The Banker's Dilemma: She promised him Paris in the spring

by Roman Klee

  Then before they were all ready, the raft suddenly dipped and bobbed violently up and down, bouncing off rocks and spinning round on its side.

  In between the girls’ screams, Mitch instructed his crew to navigate the safest line between the rocks that littered the fast flowing river.

  “Wow! I really enjoyed that,” said Carla who looked reinvigorated by the experience. Both the girls and Sanchez seemed happy enough.

  “Okay, who’s up for Hell’s Half Mile?” shouted Mitch.

  “We are!” they replied, more or less together.

  Mitch told everyone to maintain their speed. With the slightly lower than expected flow, they had to keep the raft well away from the right side of the river before going over the falls.

  This was the moment of truth. Carla wondered if they would all pull together and forget simmering resentments. Or would it be everyone for themselves? She never understood why it was so hard to summon up the will to forgive and forget.

  Their raft picked up speed as they struck the dreaded triple drop. Suddenly the bow dipped alarmingly low and water started pouring in, making the raft much heavier to maneuver.

  As it spun around, Nathan began frantically bailing out the water and Carla shouted at him, “No, no! You don’t need to do that! Pull to the left, we must get over to the left more!”

  He did as she commanded, though he couldn’t see exactly how they would ever make it.

  “Look out! Can you see it? We gotta get around it!”

  Carla, hollering at the top of her voice was all very well. But Nathan suspected that Sanchez was deliberately paddling in the opposite direction, so that if they carried on their present line they were sure to hit the rock Carla wanted to avoid. What should he do? Go with the flow, or try to correct their course?

  Because if it came down to a trial of strength, there could be only one winner—and it certainly wasn’t going to be him. What about the rallying cry? Should he shout it out at the top of his voice? (Oddly enough, no one had used it so far.)

  Then for a split second, Nathan lost his concentration. From out of nowhere, he heard the whup, whup, whup of a low flying helicopter directly overhead.

  Where in the world had that come from?

  And before Nathan could react in time, the raft suddenly struck a sharp, submerged object and flipped high into the air.

  Nathan didn’t know what had hit him.

  A burning sensation now engulfed his entire body, the heat almost unbearable. Maybe he really had descended to hell.

  And the last thing he recalled, was feeling Ricco Sanchez’s hot, stale breath all over his face.

  Δ = T –17,695,440

  In the end she breached his defenses—Nathan was powerless to resist. Carla repeated her offer and when she put her mind to it, she was very persuasive.

  The doctors said Nathan had suffered a type II concussion, caused by striking the back of his head on a rock. And all because he failed to secure his helmet properly. Luckily Sanchez was on hand to retrieve a very dejected looking Nathan from the water.

  Carla would not take no for an answer, because she blamed herself for the accident. It had been her idea to invite Nathan for the weekend, and she was determined to make it up to him.

  After spending time at Aspen’s Sun Valley Hospital, Nathan was soon packing his bags and heading over to Newport where he boarded Anastasia. Whatever his previous reservations, they miraculously melted away. Rest and recuperation were what the doctor ordered, or what Dr. Carla Wright was now ordering.

  “How do you like your eggs in the morning?” asked Julius the cabin steward.

  “Sunny side up,” replied Nathan. This was the life! He started to question why in the world he ever considered saying no to Carla’s kind invitation. Maybe it was guilt or maybe he felt he didn’t really fit in with the super-rich crowd.

  It was easy to feel inferior, though in truth, when it came to the Wright children, they seemed to behave pretty much like normal people, despite their access to unlimited wealth.

  On his first visit to the bridge, Nathan met Captain Volcker who explained the route Anastasia would take across the Atlantic.

  Nathan felt reassured by meeting the crew, who told him he could follow the progress of the yacht by selecting channel thirteen on his cabin entertainment system. He could also see a weather forecast and the estimated time of arrival at their first port of call, Gibraltar.

  “Just after midnight, we’ll leave U.S. territorial waters,” said the captain using a matter of fact tone of voice. He looked Nathan squarely in the face, expecting to see some kind of positive reaction, but Nathan was not aware of the significance of what the captain had just said.

  He simply replied, “That’s interesting … I thought we would go further north, like up to Newfoundland. I never imagined we went so direct.”

  Captain Volcker was waiting for Nathan to add something else, but he didn’t. Obviously Nathan was not one of the special guests, invited to take part in The Game.

  “Going straight across saves time and fuel. To fill her up once, costs the best part of two-hundred thousand bucks. The price is even higher in Europe.”

  Nathan’s first few hours aboard Anastasia were turning out so much better than expected. Now he hoped more good things would come his way; like hearing Carla Wright knock softly on his cabin door.

  Δ = T –17,609,040

  Nathan almost fell out of bed. Anastasia suddenly lurched downwards as if she was about to plunge into the deepest depths of the ocean. And then she bobbed up again rolling hard to port. The yacht just hit a massive wave, bow first. For anyone used to the sea, it was nothing to worry about, but it was enough to jolt Nathan out of his dream state.

