Tim continued. “I know people look at Treasuries as a safe haven. They must be thinking of gold in those terms too. It's scary.”
Their eyes met for just a moment. And then they turned back to their workstations, continuing to process the tsunami of incoming orders.
“Well, shit,” Tim shouted over the chaos, “this just turned into a long afternoon.”
And the orders continued to roll in even as the stock market plunged ...
Chapter 6
The buzzer sounded on Chairman Cohan's intercom. He pressed the button. “Yes, Carol?”
“Mr. Chairman, I have your 3 o'clock telephone conference arranged with President Turin and Treasury Secretary Simmons.”
“Thank you, Carol. I’ll jump right on.”
The Chairman pressed a button on his speaker phone. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
They exchanged greetings, and then got down to business.
“Gentlemen,” began the Chairman. “We have a problem that must be dealt with immediately.”
“What is that?” Tom's soft voice came across the conference bridge.
“The market for commercial paper[27] is beginning to seize up. And as you know, when commercial paper stops working, international trade grinds to a halt.”
“Is that because there's no transparency in the derivatives markets?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” the Chairman replied. “It's the same problem we've been seeing in the other markets. Only this could be a God damn catastrophe!”
“Do you have a plan?” Simmons asked.
“Maybe. I'm thinking we should step in and buy all the commercial paper that can't otherwise find a buyer. What do you think?”
“That could sure be a lot of paper.”
“Yep.”
“So, Tom?”
“Yes?”
“I'm going to need you to implement the commercial paper buying program out of the New York Fed. Can you do that?”
“Hmmm. Yes, Ethan. I'll take care of it.”
“Thanks.” The Chairman paused before continuing. “Do you have any other business?”
“Yes,” Tom's voice came over the speaker. He paused and then continued. “We're getting a lot of loan requests both domestically and from overseas.”
“And?” the Chairman asked.
“The last I looked, the total is $7 Trillion so far –”
“Don't worry about how much it is,” Ethan interrupted. “Our first priority is to make sure the banks are solvent. After all, we're the lender of last resort.” He smirked at this last statement.
“Yes,” Tom interjected, “but, shouldn't we at least keep some of these transactions off the books? After all, if anyone sees how big it is, there'll be hell to pay.”
“Hmmm. Yes, we probably should be careful not to show too big an increase in these loans; or the money supply, for that matter.” Significant pause. “Tell you what. Let's loan out half of these with zero interest and an infinite term for repayment – and we'll keep these loans off the books.”
“Wow,” Tom chimed in. “Since they never have to repay it, that's trillions of dollars in free money.”
“That's true,” Ethan replied. “But the banks need it.”
The conversation paused for a moment. And then Ethan said, “Any objections? Any thoughts?”
“No. That sounds good to me.”
“Sounds good to me too.”
“Okay,” Ethan picked back up. “Are there any other things we need to discuss?”
The conference bridge remained silent.
Ethan continued. “Okay. You gentlemen have a great day.”
“And you too Ethan.”
“Ditto.”
Chapter 7
The room was typical of capitol hill conference rooms. Large, expansive, high ceilings, tall entrance doors and walls; and all paneled and trimmed in expensive hardwoods. But despite the size of the room, the air was suffocating and stale – stale because the room was full, and suffocating because of the fear and loathing emanating from the audience.
The Secretary of the Treasury was speaking, and his voice was grim. “... and if you don't vote for this ... if you don't vote for the funding to take these toxic assets off the banks' balance sheets, the banks will fail. And if the banks fail, the economy will collapse and the stock market will crash.”
Secretary Simmons paused to let the import of his declaration sink in. “Do you want to explain to your constituents why you caused their retirement funds to disintegrate?” He smirked, and then he said “I sure wouldn't want to be in your position if that happens!”
To give even more emphasis to his words, he turned and faced away from his audience – an audience composed of Congressmen and Senators.
Mark Shannon watched from his seat in the back of the room. But he could only see the Secretary's back, his medium portly frame, and his curly gray locks. His face was now hidden from view.
Mark looked on with a curious anticipation, for there was much that Mark didn't know. He didn't know what the Secretary was thinking, nor that at that moment he was wearing a gleeful smile. Nor did Mark know the Secretary's intentions – to extract nearly a trillion dollars from the American people and give it to the bankers. No – Mark believed that the Secretary was an honorable man, and that his intention was to help the American people by saving the economy. Mark was naive.
Mark gazed around the room, listening to the whispering. He noticed that the murmuring among the audience increased as the Secretary faced the wall.
Turning again to confront his audience, the Secretary went on. “Ladies and gentlemen. This legislation is vital to the health of our country and the health of the government.” He picked up the draft pages of the bill and waved them in front of his audience. “Damn it,” he slammed the paper down on the table to further emphasize his words. “Let me be perfectly clear, ladies and gentlemen. If you do not pass this bill, we will see martial law in America.”
At hearing those words, Mark was stunned. He felt confused and angry as he looked around, noting that the other people were equally stunned. Here, the Secretary was literally talking about changes in America – extreme changes. Martial law. Soldiers patrolling the streets, searching homes, confiscating weapons and money and food. The ramifications – the loss of freedom – were beyond Mark's ability to imagine!
