.” She turned her attention to Bradley. “We’ll go to the warehouse storing those, and you can bring a few home to join your new pieces. We didn’t tell you it existed because part of the agreement regarding the collection was silence on its removal. We could either be silent or we could watch everything be destroyed. We opted to remain silent. By law, the gag order had to be dated. The gag order expired on the first of this year. That gag order included gifting the books to anyone. We’ll still remain quiet about what happened to the Library of Congress until you’re elected and inaugurated, should that happen. Once you are able to safeguard the books, most of them will be returned to the library. I will be keeping my favorites, and I suggest that you do as well—but we will have copies made of those books so everyone can enjoy them.”

“What about the more modern books?”

Bradley’s mother smiled, retrieved her purse, and dug out a small box, which she held up. “The rules were a box per person per day, Janette. There were no rules on format. I have the entire digital record of the Library of Congress before the purge, and I’ve made numerous copies of it. Every single digital book to enter the Library of Congress from the beginning of the digital archive record to the purge are held on these memory chips. Every single book that was officially copyrighted in the United States has either a paper manuscript or a digital record, and this box contains every digital record. We’ve lost a great deal less than you think, and restoring these to where they belong will be quite simple once we can. But one day, I will see these books returned to the public where they belong. Knowledge should not be destroyed simply because someone doesn’t like what they hear.”

I marveled at the lengths Bradley’s mother had gone to contain a priceless collection of books the government had wanted to see destroyed. “Do any politicians know what you’ve done?”

“There are a few of them, yes. You’ve even met with some of them recently.”

I frowned, went to my office, and found the address with the warehouse. “Mr. Hampton, you can check warehouse addresses as part of your security work without drawing attention, can’t you?”

“I can. It’s routine for me. I’m checking into rival warehouses all the time.”

I gave him the slip of paper. “Please see if you can find anything out about this address.”

He took it, got out his phone, and tapped at the screen. After a few moments, his eyes widened. “Oh.”

I frowned. “What is that reaction about?”

“My company actually monitors that warehouse. It was one of the first contracts I secured during my initial expansion, acquired when I bought out a different security firm. The contract expires on the date listed on this paper, which is why you’re on a deadline. The contract holder indicated they would be dropping the contract last year, far ahead of the contracted terms. We actually gave them a better rate for having the courtesy of notifying us more than a year in advance.”

“Do you know what it contains?”

“That’s a good question.” Mr. Hampton dialed a number, put the phone to his ear, and after a few moments, stated, “I need an overview of the contents of a warehouse. The contract will be expiring in October, and we may be responsible for helping the owners empty the building; it’s one of ours.” After another pause, he gave the contract number and address for the warehouse.

The minutes dragged on, and I clasped my hands in front of me so I wouldn’t fidget while waiting.

“Excellent, thank you. Please indicate to the owner of the contract that we are willing to handle everything in the building if they wish to do an abandonment; as they’ve been an excellent customer, we will waive the fees. Do not use the words removal, disposal, or destruction; the contract terms allow us to keep, reuse, and restore anything found in the warehouse upon abandonment, and I’d prefer if we did not remind them of that. Thank you. Call me when you find out either way.” He hung up, smiling. “Janette, we’re going on a road trip, where I will set you loose in every used bookstore I can find and you can pick one or two titles each for that. Whomever gave you that note adores you and loves libraries.”

“Yes, he does,” I confirmed. “What is in that warehouse?”

“Many, many boxes of books, and they’re owned by the United States.”

“There is no way that warehouse contains the rest of the purged books,” I blurted.

“Why else would a politician give you a scrap of paper with the address that happens to have the exact date the storage contract ends, Janette? You love books, and you have my son, who also loves books and didn’t become a librarian because he realized someone in the family has to be skilled at making money so the librarians can joyfully spend money on books.”

“And fast cars, because my librarian came with terrifyingly expensive taste in cars,” Bradley added. “But he’s telling the truth. I thought about becoming a librarian, but he reminded me that librarians have no need for contracts like yours, so I would have to settle with becoming a wealthy and handsome heir instead. But there’s no reason I can’t learn how to be a librarian now.”

I stared at him with wide eyes. “You want to be a librarian?”

“I would never get hired as a librarian because, unlike you, I can’t handle being around books responsibly.”

My boss eyed my fiancé with interest. “If you want to be a librarian, and you can learn some restraint, for some reason, we have a lot of money that needs to be managed. You can join Meridian in helping to manage the library’s finances and investments. It’s legitimate work we need done. We’ve been seeing excellent results with Mickey and Beatrice working together, so I’ll just use them as an example when suggesting we should hire you to handle our more complicated fiscal matters—and the politicians who come to us researching budgeting matters would love a chance to consult with you. It’s a good idea. It doesn’t pay well, but do you need us to pay you well?”

“Not at all, especially if I’m a part-timer. Do you do part-timers?” Bradley asked.

“I won’t have a problem getting you in as a part-timer, especially if you start pursuing a library science degree.”

“I want a library science degree,” I whined.

“So get one,” my boss replied. “Evening courses are a real thing, and I’m sure you can gain admittance to any school with online education that you want. But I warn you, library science degrees delve into the dark world of political sciences.”