  He was now sitting bolt upright. He turned the nightstand light on and listened as hard as he could for the sound of splintering wood and gushing ice cold seawater.

  Although he was in one of the cabins furthest away from the engine room, he could still hear the rhythmic pounding of Anastasia’s engines. He didn’t hear any of the other guests getting up or walking around, so he assumed everything was fine.

  He looked at his alarm clock—one minute to midnight. Now he had the problem of getting back to sleep, something he always found difficult.

  There was nothing left but to turn on the TV.

  He thought he’d placed the remote somewhere near the bed, only now he couldn’t find it. So he started looking around the cabin—it had mysteriously disappeared. Then he heard the sound of another boat’s engines and he assumed they belonged to a much smaller vessel pulling up alongside Anastasia.

  But instead of investigating further, he was more concerned about finding the remote. Only after clearing away all the towels did he find it; hiding on the floor in a corner of the bathroom.

  He sat down on the bed and began to channel surf. It was even better than being back at home. Nathan didn’t just have U.S. channels, he also had an unlimited number of international ones too. He ignored the countless infomercials for the latest vegetable cutters, scented candles, power tools and beauty treatments, guaranteed to recapture a youthful glow, until totally at random, he found a group of guys playing poker.

  Nathan thought he was looking at the interior of a private gambling club. There were four men sitting around a green baize table. He knew enough about the basics of poker to understand they were playing Texas Hold’em. He also noticed that the size of the pot and bets marked it out from a casual Saturday night game played at home with friends.

  But what really caught his attention was hearing a very familiar voice. He turned up the volume. There was no mistaking it and now Nathan was beyond curious. Why in the world was Antonio Orofino playing poker on TV?

  The camera cut to one of the walls, to reveal a large video screen divided into two zones. The top half displayed Orofino’s face—the bottom half was totall
y blank, except for a panel containing betting instructions from Mr. X.

  This was the guy who had paid for the privilege of being the loose canon and as an added twist, was guaranteed anonymity. He was the only player who placed his bets without talking.

  This worked out quite well, except Mr. X’s keyboard skills were not really up to speed and he often made numerous typos.

  The dealer collected the cards from the previous hand and began shuffling the deck. And the conversation continued from where it last left off.

  “I heard Jim’s gone long Davenport, big time.”

  “Who? You mean the crew over at Iota?”

  “Yep, those guys made billions going short housing.”

  “Jim heard Wright’s living it up with a harem in Honolulu.”

  “What are they using as a hedge?”

  “L.A.Y.D.E.E.s.”

  “You gotta be careful. I heard Wright’s lending out his own stock, so the hedgies can go short.”

  “For me, I don’t like the correlations. They kinda suck.”

  “Yeah, that’s the pain in the ass with synthetics.”

  “I agree, but don’t forget this L.A.Y.D.E.E.’s a hybrid.”

  “Remind me, what’s the top tranche?”

  “Triple-A, Super Senior.”

  Mr. X typed, i second that1.

  “And the rest of it?”

  “It’s a kinda mashup. Solomon’s Death Bond Index, longevity swaps, a bunch of CDSs and equity put options and LEAPS. I mean, there’s probably backdated stock options in there if you ever looked hard enough.”

  “Who got to select the assets?”

  “You need to ask? Solomon of course!”

  “I heard some dumb-ass is shorting Davenport naked.”

  Mr. X typed, o ye of Little faith1.

  “I wanna know who’s shorting naked L.A.Y.D.E.E.s!”

  “Are there any other kind?”

  “Okay, you got me. I do them two and three at a time. What more can I say?”

  “Sounds like an orgy.”

  Mr. X typed, I’m all in1!!

  “Okay guys, are we good?”

  A new game was about to start. Nathan glanced at the size of the blinds—ten and five million dollars. The limit pre flop was equal to the pot. After the flop, no limit. Rebuys were set at up to five hundred million dollars. Clearly this was no ordinary game of poker.

  The dealer dealt the hole cards to each player around the table, and then placed four more on two separate card reading devices for Mr. X and Antonio Orofino. Both men saw their hands via a special display, only they could view.

  Another terminal positioned on the table for everyone to see, showed the leaderboard in real time. Mr. X and Orofino led the field. Then the first betting round started.

  Before the flop: fold, raise twenty-five, fold, call twenty-five, fold, call twenty.

  The flop: eight of hearts, queen of spades, jack of spades.

  After the flop: check, check, bet sixty million (Mr. X flopped the nuts!) fold, call sixty million.

  The turn: five of diamonds. Check, bet one hundred and eighty, call one hundred and eighty.

  The river: four of hearts. Check, bet five hundred and fifty, call five hundred and fifty.

  Mr. X revealed his hand via the terminal: eight of hearts, nine of hearts, ten of diamonds, jack of spades and queen of spades. He easily beat Orofino’s king of spades and jack of diamonds.

  The guy just lost over eight hundred million dollars on the turn of a few cards, totally wiping out all his winnings. But Orofino was in no way deterred from carrying on.

  “I need to reload. Another five hundred.”

  “Are you paying cash or pledging security?”

