by Roman Klee
He made up his mind to say no to Carla’s invite.
Next the white-water rafting. He had never been rafting before and in all honesty, he didn’t know what it involved—other than paddling frantically and trying not to fall into the river. He was not confident where water was concerned, but with the right safety gear, he figured he could manage well enough.
Then there was the delicate subject of whether to tell Carla about his divorce. The good news was he no longer had to make up excuses to tell his wife.
And there was no one to complain about the amount of time he spent married to his job at Solomon Brothers. (Of course, his wife had liked all the fine things she could afford to buy with his annual bonus).
Perhaps later, he would tell Carla what his new marital status was. For now, there was little to be gained in revealing too much about himself.
But they were still another person short for the weekend. Maybe Carla could find a stand in.
Next Antonio Orofino.
The weekend away would not alter things very much. By the time he returned to the office, he would have the latest progress report from Switzerland about Budd Wright. He had enough time to relay the information to Orofino.
His final problem was Cunningham. Fortunately, the boss appeared happy enough to give Nathan some latitude. But he also recognized the new partner’s lack of experience and thought it a good idea to bring in additional help from a special advisor, a guy called Juan Betancourt.
He was due to fly up from Mexico City, but his flight was delayed. Cunningham had already supplied the new recruit with the most important briefing notes so he could quickly get up to speed with the FBI’s work.
Betancourt headed a private investigation agency, with very discreet offices in select cities in Latin America and southern Europe. At their first meeting, he told Cunningham that for over two decades, he had developed expertise in hostage negotiations and the repossession of expensive cars, planes and yachts for both unpaid creditors and disgruntled spouses.
And to impress further, he claimed to have dealt first hand with notorious crime gangs in Colombia and the Camorra in Naples.
Cunningham still maintained that the Wright family was in direct contact with an underworld gang of professional extortionists, and he thought Betancourt would be a big help in getting to the bottom of what was really going on; something that was most likely beyond Nathan, in view of the guy’s background.
He arranged a video conference so they could hear Betancourt’s ideas.
“Hola Nathan, how are ya doin’?”
Juan was sitting at an elaborately carved walnut credenza with a framed picture of a yellow butterfly on the wall behind him. Nathan wasted no time with small talk and cut straight to the chase.
“I’m great, do you have anything to say about the FBI material?”
“It’s not so good. I mean we still have no trace to a source outside the Wright family.”
“Well, we have a bunch more transcripts where they came from,” said Cunningham.
Nathan thought it all sounded strange. Wouldn’t the family be constantly exchanging ideas on the best way to find Budd? It looked like they were carrying on without a care in the world.
“Jade doesn’t speak much on the phone. But we saw her taking a lot of flights from the island to New York City. She spends at least two days a week at the Hutton Building on Fifth,” said Cunningham without drawing any conclusions.
Then he added that Vic Bolger, a senior executive at Budd’s holding company Brenton Davenport, owned six apartments at the Hutton and planned to create one massive bachelor pad over three floors. Bolger headed up insurance underwriting at Davenport. Listening in to his conversations might provide some clues about what happened to the crashed Learjet.
“The FBI tell me they are placing the building under surveillance. They will have a new wiretap in place within the next week. Then we’ll know more.”
This was yet another curious piece of information. But it didn’t stop Nathan from drawing the most obvious conclusion. Friendships grew often from the need to provide support after stressful events. But Nathan chose not to voice his opinion.
Instead he asked, “Have you ever come across a similar case from your work Juan?”
It was a good question and put the new advisor on the spot.
Betancourt started out by saying no two cases were ever the same. But there were usually a number of common features. Except this case didn’t have any of them.
“I remember a famous kidnapping in my country—the guy had a successful food processing business in Mexico City. He disappeared one morning after the kids were dropped off at school. His family did all the negotiations in secret. My firm did some surveillance for the police. We got a tip off, the family would make the ransom drop through a local casino.” This was a new discovery for Nathan. He could not understand how that was ever going to work.
“Over a couple of weeks, they bought stacks of casino chips, but they never opened an account. The suspicious thing was they did little or no gambling and they never cashed their chips in.”
Both Nathan and Cunningham looked intrigued, wondering where this was leading.
“We figured they handed the chips over to the gang to cover the ransom. We never got a trace on the money and luckily the guy turned up alive a few days later.”
Nathan didn’t want to come across as rude, but he didn’t see any connection between the Wright case and what Betancourt was talking about.
“That’s good Juan, but how are these guys communicating? That’s what I don’t understand.”
“My instinct tells me they’re using a special family code. I think it may be similar to one used in Italy. When the head of a mafia clan, the Capo, wants to send a message, he writes a handwritten note with his instructions. It’s then passed along a communications chain made up of specially selected foot soldiers.”
This seemed like an interesting idea, thought Nathan, why not start with the experts with decades of experience in shady dealing.
