Seth Weinstein is a quiet, formal man. He does not have the roar of Dan Kramer, head of Madison and Lion of Wall Street, but in his own way Weinstein too exudes power, authority and charm. In annual surveys of the most admired bosses on Wall Street, sometimes Kramer wins, sometimes Weinstein. Hardly ever is it anyone else.
Weinstein’s summary is carefully neutral. You would not be able to guess from his voice whether he approves of Gradley or hates him. Weinstein forces everyone to make their own judgement and to defend that judgement as best they can. Jorge Esparza, the bank’s treasurer, whose job every day is to choose where the bank’s billions should rest, speaks.
‘This guy’s young, isn’t he? He’s been with us for a couple of years. Before that he spent a few months at Coburg’s, the British bank. Before that, a few months at some accountancy firm. Before that, he got part-way through a PhD, then chucked it in. We’re not used to handing partnerships out to kids right out of school, however hot they are.’
Esparza speaks his feelings as they come to him. As treasurer, he has an uncanny knack for keeping the firm’s money in the right currency and the right securities at the right time, but a great thinker he is not. Weinstein sits quiet. He won’t speak again until the end. Lars Anderssen, an Americanised Swede, is next. Head of corporate finance in the US and softly spoken, he speaks so quietly that everyone must strain to hear.
‘You’re right, Jorge. None of us wants to hand out partnerships without reason. But this kid has achieved a stunning amount. In a single year, he’s made as much money for the firm as Gillingham did in three. We all liked Gillingham. We stuck by him when he first admitted his alcoholism, something we wouldn’t have done for everyone. Yet the signs are that Gradley has something even more special than Hal. We’ve all worked with these tax guys. They tend to be a bit weird, a bit unconventional. They have to be, to do what they do. To me, it’s very important we don’t take a cookie cutter approach with Gradley.’
Alan Carmichael is next. He is lean and sunburned, a strip of sun-dried beefhide. But despite his rodeo looks, which come from excessive exposure to Alpine ski slopes and summer visits to his native Kenya, he has been the partner in charge of Weinstein Lukes’ European business for five years. He is Dixon Banderman’s direct boss, and the two men have spent hours discussing Zack’s prospects.
‘I agree. Gradley’s achievements since joining us are quite remarkable. He arrived on our doorstep with an unconventional and brilliant deal with Tominto Oil. He was hard-working and effective on a series of other energy deals with Amy-Lou Mazowiecki, one of my senior vice presidents. Then he brought in and executed a stunning deal for Hatherleigh Pacific. He launched a successful takeover bid for the South China Trust Bank - a company almost as large as Hatherleigh Pacific itself and funded it with a brilliantly imaginative tax gimmick. The client -’
‘His father-in-law, no?’ challenges Esparza. The notes they have before them are extremely detailed.
‘Yes, Lord Hatherleigh, Gradley’s father-in-law is Chairman of Hatherleigh Pacific,’ continues Carmichael.
‘To me, that is of no consequence. Hatherleigh wouldn’t have done the deal if it wasn’t sound. And he forked out forty million dollars for it. Not only did Gradley have the guts to ask, he had the wit to realise that Hatherleigh had to say yes or forfeit the opportunity. That shows brains and nerve, a winning combination in my eyes. But all of this is less important. Gradley may be an extremely capable all-rounder, but the reason why we’re considering him for partnership is his tax ability. And let’s be quite clear. Gradley didn’t just find a tax dodge, RosEs, he found a way to sell it to everyone in Asia. Demand was so strong, we had people biting off our hand for it. We did business with companies we’d never even spoken to before. We now have thriving relationships with companies who didn’t even let us through their front doors. It’s not just money that Gradley made. It’s reputation.’
Carmichael ends his speech on the word reputation. He knows - everyone knows - that Seth Weinstein would sooner dump half a billion dollars into the sea than damage the bank’s reputation. ‘It took us a century to make,’ he’d whisper, ‘but it would only take a minute to lose.’ And what Carmichael said was true. Zack’s RosEs had given Weinstein Lukes a prominence in Asia that nothing else could have done. An Nguyen, the head of Weinstein Lukes in Asia, nods his vigorous assent.
