by Davis Bunn
Esther said, “You are a good man, Talmadge Burroughs.”
“I told you, call me Cricket.”
“Not on your life,” she replied, and drove to the bank with a smile.
Jasmine met her midway across the central space, “Girl, you were cookin’!”
Esther’s reply was cut off by a smattering of applause from her entire team.
Jasmine pretended to whisper, “Can I say that to my boss?”
“What, ‘girl’ or ‘cooking’?”
“Both, I suppose.” Today Jasmine wore a denim skirt, a Ferragamo sweater with sparkly buttons, and gray suede ankle boots with three-inch heels. “I should probably say something, you know, more—”
“Respectful,” Esther suggested, but she was smiling. “Appropriate.”
“Right. Only I don’t care.” She turned to the crew. “Can I get a hoo-yah for the boss-lady star?”
This response was louder, especially the whistles.
When the room went quiet, Esther asked, “Any blowback from upstairs? Jason?”
“Nada on both counts. But the redheaded anchor lady called. Like, eleven times.”
MIT lifted his phone. “Here she is again.”
Esther started to say she’d take it in her office but decided here was fine. She accepted the receiver. “This is Larsen.”
Suzie McManning asked, “How did you get past me?”
“I . . . Where are you?”
“First I was in the main lobby downstairs. But my cameraman kept shooting background footage, and the guards grew nervous. So they moved me upstairs to the trading-floor lobby. I’m staring at the elevator doors as we speak.”
“I came up from the garage. Different elevators. I don’t need to ask what you’re doing here, do I?”
“Not if you’re half as smart as I think you are,” Suzie replied. “Can we please get started?”
29
Esther waited until she was miked and the sound check completed to say, “Okay, explain what you’re doing here.”
Suzie used the mirror in her powder compact to check her reflection. “There’s been some positive feedback from New York.” She clicked the compact shut. “Same response to our own segment. We fed it to our affiliates, an action that normally receives little more than a yawn and an automatic reply. Today, they asked for more. So here I am.”
They were seated on two stools Jasmine’s crew had supplied. The segment was being shot at the back of the trading room floor. Esther had not asked permission because Jason was away and nobody else seemed to care. The traders were too busy fuming.
Suzie ignored the surrounding clamor and said, “I think it will add to the moment if I use a handheld microphone. The one on your lapel will actually pick up your responses, but when I turn the handheld your way, it offers a sense of action and intensity. Also, the sound guy can up the level just slightly to pick up a bit of the background noise.”
“Whatever you say.” Esther could see the traders pretending not to watch as the cameraman fussed with his three portable lights. Suzie’s harried assistant had fielded three calls from the station director, reminding them that the tape was to be fed into the market watch.
Esther said, “I envy you your calm.”
Suzie had undergone a distinct change since that morning. She treated Esther as an ally now. She offered a catlike smile, all teeth and sharp eyes. “It’s a veneer. I paint it on before I go to work, peel it off every evening. Underneath I’m a bundle of nerves.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“There’s more. Talmadge’s communications group owns radio stations throughout the Southeast. They want to try us out for a morning talk show.” When Esther did not reply, Suzie added, “We’re talking possible syndication.”
The sense of arriving at an unseen juncture suddenly crystallized. Embedded in the carpet at Esther’s feet was a split in her future path. One course flew further and further away from everything she had strived for—the bank and the position and the safety. Sitting here on the trading room floor, getting ready to declare her warnings over the air was merely the next step.
Suzie scanned the room. “Quite a day. I woke up thinking you were the greatest threat to my career. Now I’m wondering if you might be my biggest break.”
“I’m glad for you,” Esther said weakly.
The cameraman studied them through his viewfinder, then straightened and announced, “Ready to roll.”
“So, Esther Larsen, at the beginning of this morning’s broadcast you mentioned there were three issues of primary concern. Together they could push us into the next economic downturn. This morning we discussed the role China might play. What is the second factor?”
Esther could see herself and Suzie on the monitor positioned to Suzie’s right. The traders behind them added to the sense of electric tension. All the faces visible on the screen were bleak, angry. They did not speak to one another. They barked. It was perfect.
“We call it the point of inflection,” Esther said. “This refers to the moment when the markets change direction.”
Suzie drew the mike back. “You’re not talking about a temporary downturn?”
“No, this is the third longest bull market in history. The driving force has been cheap money. Low interest rates have meant people and companies with cash have searched desperately for any investment that offers them a potential return. As a result, shares of many companies that have yet to make a profit have been pushed to absurd valuations purely on the basis of conjecture and rumor. Speculative investment has never been at such a high level. One-third of the companies in the Russell 2000 Stock Index do not earn any profits. This is the highest percentage on record outside of a serious depression.”
Once more Esther had the sense of Suzie moving into sync. The woman was sharp, perceptive, and she lived and breathed the markets. Which meant she could draw back the mike and make the comment Esther was hoping to hear. “These same investors have been driving up other markets as well.”