Mark's thoughts flashed back to his tape recording a few months ago. He is saying the very same things they announced in the closed session of Congress – the very same things I heard on the tape!
As he listened, Mark was watching the others in the room – absorbing the words and their meaning. Mark was feeling cold – chilled. The Secretary was not just talking, he was threatening these representatives and senators – he was threatening them with martial law, with economic collapse, with a stock market collapse. As though he, the Secretary, had the power to cause this!
* * *
Depressed, Mark was walking through a Rayburn Office Building hallway when he spied Sheryl walking ahead of him. He began to run toward her as he shouted, “Hey Sheryl, I've gotta tell you about some stuff I heard today!”
Sheryl was hitting a good pace as she strode along the hall. She glanced over her shoulder and looked at Mark as she walked. “If it's anything like that tape recording, then you can keep it to yourself, Mark Shannon!” Sheryl quickened her pace as she almost ran down the hallway, running away from Mark.
“Aw c'mon, Sheryl. You've gotta hear this!” He said as he kept pace almost stride for stride.
“No, I don't!” Sheryl shouted as she continued walking.
Mark stopped in disappointment; and then ran, catching up to her again. He put his hand on her shoulder. “C'mon, Sheryl. This is important!”
Sheryl stopped in mid stride. She turned, and looked into Mark's eyes. “Okay, okay,” her arms gestured toward him, “Tell me! Tell me what’s so damn important!”
Mark fidgeted, as though he had second thoughts about telling her. And then he began talking ...
“I was in the Congressional meeting today. You know, the meeting with Treasury Secretary Simmons?”
“Uh huh!” Sheryl turned her head away as he spoke.
“And – and Simmons threatened to impose martial law unless Congress passed the bank bailout legislation.”
Sheryl's eyes widened. “Nooooo! You've got to be shittin' me! Simmons? Treasury Secretary Simmons?”
“So help me God!” Mark held up his right hand as though he were swearing on a Bible.
Sheryl paused in thought.
And then she crossed her arms and glared at him. “You're lying to me, Mark.”
“No I'm not!” Mark declared. “Sheryl – I ain't lying!”
Sheryl pursed her lips. “You are so gullible, Mark. You'll believe anything that anyone says.”
“But, but – this really happened!”
“Bullshit,” Sheryl spat back at him as she began walking again. “You're full of shit!”
“Sheryl ...” Mark stood in the hall with his mouth open, watching her walk away.
* * *
Mr. Speaker, my message to the American People: don't let Congress seal this Wall Street deal. High financial crimes have been committed. Now Congress is being asked to bail out the culprits, and to do so at the expense of those who elected us to guard their interests – the people of our country. The normal legislative process that should accompany the review of a monumental proposal to bail out Wall Street has been shelved. Yes, shelved. Only a few insiders are doing the dealing. Sounds like insider trading to me.
These criminals have so much political power they can shutdown the normal legislative process of the highest lawmaking body in this land. All the committees that should be scanning every word of what is being negotiated are benched. And that means the American People are benched too.
We are constitutionally sworn to protect and defend this Republic against all enemies – foreign and domestic. And my friends, there are enemies. We are told we will have a bill – a trillion dollar bill - to review soon, and have less than twenty-four hours with no regular hearings to try to vote on this – TAR BABY.
The people pushing this deal are the very same ones who are responsible for the implosion on Wall Street. They were fraudulent then; and they're fraudulent now. We should say 'no' to this deal. I ask my colleagues to join us at 2 o'clock in HCA to the Capitol to meet with some real experts who’ve done financial resolutions without putting the burden on the taxpayer. Please join us. HCA at 2p.m.
- - - Speech on the House floor by Marcy Kaptur – September 28, 2008.
* * *
... the only way they can pass this bill, is by creating and sustaining a panic atmosphere. That atmosphere is not justified. Many of us were told in private conversations, that if we voted against this bill – on Monday – that, the sky would fall, the market would drop two or three thousand points the first day, another couple thousand (points) the second day. And a few members were even told, that there would be martial law in America if we voted 'no'. That's what I call fear mongering. Unjustified. Proven wrong. We've got a week – we've got two weeks – to write a good bill. The only way to write, to pass a bad bill – (is to) keep the panic pressure on.[28]
- - - Representative Brad Sherman; D- California; 27th district
* * *
Sheryl was heading toward her Senator's office when she spied Mark walking toward her in the hall. Damn, she thought, I don't ever want to see him again! She tried walking to the side of the hall with her head down, but she knew she was unsuccessful when she heard Mark shout.
“Hey Sheryl! Did you hear Brad Sherman's speech?”
“Oh. Hi Mark.” She manufactured a smile. “How are you?”
“Okay.” Mark said with a somewhat breathless pant. “I'm okay. How are you doing?”
And then their eyes connected. “I've missed you,” he said.
She looked down. “I know. I've missed you too.”
They smiled, Sheryl continued looking at the floor.
“How are you doing? Really?” Mark asked.
Sheryl shrugged her shoulders. “Oh – okay, I guess.
