by Roman Klee
“Well, that’s okay, because my roomy’s kinda doing stuff right now.”
Julius then went over to a drawer and seemed to be rearranging something, before he removed a small plastic bag. He grinned as he handed it to Nathan, who immediately declined the offer.
“Sorry, I thought that’s why you wanted to see up front.”
Nathan felt embarrassed. But it was also kind of funny how two people could so easily get their wires crossed.
“Um … not exactly,” said Nathan, “I got nothing against it, I’m not a fan. It’s not for me.”
Nathan had been scared off pot while at Harvard. One of his friends was a regular heavy user. By the end of the first year, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. No one knew for sure, but some people said the guy had gone nuts because he smoked high strength weed. Whatever the truth, the glittering career that once lay in wait, was extinguished ahead of time.
And there was another thing.
Nathan knew better than anyone else, he had done a pretty good job self-sabotaging his Wall Street career and marriage without dabbling in recreational drugs (something for the weekend sir?).
He had no need to get high in order to forget the low points of his life.
Some days, Nathan wondered if he would have been more popular socially, choosing the fashionable path of substance abuse. Or would it have accelerated his decline, only bringing forward the day to exercise his final option—drinking a glass of spiked Kool-Aid?
Thankfully, that was no longer a question he needed to answer. He had a second opportunity to get his life back on track. And he intended taking it.
Nathan returned to his cabin via the long route, having at least worked out one thing—the poker game had not been played in the forward section of Anastasia. Not that he really thought it had.
His intention was to catch an unguarded comment by a member of the crew—a throw away line about what they were doing on the other side. But it was clear the poker game had been conducted in secret.
Nathan was half way to his cabin, when a deafening noise startled him. Anastasia shook as if about to explode. He quickened his pace, visualizing seawater gushing in through a gaping hole in the hull.
Then he realized the cause; the engineers had fixed the problem. He detected movement. He felt some of the tension in his shoulders drain away; the yacht was no longer drifting in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, they were heading for dry land.
He was now in a better frame of mind to compose a message to Cunningham, suggesting a possible location that Liz may have gone to. As his source, he used pictures from the family picture album, borrowed from the library. Then he needed to get some rest.
Earlier, he asked Julius for some sea sickness pills. He wasn’t able to keep down very much of the previous evening’s meal.
Now Nathan hoped to sleep soundly for the first time in many a night.
Δ = T –16,649,640
Every time Anastasia’s bow plunged into a wave and lurched downwards, Nathan feared she would never come back up again; they would drop further and further down into the blackness of the deepest part of the ocean.
What if the captain had forgotten to raise the anchor? It could snag at any moment on a hidden transatlantic cable, ripping a huge hole in Anastasia’s side.
Ice cold salt water would rush in and then …
When Nathan finally woke up, his mouth felt as dry as if he had spent the night in the desert, but his stomach was feeling more settled. It was probably time to get up. He was not sure how long he had been in his cabin. He tried to check the time on his travel clock, but couldn’t find it anywhere.
The tendency of Anastasia to roll in heavy seas had stopped for now and Nathan felt like eating again. He picked up the phone on the nightstand and asked his steward to bring him some breakfast.
He was surprised when Julius said it was late afternoon, but they could still make him breakfast if that was what he wanted.
Nathan declined the offer and instead got an orange juice from the minibar. Then he switched on the TV, and blinked twice, double-checking the date on the news report. It didn’t seem possible—he’d been asleep for days! They must have been extra strength seasickness pills.
Nathan was concerned at being out of contact for so long. He wondered what Cunningham and Orofino would have to say. His best line was to make out there was no cellular coverage over the Atlantic and hoped they bought it.
Then he sent Thom a text, asking whether there was any more news about Budd Wright.
He didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Thom directed him to a Facebook page where he’d inserted a Google map with all the reported sightings so far.
To Nathan the results looked good, but he hoped his former colleagues at Solomon did not think so. Thom texted again to say that traders on the Street’s prop desks had a new game. It was called Weekend at Buddie’s, because with all the pictures posted on Facebook of lookalike Budd Wrights waving for the cameras, it was not unlike the film Weekend at Bernie’s. There would be a Methuselah of champagne for anyone who correctly identified where the real Budd Wright was hanging out.
