by Ben Bequer
“Come on,” he said, “You’re going to love this.”
We passed a private office that looked like flight control at NASA, with more monitors than a dozen people would need, and entered a study that felt odd and out of place with all the rest of the decorations in the apartment. It was stodgy and dark, with no windows and walls lined with wooden bookcases filled with all manner of relics and tomes. I felt like I was in the wizard’s sanctum of a magic tower. There was a wooden desk that was more organized than I would have given Chase credit for, a sitting area with two facing couches split by a marble table that would have been at home in a French king’s court. I’m sure Chase could have gone on for ten minutes about who made it and how he’d found it, ignored somewhere, for a fraction of its value. I’d wager the coffee table was worth a few million dollars if it was genuine, and there was no reason to doubt it wasn’t. If the kid was worth tens of billions, the table was the real deal.
Despite the gloom, there was a splash of color here and there. The couches were light green, and the chairs at the desk, as well as the big one behind it, were ivory leather. He motioned me to one of the chairs and went to a small bar adjacent to the desk, pouring us both a drink. He handed me a sifter with two fingers worth of a whiskey that smelled like it must’ve cost $300 a bottle. He took a long swig and let it linger in his mouth, letting me know that he knew how to drink whiskey. I did the same and was suddenly taken back by the nostalgic flavor of the drink. I’d had this stuff before.
“Hankey Bannister,” I said, and as I did, I recalled the last time I drank it: in a limo with Retcon’s daughter when we first met.
“You know it?”
I nodded, wondering if there was such a thing as déjà vu in reverse. Chase saw my facial expression and sat on the desk in front of me. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, swirling his remaining whiskey. “What the hell am I doing here, with this guy? Why do I need his help? Why do I even want to trust him? Don’t say anything, I can see it in your face. Well, I don’t blame you, I was chief of staff to Senator Ashbourne, friends with Barry…I can see how you’d feel like I’m not worth trusting.”
I said nothing, taking a sip.
“Well, I’m going to tell you a story, and then, hopefully, you’ll understand. If, at the end of it, you still feel like this is all funny, then have the meal and shake my hand and we’ll leave it at that. What do you say?”
I shrugged.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said and drained his glass. “Anyway, back in school – seventh grade to be exact – there was an accident. It was winter and there was this pond that we’d all lace up our skates and play hockey on. The pond wasn’t very deep, about to your waist at the deepest. So one day I’m out there with my friend Arick. Arick’s an exchange student from Iceland. The kid can play hockey like you can’t imagine. Thirteen years old and you could already tell that he had a future in the sport. He had size, speed, reflexes – the whole package. So we’re out there, just hitting it back and forth and the ice breaks. It’s the weirdest thing because we’re in the middle of January, we just got back from winter break. The ice should be four, maybe five inches thick. There’s no way it should break. But it does, and he slides into the water.”
Chase paused and went to the bottle of Hankey, studying it as he continued. “He went under in an instant, and I was paralyzed. Some of the boys heard his screams and ran over from the fields but I couldn’t do anything.”
He smelled the bottle as if debating whether to pour himself another glass. “Later I found out that when you hit water as cold as Arick did, you go into almost instant shock, and in that state, you’re so disoriented and impaired that you go straight under. And like that –“ he snapped his fingers. “He was gone. Now, the real danger in these situations is the water flow, it carries you away from the hole and that’s how you drown. Well, this pond was tiny, there wasn’t any flow, but by the time the other boys got to him, he’d slipped under the thick ice again as if there was a flow. The other boys tried to pull him out, they pounded on the glass, but they couldn’t get to Arick. Anyway, whatever it was that was pulling him, brought him right under me. One of the kids took the hockey stick from me and tried to break a hole, but the ice was too strong.”