‘I agree, I agree. Recently, our reputation’s relied on RosEs. Client relationships have really rolled.’ Nguyen pronounces his Rs and his Ls the same way, but everyone knows what he means.
‘OK, so he’s had a great year. Can he do it again? How do we know?’ Esparza growls the questions.
Carmichael had had a long talk with Banderman before flying across for this meeting, and he knows the answer to this question.
‘Yes he can do it again. Dixon Banderman, who most of you know, knows Gradley better than any of us. Dixon tells me that Gradley is possibly the most talented individual he’s seen in all his time in the firm. Gradley may not bring us RosEs again, but he’ll bring us as much as Gillingham ever did, more in fact. He’s hard-working. He’s ambitious. He’s razor sharp. He has a superb commercial instinct. I think we can rely on these judgements as solid fact.’
Esparza doesn’t have anything against Gradley, but he doesn’t much like Carmichael. He finds Carmichael patronising and cold. Esparza rumbles belligerently on.
‘So he’s a good guy. But where does his heart lie?’
Esparza thumps his chest. ‘Does he love this firm?’
The question is addressed to the room in general, but the management committee waits to hear Carmichael’s answer. Carmichael, however, is silent.
‘Alan, can you answer this?’
This time Esparza is more direct, and this time Carmichael opens his mouth to respond.
9
‘Matthew Gradley? Main reception here. There’s a bloke down here for you. Says you’ve got a package for him.’
‘That’s right,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ll be down.’
He took a large manila envelope from his desk drawer. It was addressed to Helmut Zeithammer, an investment manager at one of the biggest Swiss banks. Down in the Madison lobby, Matthew handed the envelope to the courier, getting a receipt in return.
This was a same-day service. You actually had your own guy jump on a motorbike, scream across London to Heathrow, and jump on the first plane out to wherever the destination was. He handed the package over to a local representative and the thing was delivered literally as fast as you could get it there yourself. It wasn’t a cheap way of doing things, but Matthew wasn’t too concerned. Inside the envelope was a packet of Eurobonds, worth about $8 million. It was eight o’clock in the morning. Matthew worked hard that day, but he kept an eye on the clock. At midday, Fiona and Ed Deane went out to get lunch. They invited Matthew to join them, but he refused. He’d get a sandwich later.
The call came at twelve forty. It was the courier company’s Zurich office. The envelope had been delivered half an hour ago. Matthew thanked them and rang off. Time for coffee.
On the way to the coffee shop, he passed the familiar little alley and ducked up to the little garden. Beneath the tree, crouched low over his usual bench, he made a couple of calls. His first call was to Helmut Zeithammer.
‘Have you received my bond portfolio?’
‘We have indeed, Mr Gradley. We have deposited the bonds in our vaults pending your instructions.’
Zeithammer was no Belial. His was a bank which did not deal knowingly with criminals and it carefully researched the background of potential clients before accepting them. Zeithammer’s research had been reassuring. Matthew Gradley was one of the sons of the late Bernard Gradley, an English self-made millionaire. Zeithammer’s sources suggested that Matthew Gradley’s share of his father’s fortune would be in the region of ten million pounds, though the sources admitted they didn’t have any specifics on the will itself. Gradley was now working at Madison, one of the very
best American banks. Zeithammer was happy. Gradley was clean, a welcome new customer.
‘Excellent,’ said Matthew. ‘Do you have a current market valuation of the bonds?’
‘Yes. Current market valuation is eight million two hundred and thirty-seven thousand three hundred and eight dollars.’
‘And you can lend me up to seventy percent of market value?’
They had discussed this many times. Zeithammer’s bank would hold the bonds in its vaults and extend a loan to Matthew, using the bonds as security. If Matthew didn’t repay the money, the bank would sell the bonds and repay itself from the proceeds. As far as the bank was concerned, it was a risk-free transaction.