“These wise guys meet in hotels, bars, shops, dry cleaners—any of the assets controlled by the Capo’s network. They make the exchanges, often carrying dirty laundry in plastic bags, which are then swapped. The swaps usually take place quickly and since the bags are identical, it’s difficult to detect if they’ve been exchanged or not.”
Cunningham seemed pleased with this piece of information. The FBI had noticed that every time Jade visited her friend in New York, she carried a large shopping bag. She was seen going into Saks Fifth Avenue, with a gold one and then coming out with a silver one.
It was a lead they intended to follow up, even if it bore very little similarity to what Betancourt had just said.
Nathan was not sure they were on the right lines with their latest theory. There were probably all manner of reasons why Jade wanted to shop at Saks Fifth. It was probably a straightforward gift exchange.
Occasionally even the most insane of ideas could take them somewhere, so it was probably not smart to rule out of hand what Juan was telling them.
And as a tactic for increasing the number of billable hours by adding to the list of consultants and advisors, it was a good strategy. Nathan was in no position to disagree.
They continued discussing the inconclusive eavesdropping transcripts from the other Wright family members; Pam, Jimmy, Carla and Mary Beth. It was a curious collection, providing a snap shot of what it was like to live in one of the world’s wealthiest families.
Or it didn’t.
Because there were no discussions about what they intended to buy on their next trip to the malls. No one talked about the latest must have cars, planes or boats.
No visits were planned to exclusive Paris couturiers or extravagant parties that simply had to be bigger, better and more expensive than anything else that had gone before.
&n
bsp; No talk of bling-bling, no orders for giant bottles of Armand de Brignac champagne, whether of the Magnum, Jeroboam, Methuselah, Nebuchadnezzar or Midas variety.
Just ordinary everyday conversations that anyone might overhear in a normal middle American home.
Then Nathan asked his boss what the Swiss team had been up to and whether Jade had dispatched her own investigators as she once threatened to do.
Cunningham quickly moved to close down any discussion about Switzerland, saying only that Jade was made to see sense in the end. Any more people on the ground would increase costs and confusion, and lead to deliberate blocking tactics by the Swiss authorities—who preferred handling things their own way.
Betancourt added, “See Nathan, in my experience, these gangs always have someone on the inside. It’s a shock when the person is discovered. Think about it, there is always someone who is unhappy, someone who feels offended, someone who believes they should have more, someone who is not the favorite.”
Nathan suddenly thought about Liz. If anyone did, she seemed to tick all the boxes.
“One day you find this person, and the problem is solved. They are like a key—unlocking the door to the inner chamber, where all the secrets are kept. Comprende?”
The call ended and Nathan realized he had to speed up his attempts to find Liz.
Now he regretted saying yes to Carla, because it meant another valuable weekend lost. Still, he had agreed and there was no way he could go back on his word.
He selected a random page from L’Inferno and began copying out lines, without taking in any of their meaning.
Because he was thinking about what Betancourt told him and wondering where Orofino had acquired his liking for handwritten communications.
And then he left for Trinity Church—God’s house for the Wall Street faithful.
Δ = T –23,372,640
It happened early one Monday morning. Maybe it was caused by the stress of starting a new week. Or perhaps the burden of work, the absolute requirement to perform at his best twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, had extracted the ultimate price.
But whatever the reason, Dean Oberman was not available for the DPG morning meeting at Solomon Brothers’ Lower Union Plaza office. Of course, one of his colleagues stood in for him, but for his wife and children, finding a substitute husband and father would prove a much harder task.
By the time Nathan got to Trinity, he noticed a long line of black Lincoln sedans, Cadillacs and Mercedes backed up along Rector Street. What was going on?
After the last drop, Orofino had changed his instructions for getting in touch and now wanted him to use the church near Wall Street.
The priest was in the middle of reading a passage from Genesis. “And Joseph gathered up all the money that was found in the land of Egypt and in the land of Canaan, and with it he bought grain; and Joseph brought the money into Pharaoh’s house. So when the money failed in the land of Egypt and in the land of Canaan, all the Egyptians came to Joseph and said: Give us bread, for why should we die in your presence? For the money has failed.”
The priest looked up from his illuminated lectern and realized he had a unique chance to reach out to some of the most important guys on Wall Street, because he rarely spotted them among his regular congregation.
“Remember those words,” said the priest, “the money has failed. Times may have changed, but have we made progress? Today, our money is no longer what it used to be—our money has also failed. Has the time come to act like Jesus did? Must we throw today’s money changers out of their glass and steel temples? Through cheating and devious money pyramid schemes, they created a generation of debt slaves. They turned Wall Street into a denizen of thieves, robbing the rich and bankrupting the poor.”
Your silver and gold have become dross and your wine mixed with water.
Nathan spotted Alva Grenelund, sitting in the front row. As Oberman’s employer, she was probably not the automatic choice to speak to the family and congregation.
But Alva had known Dean for the best part of thirty years, and wanted to prove that she possessed a human side, especially as the firm had been receiving a really bad press. The recent disclosure of Grenelund’s massive compensation package at a time of record home foreclosures and unemployment, did not look good from a political angle.