He finally poured the glass, another two fingers worth. “Anyway, he died right there, his eyes staring at me, dumbfounded. The point of the story is that in the days that followed, some people blamed me for Arick’s death. I had nothing to do with it, of course, but people needed someone to blame, it made it easier to manage their grief. I had to live with that stigma until I left school and went to Harvard, and it wasn’t easy – Arick was a popular boy.”
I noticed a dartboard against one of the walls and he went over, grabbing some of the darts. “I suppose if you were to throw one of these,” he said, easily tossing a dart into the 20 slot. “You’d put a hole in the side of the building.”
He handed me the dart. I tossed it into some random slot without any of the skill he’d displayed. “Give me a bow and arrow and then we’re talking.”
“I bet,” he said.
His wife’s voice came over an intercom. “Gray, dear. Lunch is ready.”
“We’ll be right there, darling.”
He tossed the last dart, nailing another 20. “Anyway, If you ever wonder what my motivations are, I want you to know that I know what you’re going through, and more importantly, I empathize. But I want you to make up your own mind. Deal?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“It’s all I ask for,” he said. “Come on, Helena and Carlos do the most amazing fish tacos.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Graydon Chase
Lunch was a sight to behold. In addition to being great cooks, Helena and Carlos also had an eye for presentation. They spread out the add-ons and toppings in small white bowls, arranged as if it was art and not food. As we arrived, Jamilah made a big deal of explaining to us how everything was made by hand, from the guacamole to the tortillas. Indeed, Carlos was still in the process of frying them on the pan, flipping a hot one on the stack as soon as it was done.
We ate right there, in the kitchen, standing around the center island without much of a fuss, and it was a messy affair. I like my tacos loaded so I ended up with quite a bit of salsa and mole on my shirt, and I was glad to see I wasn't the only one. Jamilah was the only one whose clothes remained untouched. The other interesting thing was that Carlos and Helena ate with us, even as they cooked on the other side of the kitchen. It was odd that people as wealthy as Graydon and Jamilah would regard their staff so well.
No one spoke as we devoured the delicious tacos, washing them down with a dark malt Modelo Negra beer. I was on my fifth taco and third Modelo Negra when Chase looked towards the kitchen. "Carlos," he said, wiping his mouth, while he still chewed. "Were you able to find them?"
Whatever he was talking about, it took Carlos a second to recall - he was deep into a thick taco. "Oh, yes," he said, putting the half-eaten beast down and wiping his hands. He went into a side cabinet and came back with a small shopping bag from L.L Bean, and handed it to Chase.
From the bag, he pulled two Rubik's cubes still in their packaging. Chase tore them out of their boxes, scrambled each one and placed them on the marble countertop. "Okay," he said. "I know Jeff asked me to advise you and whatnot, and that's all fine, but I want something in return."
"Gray, darling..." Jamilah said in a chiding tone.
"No, no, this isn't like that. This is going to be fun. I'll advise you all you want, Dale. Whatever you need. But I have to see you do your trick."
Madelyne looked at me curiously, as if she didn't know, but I didn't hesitate. I cleaned my hands, picked them up and studied each for a few seconds. Without prompting, Chase pulled out his phone and swapped to the stopwatch feature. "Say when."
One of the cubes was trickier than the other so I put that one in my right hand, with the easier one in my left. "Okay, ready."
Chase had a
big smile on his face, then he remembered something. "Oh, wait. I need to film this."
"Darling..."
"Don't film it?" he said, looking around for approval.
"Let's just see what he does," Apogee said.
"That's fine," Chase said, slightly downcast. "But later on I want to do it again, on camera. Okay?" I nodded in approval. "Okay. On your marks, get set, go!"
I started the cubes a split second early, but there was no timing mat to work with, nor a judge to call foul. The trick to doing two cubes at once was to watch them both at once, using peripheral vision - and I had great vision. My large hands made manipulating the cubes easy. I finished the left first, then the right a second after and slammed them both on the table. "Time!"
Chase didn't respond at first, his eyes wide. "Two seconds off the world's record."
"Are you serious?" Apogee said, genuinely surprised.