‘Correct,’ said Zeithammer. ‘I have authority to lend you five million seven hundred and sixty-six thousand dollars immediately. I am awaiting instructions about where to transmit the money.’
‘Good. I’d like you to transfer the money today to an account at Switzerland International.’ Matthew gave the account number and a couple of other transfer details.
‘Switzerland International?’ Zeithammer’s intake of breath was audible, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
‘I will organise it immediately.’
The next call was to Belial. And for this call Matthew needed another piece of equipment. A pocket Dictaphone. He switched it to record, checked it was recording properly, then made his call. Matthew trusted Belial considerably less far than he could throw him.
‘Matthew Gradley! How very nice to hear from you,’ purred Belial, as soon as he heard Matthew’s voice. ‘I felt sure you would be in touch again soon.’
‘Yeah, I’ll bet. You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve followed your advice.’
‘My advice, Matthew?’ Belial tittered. ‘What advice would that be? Was it something to do with skincare? I myself am always careful to use a moisturiser with sun block.’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. I’m worth about six million dollars more than I was the last time we spoke.’
‘Six million dollars? Congratulations! But may I enquire the source of your good fortune, my friend? Not the National Lottery, I expect. Ha, ha.’
It was second nature to Belial to keep his guard up.
Matthew needed to shock him.
‘I nicked the bonds from the Madison vault exactly as you suggested. I sold them this morning. I’m having the money wired to you as we speak.’
‘You’ve done what?’ cried Belial, alarmed. ‘You’ve sold them? Who with?’
Matthew gave him the name of the big Swiss bank. Belial repeated the name in shock.
‘You’re mad. I told you quite explicitly you had to sell them through us. Madison will find the theft sooner or later. They’ll put out an alert and the sale will be traced. Discretion, Matthew, discretion is the watchword. We could have sold the damn things so they’d never be traced. You’re a bloody fool.’
No wonder Belial was appalled. He was sure that Matthew’s folly would lead to him being arrested and convicted for one of the most audacious bank robberies in history. If Matthew were tried, the publicity would be enormous. And Switzerland International needed publicity the way Barings needed Nick Leeson.
Matthew listened to Belial storm away. Then he interrupted in a quiet voice.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ he asked.
Belial was silent, so Matthew continued, ‘I think you may have forgotten to deny that the robbery was your suggestion,’ said Matthew. ‘That’s always a mistake when your conversation is being recorded.’
Matthew replayed the last few seconds of conversation to prove to Belial that he was telling the truth. Belial was silent. Matthew switched back to recording.
‘And what do you propose to do with this tape, my friend?’ asked Belial after a long pause. ‘You’ve incriminated yourself too, you know.’
‘I propose to keep you honest. If you do as I ask, then any relationship between us will be completely finished by the end of this week. I will keep this tape in a very, very safe place, along with a complete statement recording the history of my dealings with you. There they will remain, hopefully for ever. But if I should ever come to court, for any reason at all, the tape and the statement come out and I shall do everything I can to see you convicted too.’
‘And did you sell the bonds this morning?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
Belial began to recover his composure.
‘My dear friend, I’m sorry to hear that we shall be losing you as a client after this week. Is there nothing we can do to tempt you to stay with us? But you may be sure that we will look after your interests with all possible care and attention.’
Tm sure you will. My interests and yours have grown remarkably close, wouldn’t you say?’
Then Matthew told Belial what he wanted. Belial grasped the instructions quickly and promised to do as Matthew asked. Matthew would call in a day or two to check progress. It was now two fifty on Monday afternoon. Everything had to be finished by Friday lunch time at the very latest. It wasn’t long.
Matthew rang off. He would deposit a copy of the tape and a signed statement at his bank later that day. Then he walked briskly out of the garden, bought some coffees and headed back to work. The group had a big deal brewing and they were due to launch their raid the very next morning. Everything had to be ready.
10
The management committee has considered and made its views known to the board. The board listened, deliberated and decided. Now the board has spoken and it is time to break the news.
