Gold Page #4

Stanton looks him in the eye. A beat.

STANTON:

Not our money.

He closes the documents with an air of finality.

STANTON (CONT’D)

We can’t help you, Mr. Wells.

WELLS:

These are jackpot, gentlemen. You

back away from these - these are

career changing opportunities.

Stanton rises from his chair.

STANTON:

If you’ll excuse us.

WELLS:

I want to talk to Clive!

Wells stands, his already red face flushing, every broken

capillary showing like battle scars.

WELLS (CONT’D)

My father put Clive Coleman on the

map. He built this goddamn bank!

STANTON:

You are not your father, Mr. Wells.

Like a dagger. Wells stands stunned by the statement.

STANTON (CONT’D)

Bring us something we can sell and

we’ll talk.

WELLS:

These are good properties.

STANTON:

They’re crap, Wells. Played out handme-

downs. I’d be embarrassed to even

talk to my clients about them.

Andrews...

Stanton slides the documents across the table at Wells.

10.

STANTON (CONT’D)

Is there anything else?

Wells gathers up his papers.

WELLS:

Yeah. Go f*** yourself.

He grabs his bag and walks out with as much dignity as he

can muster.

Stanton watches him go. He knows he did his job, he kicked

Wells's ass, but it doesn’t mean he has to feel good about it.

There but by the grace of God... Andrews, on the other hand,

is smiling, misreading his boss.

ANDREWS:

Not even noon and the guy reeks like a

still.

STANTON:

Shut up, Andrews.

EXT./INT. WELLS'S CAR - CONTINUOUS

Wells on the street. Tracking with him. Walk of shame. Door

slams. Leans back in his car seat. Trembling.

WELLS (V.O)

That had to be the worst day of my

life.

WE PULL IN CLOSE on Wells's face, panic rising in his eyes...

DISSOLVE TO:

AN AMBER STREAM OF SEAGRAMS splashing over a tumbler of ice.

WELLS (V.O) (CONT’D)

I’d lost my house and was living at

Kay’s. We were pretty close to losing

that, too.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL WE ARE...

EXT. RENO NEIGHBORHOOD - DUSK

A street of small tract homes. A nice little neighborhood

forty years ago, now it feels a lot like the people who live

here -- tired and in need of attention. It’s getting dark,

that moment the night and soul closes in.

11.

INT. KAY’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - EVENING

The place is small and reflects a woman’s touch, just the

slightest bit girly. Everything worn, humble, but maintained.

On the counter, we see a mess of BILLS, mostly RED NOTICES --

Phone. Electric. Gas. Car. Wells sits on the edge of the sofa,

talking on the phone, pitching for his very life.

WELLS:

...we’re looking at yields in the high

six figures... Yes, that’s right.

Kenny Wells. Washoe Mining. I spoke to

your wife last week.

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