"Imagine how fast you'd do it," I told her. "If they had a supers-only tournament, you'd be first place every time."
She laughed, "I wouldn't know how to do it if my life depended on it."
Chase put the phone down, "Well, there's a formula to the thing. Once you figure it out, it's kind of easy to beat. The trick is doing it fast." As he spoke, he scrambled one of the restored Rubik's cubes and handed me the phone. "Here, you time me with one."
I reset the timer and told him to go. He was good, faster than I was with a single one.
"Time," he said after what didn't seem like enough to complete one.
"Five point three seconds," I said.
"Holy shit!" Apogee said. "That's fast right?"
"Damn," he said, shaking his head.
"What's the record?"
"Four point nine-nine."
"That's pretty awesome," Apogee said. She turned to Jamilah. "Our men can do little plastic dice fast," she said, playfully.
Graydon Chase, though, looked genuinely upset.
"It's okay," I said. "Those records are for fifteen-year-olds."
He wouldn't be cheered up.
"What's wrong?"
Finally, he smiled, "I wanted to impress you with the record."
"Graydon, you're making a scene," Jamilah said. She even did the whole hand on the arm thing that I've learned so well from Apogee. That's full breaks. Stop at once.
"You're right," he said, showing more wherewithal than I do in similar situations. "I'm sorry."
Apogee reached out and took one of the Rubik's cubes, randomized it thoroughly, then started solving it. She began slowly, about as fast as one of those fifteen-year-old record holders, but after a few seconds, her hands became a blur. Four, five seconds in, she slowed, put the thing down, "Well, fuck that."
She hadn’t even completed a single side.
Her failure cut through the tension and even Chase couldn’t help but laugh. Madelyne flicked the cube with disgust, and we laughed even harder. His dark side faded, Chase put his hand on my shoulder and gestured for me to follow.
“Oh, the boys are going to talk business,” Jamilah joked. “Now the women have to excuse themselves and talk of fashion, no?”
“Hey, WE were the ones that were leaving,” he returned, caught up in the mirth. “So it’s you that have to excuse us. Right, Dale?” We picked up our beers and headed towards one of the two balconies, the one that looked north towards Manhattan. “Not much of a view once you sit down,” he said, motioning me to join him on one of two deck chairs.
“Nice spot to talk business,” I said.
“That’s true. Jeff tells me you have some interesting ideas,” he said, taking a swig of his beer.
“Well, I’ve got some new tech that’s kind of unique in the field of construction,” I said. “We’ve had it up and running abroad for a good six months and we’re seeing some decent results.”
“Explain what you mean with results,” he said.
“Low eight figures,” I said.
“Not bad at all. Explain abroad – what country or countries?”
Here I had to be careful. He could come recommended by Jesus himself and still be tempted to steal the tech for himself. It wasn’t patented yet. My status made getting a patent impossible.
“Eastern Europe,” I said, eliciting a wicked grin.
“I like that. Play it close to the vest, Dale. Even with me. Don’t trust anyone and no one will ever betray you. I’m not sure who told me that, or maybe I saw it in a movie. I’m not sure, but it’s good advice in any case. So Eastern Europe – I suppose some or all of this money is tax-free, all in foreign corporations?”
I nodded.
“How’s your shell structure?”
“Complex.”
“My favorite word,” he said, leaning in. “Okay, without giving away any secrets, what’s so special about your process?”
“Well, you know 3D printers, right?” He nodded, and before I could continue, his eyes widened in realization, lips split ever slightly. Chase’s eyes were unfocused as he stared through me. “Holy shit,” he said. “Don’t say anything else. You’re telling me you cracked the secret to mass 3D printing?”
I nodded. “It’s easy if you ignore GPS altogether,” I said. GPS wasn’t sensitive enough to guide when going from plan to construction. Even military-grade GPS wasn’t exact to the inch, or even the nearest foot. Instead, I worked on a grid system, utilizing one corner of the structure as the base from which everything else sprung. Add a couple of million 3D printing nanobots and you have a classical Romanian castle built and functional in 24 hours. And if I could do that, then an apartment complex, or a business one, was effortless.