Since daybreak, Carmichael has been in meetings with would-be partners. Some leave elated, others in despair. Some leave the room as partners of the firm, others are told to wait. Still others are told that Weinstein Lukes’ sharp-topped pyramid no longer has room for them and they are to leave the firm with immediate effect. Compassion? Leave it at the door. There’s no place for it here.
All morning, Zack had been totally unable to work. He drank coffee. He bugged Sarah with phone calls. He paced up and down his little office. He leaped to the phone when it rang, thinking it might be Carmichael’s secretary, then leaving it when the display indicated a different caller. He drummed his fingers and twiddled his thumbs. He paced the room and bit his nails. He sat down, stood up, moved to the window, moved away. He was in pain with tension.
A hundred and forty million bucks he’d made for the firm that year. One hundred and forty, and money from RosEs still poured in, month by month. There couldn’t be any doubt, could there? Could there?
Again, the phone rang. Zack leaped to it. The extension flashed up: 3153. Carmichael’s secretary. Zack snatched the receiver.
‘Yes?’ His voice was a rasp. What came out was hardly even a word. But Carmichael’s secretary knew why and was unperturbed.
‘Mr Carmichael is ready to see you. Perhaps you could make your way upstairs.’
Zack croaked something. It wasn’t lack of fluid that glued his tongue to his palate. He’d been swallowing coffee all morning. He was rolling on a tide of caffeine. But for all that, his mouth was drier than a tax opinion. He raced upstairs. He was outside Carmichael’s office in no time at all.
‘Mr Carmichael will see you in just a moment. He’s had to take a phone call first.’
Zack nodded. No point even attempting speech. He groaned with tension. He ached with it. He went to the window and looked out, a view across the City of London, dominated by St Paul’s famous outline. Sunlight glittered from the dome. It meant nothing to Zack. He hardly saw it. If some joker had painted it pink and green overnight, Zack wouldn’t have noticed. The view and the caffeine and the tension gave him a stab of vertigo and he staggered back The roof of Ovenden House and Hatherleigh’s helicopter had given him an aversion to heights he’d never had before.
Eventually, the thing Zack had awaited so long happened without him even noticing. Carmichael’s office door swung open, the great man came out and was standing at
Zack’s shoulder.
‘Shall we go in?’ Lanky, brown and wizened, he looked baked: a sun-dried banker.
Zack leaped in surprise and whirled around, clumsily knocking against Carmichael, his boss’s boss and master of his destiny.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ smiled Carmichael and waved Zack on into his office. ‘Zack, let me start by congratulating you.’ Zack heard these words from the far side of a rush of images. He saw his father, he saw Earle reading the will, he saw Sarah, Lord Hatherleigh, Gillingham, his mother, Josephine. Congratulations. Zack was in such a whirl that he’d lost the exact meaning of this moment. All he knew was that it was good. Congratulations. Zack may or may not have said something, and if he did, it may or may not have made sense. He was beyond knowing.
‘Congratulations on a fantastic year. We’ve all been absolutely delighted with your performance, and the way in which you picked up the reins from Hal Gillingham so effectively.’
Zack nodded. The whirl was beginning to subside. He paid attention. As far as he could tell, Carmichael hadn’t yet mentioned the word ‘partner’.
‘There’s no doubt in my mind that you have a brilliant career ahead of you as partner of this firm and that is the firm view of all my colleagues in top management.’
There it was. There was the word. But Zack was listening carefully now, his mind now crystal clear. Carmichael still hadn’t said what he needed to say. Say it, damn you. Say it now.
‘In view of that belief, it is my pleasure to tell you that the Board of Directors of Weinstein Lukes has agreed to promote you with immediate effect -’
There it was. This was it. So sharp was Zack’s mind now that time had slowed right down. A second lasted a minute. A minute took an hour. In this mood, Zack could have seen a midge land on the dome of St Paul’s. He could have told you if the midge’s necktie was spotted or striped.
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