“Exactly. Again, we are talking about a global event. Because the developing world has shown a faster growth rate, investors have poured in cash, shooting markets around the globe into the stratosphere.”
“So walk us through what this might mean.”
“There is no might. The risk is not just possible, it is imminent.”
Suzie merely smiled. The professional. Standing at a distance. Letting the audience make up its own mind. “What does this mean for the average American investor, Ms. Larsen?”
“Right now, today, the developing world is in decline. The major economic driver behind the world’s recovery from the 2008 recession is slowing. The entire emerging-markets domain, with the single exception of India, is either in recession or decelerating. Russia, Indonesia, Turkey, China, Brazil. These same investors who piled in when the numbers looked good are frantic to get out. That means they’re awash with cash and don’t have any reliable place to put the money.”
Suzie started to respond, but her attention was caught by Esther’s team gathered behind the camera. At the outset they had smiled hugely, and Jasmine had given Esther two thumbs-up. But they weren’t smiling now. Their boss was giving voice to very real concerns. They might not follow the global trends as closely as she did, but they were smart and market savvy. They shared her worries.
The cameraman said softly, “Rolling.”
Suzie said, “Which means the markets here in the United States risk heightened instability.”
“Correct. Financial institutions are hunting urgently for any investment possibility that offers a core return and a measurable risk. But where they invest is not driven by corporate growth or predicted returns. It is speculative investment. This results in huge swings . . .”
Esther’s mind froze on a thought so bizarre, so outrageous, she was terrified it might be true.
Suzie pressed, “You were saying, this results in . . . ?”
“Contagion,” Esther said quietly.
“What does that term signify?”
“When panic grips the market, contagion sets in.” Esther’s gaze locked on Jasmine. The woman’s green eyes held the same dread Esther felt. “Everything goes down. Good and bad assets are caught in a spiral.”
“Just like in 2008,” Suzie said slowly.
“No, not like that. At the onset of the last recession, the US government propped up the economy. This time, the Fed is out of ammunition.” Esther found it difficult to swallow. “Interest rates are near zero. Our money cannot be made any cheaper.”
Suzie moved even slower this time, pulling the mike over, speaking the words, playing the tension. “What happens, Esther?”
“Deflation,” she answered. “Depression. Chaos. That is, unless we do something to rein in the financial institutions. And fast.”
30
As soon as the interview was done and Suzie’s crew had packed up and was on their way, Esther returned to her office and phoned Talmadge. True to his word, he answered instantly. “Can this wait?”
“No. One question. Did you order your other stations to make room for me?”
“I did not even suggest it. And so we’re clear, they are not ‘making room,’ as you put it. They see the potential themselves and are offering you and your ideas this regional coverage.”
“And doing it of their own volition.” Esther wanted to be absolutely certain on this point. “No subterfuge of any kind on your part.”
“They heard about you, and asked. I told them what I knew. That’s it. Now here’s a question for you. My ad lady wants to meet with you. She’s got some ideas.”
“Sure, so long as they are her ideas.”
“This afternoon work?”
“Three o’clock,” Esther said. “Go make your filthy millions.”
“Somebody’s got to. Might as well be me.”
She put her phone down and sat reflecting on how she could argue with the man and smile at the same time. She scrolled down, saw there were no messages from Craig, and was gripped by that hollow ache once more.
Then as she turned to her screens, an idea struck her. Before she could argue herself out of acting, she made the call. When Patricia answered, Esther said, “Can I stop by after work? I need your advice.”
Esther spent the next hour watching the markets and wondering at the utter silence from the trading department. Normally her team would field twenty to thirty analyst requests each day. So far there had not been one. Esther kept a screen focused on the bank’s trading activities. Nothing was happening.
She could almost smell the threat of a full-scale mutiny.
She also was waiting for serious blowback from upstairs because of her on-air performances. With a sense of genuine dread she awaited a call from the chairman’s office. But it never came.
By lunchtime, though, she had fielded seven calls of a different nature. Friends within the financial community enjoyed telling her the morning performances had gone viral. Several of the top market Twitter accounts had shot out alerts. Keith had set up feeds, which were now available on YouTube, Instagram, Facebook—everywhere. An ally who had left Wall Street to serve as an aide to the Senate Banking Committee phoned to say Esther’s talks were being discussed on the Hill. And when she phoned Keith, he congratulated her for reaching her first million hits.
Esther studied the carpet at her feet. The juncture of the road had already been passed. Her course was set.
Esther decided to go over to the trading floor for another look. But as she stepped from her office, Jasmine came racing in from the connecting hallway. “You won’t believe what I just heard.”
“Tell me.” Esther resisted as Jasmine tried to pull her back into the office. “If it’s that big, everybody needs to hear.”
“The bank is being sold.”
The words did not fit. “Which bank are we talking about?”
“Ours.” Jasmine loved being first with major announcements. “Gotcha.”
“CFM? Are you serious?”