“Fully realized structures?”
“Electrical, water, internet, the works. Turnkey.”
His eyes were still glaring through me, “Time to completion? Say a ten-story structure.”
“Days.”
“I want in,” he said, suddenly refocusing his vision. “If you’re seeing low eight in Bulgaria or wherever you’re doing this-“
“Romania,” I corrected. It still wasn’t enough intel to get me in trouble should he go looking. The company had various official names, all DBA’s and none of which corresponded with the real host business – which wasn’t even located in Europe at all. And besides, that company was the first in a long series of shells that existed in countries like Nigeria, Malta, Cyprus, and the British Virgin Islands.
“Then multiply that by…one fifty for the rest of Europe. Maybe two hundred times that for the American markets. Maybe the same for India, and probably three times the U.S. for China. You’re not looking for a finder’s fee, right?”
I shook my head.
“Of course not,” he said, his eyes dashing all over as he did mass calculations in his head. “This is a hundred billion dollar business you have, Dale, but what you need is access, right? No one wants a bloodthirsty villain building their office complex – am I right?”
“No one wants that,” I agreed.
“And you don’t need seed money or anything like that,” he went on. “I assume you’re already capitalized from the Romanian profits alone, so you need access. You need…Jesus, this is for real?”
I smiled.
“You bastard,” he said. “You know how long it took me to make my first million? Hell, I had to cheat. You know what HFT is?”
I nodded yes. HFT stood for High-Frequency Trading which was a form of stock trading that occurs via a computer algorithm that decides what to buy and sell based on actively occurring market trends. By leveraging the high speed of computers, high order-to-trade rations and instant access to financial data and electronic trading tools, an HFT could make millions on trades worth a fraction of a cent per share. Basically, it was where most of the smart money was on these days. Idiots day traded or managed their Schwab account, while HFTs moved upwards of 60 and 70% of all U.S. trading volumes, and an even larger percentage of the profits.
“Well, I got in real late, and you know with these things sometimes the timing is ev
erything. Late is bad. Except, I was the first one to realize that proximity to the trading desks was gold. So instead of starting a trading firm, I bought real estate. That’s right, I cheated. Like a boss, if you ask me. I bought all the properties adjacent to every trading desk I could find. Then I bought the property next to that, and so on. Then, I threw together my own HFT – across the street from the NYSE’s servers in New Jersey beating everyone to the punch. I didn’t even have a working algorithm, all I had was location, and some Czech mathematics Ph.D. that everyone thought was a genius. Well, before too long, the whole market had their panties in a bunch and we were facing a class-action lawsuit, as well as accusations of quote stuffing, spoofing, layering, you name it-“
“And were you?”
“Doing what they were accusing us of?”
“Yes.”
“Of course,” he said, laughing. “We all were. Everyone. But since I had a stranglehold on real estate, they all pointed the finger at me, and you know how regulatory agencies are. Everything’s hunky dory until you try to shake up the system.”
“I think I heard about this,” I said, recalling some article I had read. “Your company – Machiavelli International – had to face some of the largest fines in history.
Chase sipped his beer, enjoying that I had read about him.
“One hundred million,” he said.
“Ouch.”
“Worth every cent,” he said, giggling. He looked out over the horizon and I followed his gaze, realizing that he was right, sitting down was kind of hard to get a good look at the city.
“And they made you sell the property, too, right?”
He nodded, draining his beer.
“Let me guess, you made out like a bandit on the property sales alone.”
“I was forced to sell at market value, and you can only imagine what the prices had risen to after the big lawsuit and all the publicity. Yeah, I looked like an idiot in the papers, but not to my investors, and certainly not to my bankers.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes as I sipped the remnants of my bottle and he blew air across the top of his, making a low resonant sound.