  “I’m putting up my stake in Assicurazioni Veneto.”

  The guys around the table seemed reluctant to accept, because with privately held stock there was no ready market valuation. They asked if he wanted to offer the equivalent in gold.

  Then Mr. X typed he was happy with Orofino’s offer, since he did know the value of the company. Among its assets, the family controlled insurance group held valuable real estate on the Grand Canal in Venice.

  Then Nathan had a disturbing thought. Where was Orofino getting all this money from? Did he have a secret stash of cash he could drawdown, money he was hiding in a numbered Swiss bank account to fund his gambling habit?

  Well, they were no longer secure these days with so many snitches, prepared to trade sensitive customer details if the price was right. Knowing Orofino, the guy had designed a more elaborate financial scheme.

  Then the truth struck home. Oh Christ!

  This was exactly like something Nathan had read so many times in the Wall Street Journal—only after the event.

  He suddenly realized Orofino was gambling with client assets. In the time-honored Wall Street tradition, he was playing with other people’s money. If he lost big, his loyal and trusting clients would be left holding an empty bag.

  Nathan knew that Orofino’s firm had in excess of thirty-four billion dollars under management. So he assumed the guy could get a friendly banker and an accountant to rearrange a few of the balance sheet figures in his favor.

  Why not use the old switcheroo technique and funnel funds through multiple offshore bank accounts linked to shell companies. That way Antonio would have instant cash to gamble with.

  Of course, Nathan knew it broke all the S.E.C. rules about good financial governance. But heck, they only applied to people dumb enough to get caught. And anyway, they were life’s losers. The winners escaped scot-free and kept their gains for good. It was a cast iron rule applied to those who occupied the top positions on Wall Street—the elite one-percent.

  And it was also an example of playing with other people’s lives—some people relied on the returns from their savings to pay for a relative’s healthcare.

  Although Nathan was not sure that the poker players on the yacht saw things in quite the same way. He once again felt his stomach churn, as Anastasia rolled violently to starboard and then pitched up and down.

  And that was the moment he noticed something very odd.

  Carefully stacked chips on the baize table toppled over, spreading in all directions. The players’ drinks would have crashed onto the floor, but for the quick intervention of stewards.

  No one said anything and the game carried on as if nothing had happened. Except for Nathan, it was massively significant.

  He now realized what he was watching. At first it didn’t make a lot of sense, but there could only be one explanation.

  They were playing poker aboard Anastasia.

  And there was more.

  After collecting all the cards, the dealer said, “Okay gentlemen, this is the final hand. Winner takes one billion dollars nominal in December Wright L.A.Y.D.E.E.s super-senior tranche.”

  Nathan finally understood.

  They were playing L.A.Y.D.E.E.’s poker.

  He continued to watch, transfixed.

  Before the flop: fold, fold, fold, raise seventy, fold, call forty.

  The flop: the king of diamonds, ace of hearts and ten of hearts.

  After the flop: bet seventy-five, raise two hundred.

  Orofino signaled he wanted to go all-in with three hundred and fifty-five million. Mr. X called two hundred and sixty million.

  Mr. X typed, I’ll shoo u mine, if u do sam>.

  Orofino understood what Mr. X was saying and accepted his offer.

  He discovered that the mystery player had a queen of spades and jack of hearts, giving him a straight and the winning hand before the turn.

  Orofino revealed he had an ace of diamonds and king of clubs. He needed an ace or a king to make a full house and get back five hundred million.

  “How many times do you wanna run it?” he
asked Mr. X.

  Mr. X calculated the odds. He could be generous and let it run for say three times, splitting the one billion dollar pot by a third each time.

  But he wanted the insurance company. So he typed, Run it once.

  The turn: two of diamonds. The card helped no one.

  Now it all came down to the river.

  And then Nathan’s TV screen went blank.

  Nathan was in two minds about what to do next. He was desperate to know who had been rivered by the final card. But he had no idea in which part of the yacht they were playing.

  He checked the channel he was viewing. To his surprise it was not a commercial station and he hadn’t somehow selected internet TV or video-on-demand.

  Nathan had been watching one of Anastasia’s internal channels and someone must have switched on the video feed by mistake.

  Or more likely, other guests asked to watch from the comfort of their cabins.

  His curiosity was now starting to get the better of him. Had Orofino’s luck changed on the turn of a card? Did he dare to leave his cabin and make his way up to the main deck where he figured the game was being played?

  Any form of night time exploration carried risks. He did not assume his presence would be welcomed. He had the impression the game was being conducted in secret, and only invited players could take part and no one without permission was allowed to watch.

  Despite the risk, he decided to go for it, confident he could bluff his way out of any trouble; he was a guest on Anastasia not a hostage, Carla had invited him personally.

  Nathan slipped on a bathrobe, carefully opened his cabin door and began walking to the staircase at the far end of the corridor. He listened for the sound of movement. He was in the clear. Now that Mary Beth was on board, she occupied the adjacent cabin and already warned him she was a light sleeper.

  He made it up to the main salon and was about to go out on deck, when he heard Mary Beth’s voice.