“Totally.”
“Is this a rumor or for real?”
“A for-real rumor. Heard it twice. Two different floors.”
Esther turned to her staff, frozen and agog. “Not a word to anybody. We don’t trade in rumors. We are analysts. Let others spread the half-truths. Clear?” Only when she received affirmative nods from everybody did she turn back to Jasmine. “Details.”
“Sir Trevor’s group has made a formal offer for a full merger. The board has accepted. Official market notification goes out a week from today.”
“And you know this because?”
“My best buddy on the top floor typed up the board minutes.” Jasmine beamed. “Come this time next week we’ll be working for the sixth largest bank in the world.”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” This from their MIT guy. “Whether we’ll be working at all.”
Esther needed to study on this, but first things first. She addressed the group again. “You’ve all had time to take my measure. Rule one around here is we take care of each other. We watch one another’s backs. We are a team. You are here because you are the best. We will get through this, and we will thrive. All of us.” She gave that a beat. “Clear?”
She watched the tension and fear ease a notch, then lifted her hand and said, “Now give me a minute to digest all this.”
The longer she analyzed, the more uneasy she became. Finally she focused on Jasmine and said, “You need to contact your friend, Hewitt.”
Jasmine grimaced. “That’s history.”
“Listen to me. This is crucial. Whatever it takes, find him.”
The dark eyes squinted. “Can I ask why?”
“Everybody is going to assume Hewitt’s group was seconded to one of Sir Trevor’s divisions. This inactivity we’re experiencing is going to be put down to the very same reason. From the instant this news hits the floor, our traders are going to be in full revolt.”
“They’ll assume the action shifted with the missing people,” Jasmine said slowly.
“But that doesn’t work. The UK financial authorities are keeping a closer watch on UK investment banking divisions than the SEC.” Esther could see Jasmine didn’t get it, and to explain her concern meant revealing her suspicions. And like Esther had just told her team, they did not deal in half-formed ideas, no matter how troubling. “Just find him.”
Jasmine shrugged. “I’ll try. Do you want to hear the rest?”
“Tell me.”
“Jason is due back tomorrow morning. He’s called a meeting of the whole team, including us.”
That sealed it as far as Esther was concerned. “As of this minute, I’m on vacation.”
Jasmine’s gaze went round. “But . . . are you sure?”
“You are acting head. If Jason asks, tell him I needed to take care of urgent family issues.” Which was definitely the case.
“Okay, if you’re . . . How long will you be away?”
Probably for good, Esther thought to herself. “A few days, a week at the most.”
31
Burroughs Enterprises occupied five floors in the First Union building. The Whitney Advertising Agency was on the floor directly below. Carol Whitney, a no-nonsense woman in her late fifties or early sixties, didn’t have a smile to her name. Her iron-gray hair was worn stylishly short, and her beige suit showed off a trim figure. Her large hands were unadorned, save for a gold Cartier watch. The slight hint of a Southern accent did nothing to soften the determination with which she addressed Esther. “My remit, as I understand it, is to maximize your exposure while remaining completely unseen.”
Esther was utterly comfortable with her direct approach. “So long as the audience’s interest is genuine. So long as the people come because they’re confident they’ll find what they’re looking for.”
“Ms. Larsen, I run an advertising company. I do not have a miracles department. If people are not interested, they will not come.”
�
��Understood.” Esther glanced at Talmadge, wondering if she needed to emphasize her concerns again.
Talmadge Burroughs was seated in a straight-back chair brought in from the conference room. “Carol and I have reached an understanding.”
“I have been instructed to inform you that we are being paid for our efforts,” the woman said. “And everything must be passed by you for approval before being implemented.”
Esther settled back, satisfied. “So let’s hear it.”
They spent the next hour running through various elements that Esther did not need to fully understand. Several staffers entered, made swift and professional pitches, then disappeared. Esther asked a couple of questions she hoped would sound interested and engaged. She was rewarded with a complexity of data that would have drawn looks of admiration from her own geeks. She gave it sixty minutes, and then before Carol turned to the next project, she said, “I think that’s clear enough. It sounds as if you have everything well in hand. Thank you.”
“But we still need to cover your Twitter feed,” Carol protested. “Not to mention the dissemination of your upcoming broadcasts, and—”
“Basically what you’re telling me is that your team is setting up alerts in as many different places as possible,” Esther replied. “But my work is the driver. Either it ignites an interest or it vanishes.”
“Well . . . yes.”
“Fine. I agree.” Esther turned to a grinning Talmadge. “Don’t look so smug.”
“It does my heart good,” he said, “watching you climb down off your high horse.”
“I never . . .” She could not quite hide her own smile.
“You were gonna tell me about something new.”
“It would form the seventh step on my website,” she replied, then glanced at Carol.
“Might as well give it to her now. If I like it, she’ll be hearing about it soon enough.”
“I want to set up a hedge fund,” Esther said. “One aimed at protecting people.”