Nathan wasn’t sure anyone could throw the present money changer-in-chief out of the Solomon temple on Lower Union Plaza. A few people had launched half-hearted coup attempts, but no one had come close to succeeding.
Nathan was also surprised by the expression on Grenelund’s face. She seemed to be enjoying every word the priest was saying. Either she was thinking about how best to spend the insurance money from Dean’s BOLI, or she simply was not listening.
It was supposed to be a solemn occasion. Oberman was in his mid-forties when he suffered his fatal cardiac arrest. He had a reputation as a fanatical member of the local gym and he played tennis and golf. He was a regular church goer; I got a friend who’s a Christian Scientist. He didn’t drink alcohol or eat red meat. He was lactose intolerant, pouring orange juice instead of milk on his cereal in the morning. Who could have predicted his demise?
Solomon’s corporate communications managers sensed an opportunity to win back public sympathy for their firm, by using Oberman’s early exit from this world as an example of a human interest story. And they told Grenelund to speak openly about the Solomon culture. How it required employees to spend no less than seven days a year giving back to the community by volunteering to do unpaid work for worthwhile causes.
Of course there were no guarantees Grenelund intended to stick to the prepared script, and at any moment she could revert to being herself. Her opening remarks were surprisingly upbeat for some people’s tastes. But Grenelund was determined not to sound morbid.
“Remember, we live in the best of times. I am doubly blessed—first because I’m one of the chosen ones, I have a covenant with God and second, I’m the senior partner of Solomon Brothers, America’s greatest investment bank. I’m really lucky. I can’t wait to get started the moment I enter my office, because I have the best job in the world. You know, if I didn’t have two left feet, I’d tap dance to work every morning.”
Some people in the audience would have liked to see her try.
“Not everyone on Wall Street can say this, but I’m proud to tell you, doing God’s work is my greatest reward; I toil but never count the cost. And I pray the good Lord will make my firm whole again, whenever the time is right.”
Grenelund was now ready to strike a more religious tone.
“I always thought the parable of the loaves and fishes is a fine example of what we do at Solomon. Let me explain. My company deals in wheat futures—no fish futures yet, but hey, maybe we should work on that?”
If Grenelund was hoping for laughter, she was disappointed.
“But let’s not forget, what do commercially farmed fish live on? …fishmeal … and what do they use as a binding agent? … wheat. So our commodities trading arm helps farmers get a fair price for their wheat, which is turned into bread and feeds fishes. And we multiply the profits, just like it says in the Bible.”
Cast your bread upon the waters and you will find it again … multiplied seven-fold.
“Some people say God moves in mysterious ways. But I never thought that was the case. He always spoke clearly to me. I recall how the Nazarene was not poor. As a child, wise men brought him precious gifts, frankincense, myrrh and of course gold.”
Man cannot live by faith alone.
“I believe it says somewhere in the Bible that the best thing you can do for the poor is not be one of them. And if you can’t find these exact words, someone should put them in a new edition. At Solomon we live our lives in the pursuit of this fine sentiment. We are focused on serving our clients, we believe in the pow
er of the network and the will of God. And in doing God’s work, we have the highest ethics, we do the right thing.”
The word of the Lord is truth, and the truth shall set you free.
“Dean represented that spirit better than anyone I ever knew. He was a true Solomite. And for those of you who don’t know, that’s the name we give to someone who’s dedicated their lives to the Solomon Way—from the moment they start their career with us, through to the end of their days. The Solomon Diaspora stretches far and wide, and it is a blessing because it has helped our firm survive the toughest of times.”
Grenelund then went into the usual back story; Dean’s childhood, growing up on Long Island, his schooling, how they met at Harvard. Dean joined the frat house, Alpha Beta Sigma. Alva, the Alpha Zeta sorority. Their first day at the Solomon orientation week for new trainees.
“I wanted to end with a two jokes Dean told me: What’s Will Porters’ favorite line in the Bible? … the geek shall inherit the earth!”
It raised a few smiles from her audience, but Grenelund carried on, there was no point in stopping now.
“The other day, a guy told Budd Wright he saw me coming out of St. Patrick’s after Christmas mass. Isn’t that odd? the guy asked Wright, Grenelund’s no Christian. And quick as a flash Wright quipped, Heck no, that’s another fine example of Solomon hedging its bets!”
This time, polite and slightly embarrassed laughter rippled across the congregation.
Seated at the back of the church and out of Grenelund’s direct view, were five nuns from five different orders; Our Lady the Immaculate, St. Mark of New York, Mary our Virgin the Merciful, the Sisters of Charity of St. Paul and the Benedictine Sisters of Mount Byzantine.
Two of the nuns were knitting, although no one could yet tell exactly what kind of garments they were making. A scarf or pair of socks possibly, clothing that would comfort and keep the poor warm. But the Sisters were not there just to knit and pray. They had come to hear Alva Grenelund speak, curious to see in person the face of a woman who, thanks to her generous partnership equity stake, earned two hundred million dollars the previous year.