“Are you sure?”
She looked into his eyes. “No, er – no, Mark. I'm not sure. And I'm not okay!”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I'm scared,” she cried. She suddenly put her arms around him and held him close. Crying into his shoulder, she pressed her tall willowy form against him.
Mark embraced her, holding her close and comforting her with his steady, strong manner. Then she felt love move between them, and her weeping subsided.
She looked into his eyes.
“Yes?” Mark prompted.
Sheryl wiped away the tears with her hands and regained some of her composure. “Did you happen to hear Brad Sherman's speech?”
Mark nodded and said, “Yeah, I heard it.”
Sheryl took a deep breath. “He backed up your claim about martial law. He said that some members of Congress have been threatened. They were told that if Congress doesn't pass the bailout bill, there'll be martial law in America.”
“Okay,” Mark replied. “So, he confirms what I heard. What about it?”
“Don't you see it?” Sheryl tugged back and forth on his coat as her wet eyes penetrated his. “Don't you see? Our world – our world is crumbling around us!”
“I know,” Mark was disarmed. “I've been watching and thinking about it – but I don't know what to do. And so, I've been ignoring it.”
“You too?”
“Yeah – me too,” Mark’s expression spread into a sheepish grin.
“Oh. Please hold me.” Sheryl hugged Mark close and laid her head on his chest. Mark didn't know what to do at first. But then he put his arms around her and held her close, and their feelings merged as one.
And for the two of them, there was no one else around. They did not see the people passing in the hall; nor did they hear the small talk, or the jostling, or the joking, or the laughter.
They only heard each other.
Sheryl finally looked up into Mark's eyes. “Will you please take me home? I can't stay here anymore. Not today.”
“I can't stay, either. Let's go,” Mark replied.
* * *
Sheryl flipped the eggs with a spatula and then looked over at the toast sticking out of the toaster. “Would you butter those? Please?” She said, gesturing toward the toaster.
“Sure.” Mark grabbed a knife and began buttering the toast. “I hate when the butter is just out of the refrigerator – it's so hard!”
“I know,” she said, looking at the toast. She turned back to the skillet, giving the eggs one more flip and then splitting them between the two dishes. She turned the burner off and put the skillet back on the stove.
“I like Saturdays,” Mark said. “I can get up and have breakfast with you. No rushing around.”
“I sure am glad we decided to move in together.” Sheryl replied.
“Yeah, me too. It helps with the bills.” Mark joked.
Sheryl's face turned red as she glared at him. “Damn you!” She grabbed the dishtowel from her shoulder and took a swipe at him. “Is that all I mean to you?”
“Hey. Hey.” Mark backed off from the towel.
“Well? Is that all I mean to you?”
Mark drew her close and smiled. He looked into her eyes and said, “Well, you're a great lay.”
Sheryl hit him on the chest and pushed herself away. “Damn you, Mark! What a shitty thing to say!”
“Okay. Okay. I'm sorry.” Mark offered. He stepped over to her and held her. “I love you Sheryl.”
Sheryl looked into his eyes and held him close. “And I love you,” she said as she smiled up at him. Then her passion flowed out and washed over them, and their lips joined in a long, deep kiss.
They finally let go of each other, and then Sheryl looked down at the plates. “Hey. We better eat this or it's gonna get cold!”
Chapter 8
Bo c
rouched ... watching and waiting as the mouse weaved its way around the trash cans. The mouse cast a shadow from the street light, and then the shadow dissolved into the darkness as the mouse moved out of range. Bo stayed in his crouch, his tail switching back and forth with excitement – taking on a life of its own.
And then Bo was distracted as a car and truck pulled in across the street. Bo crouched down in hiding, noting that the truck had a rearward protrusion with a hanging hook. He watched as a man stepped out of the car – he had a metal object attached to his waist. And then a second man stepped out of the truck. The second man walked up to the first, and Bo heard voices as they began talking.
Bo was perplexed. It was dark – and seldom was there activity after dark. And so, Bo was curious.
But with all his curiosity, there was much that Bo didn't know. Bo couldn’t know that the man with the strange clothing and the object hanging from his waist was actually a police officer. Nor could Bo know that the truck – a really big truck with a hook hanging from it – was actually a tow truck. Bo had seen many strange things, but nothing quite like this.
Bo watched as the truck driver backed the tow truck up to the truck parked in the driveway. He watched as the driver got out of his truck, grabbed the hook, and began making a clanging noise underneath the parked truck. And then, the hook and the trucks began making a noise – a loud noise. The kind of noise that might have sent Bo running. But tonight, Bo crouched down in the shadows and watched. His curiosity had the best of him.
And then Bo saw lights come on in the house – the house where the truck was parked. First, the lights were upstairs; and then they were downstairs. At about the same moment the police officer moved toward the front door. Bo watched as the front door opened and a man stepped out.
He could hear the man and the police officer talking, and then yelling. Although Bo had no knowledge of what was said, he could see the aura of the man – it read anger. And he could see the aura of the police officer – it read fear. As the police officer rested his hand on the object at his waist, his aura of fear seemed to recede.
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