IS YOUR MONEY DOING
ENOUGH FOR YOU?

the front cover asked in screaming type.

The inside panel pointed out the woes of people living on fixed incomes.

“Are your savings in certificates of deposit? Maybe your banker or your broker told you that was the best place for your money now that you’re past retirement age. No risk, they probably told you. But no return, either. Your banker may think because you’re past retirement you don’t deserve the same investments younger folks get. But those CDs he sold you aren’t going to grow fast enough to cover the cost of expensive nursing care if you need it. Or to take you on that dream vacation if you want it. What you need is risk-free money that provides great returns.”

A photo of an old woman in a derelict nursing home bed stared grimly from the left panel, while an elderly couple with golf clubs gazed raptly at the ocean on the right.

“Just as safe as federally insured funds,” the copy trumpeted. “U.S. Metropolitan can provide you with investments that pay up to 17 percent—and leave your worries behind.”

“Just as safe as federally insured funds,” I repeated aloud. “An unsecured bond that isn’t paying jackshit and is trading at nineteen dollars on the hundred.”

The bitterness in my voice startled Mrs. Tertz, who snatched the flyer from me. “If you’re going to be angry about it I just can’t let you look at it; it wouldn’t be fair to Chrissie.”

I tried to smile, but I could feel my mouth twist sideways. “Chrissie may have meant it for the best, but she wasn’t very fair to Mrs. Frizell. I do hope not too many of you on the block here bought investments from her or Vinnie. Otherwise the two of them are going to own most of the street before long.”

She bit her lips uncomfortably, but told me she thought it was time for me to go. As she shepherded me rapidly through the house to the front door, I could hear her bemoaning the mistake she’d made under her breath. I think she was talking more about letting me into the house than about buying junk bonds. At least I hoped so.

The heat had lifted somewhat by the time I got outside, but my blouse still grew wet across the neck and armpits during the short walk to my own building. The perfect appeal to a recluse with a chip on her shoulder—your banker is cheating you just because you’re old. And your new investment is just as safe as federally insured funds.