Nathan steadied himself and found he could make it over to the other side of his cabin without feeling nauseated. He stared through the nearest porthole and saw the outline of a giant rock that looked like it was about to consume Anastasia in a single mouthful.
It was the rock of Gibraltar. At last, they had reached the Med. Not much further to go now and Nathan felt a massive sense of relief. He could finally relax.
While he was busy getting ready, he heard Anastasia’s engines slow down and that only meant one thing—they would soon dock!
Nathan recalled Dirk telling him that the yacht was extremely difficult to maneuver in tight spaces, even with the addition of a bow thruster, so he was very curious to find out how she would perform.
But he need not have worried. There was no chance Captain Volcker would scratch Anastasia’s paintwork, because once passed the port’s restricted area, the crew secured the yacht on the Western Arm of the breakwater, avoiding any potential mishaps.
Nathan reached the sundeck in time to see an official looking port of Gibraltar launch, pull up on the starboard side. An officer in a dark-blue uniform and gold braided cap came aboard. Nathan assumed this was standard practice.
The captain gave the officer a list of the crew and passengers, together with all their passport numbers. Before checking the names, he asked whether Anastasia was carrying any illegal cargo like drugs, offensive weapons or ivory.
Then Dirk appeared, and the customs officer mumbled what Nathan thought, sounded like an apology. The questioning stopped and he wished everyone an enjoyable time on the Rock. Captain Volcker announced Anastasia would be staying overnight in the port, while they refueled and took on supplies. Everyone had twenty-four hours to stretch their legs and spend a little time on terra firma—something Nathan was looking forward to.
Carla reserved a couple of tables at the Rock Hotel near the botanic gardens. Afterward, anyone feeling lucky could have some fun at the Casino Santa Cruz on the way back.
Even though Nathan was probably the first person who wanted to feel dry land beneath his feet, he also wanted time to explore Anastasia when there were fewer people around. He still hadn’t discovered in which part of the yacht they were playing poker.
But when Carla commanded, he had to obey. So he returned to his cabin to get ready for the evening ahead. Just as he was removing a new jacket from the closet, he heard the sound of a boat starting its engines.
He looked out through the starboard porthole and saw Dirk at the helm of one of Anastasia’s tenders, an Aquariva, heading at forty knots toward the marina.
Later, Carla told him that her husband would catch up with them at the restaurant. But Nathan thought Dirk’s behavior was curious. He wanted to know where Dirk had
been. What kind of business did the guy have in the British overseas territory?
He recalled what Betancourt had told him about casinos and how a criminal gang had used one to launder a ransom payment. Surely Carla’s husband was not involved in something similar?
With the next port of call Valencia, and their much tighter schedule, if they were to arrive for the start of the America’s Cup trials, Nathan feared he would not have enough time in Gibraltar to find out.
Δ = T –16,304,040
Nathan thought he detected the faint signs of disappointment in Dirk’s face. The guy just announced they would have to postpone their visit to Valencia. Instead, they were heading directly for Marseille. The latest engineers’ report established that the repairs would only be temporary, because the damage was much more serious than first thought. And Sud Moteurs was the one firm with the necessary expertise.
Their engineers knew exactly how to fix Anastasia, since they had completely stripped her engines down and then put them back together again. If there was a design or mechanical fault somewhere, they would know where to find it.
Nathan had not heard from Cunningham for the duration of the Atlantic crossing, and began to wonder if something bad had happened to him. Only he didn’t have to worry. Predictably, the email with his instructions arrived.
Cunningham wanted Nathan to use his stay over in Marseille to look up George Bryan, one of Budd Wright’s old colleagues. The guy had been Budd’s lecturer during his days studying finance at Stanford.
Then after graduation, Budd had literally begged this guy to take him on as a gofer at the investment partnership Bryan used to run out in Newport Beach.
It was a tough sell for the young Budd, because as a general rule, the partnership did not hire inexperienced business school graduates. Still, Budd was persuasive and got to see how his tutor managed money and selected stocks.
Business and friendships often created fragile relationships. When to call in a favor, when to ask for a favor, two delicate questions that could wreck a fine friendship.
During George’s first marriage to Yvonne, Budd and his new wife Jade, had all been close friends. After a few years, the Bryan’s marriage broke down, but the Wrights remained in contact with Yvonne. When George re-married, there was a break because George felt betrayed.
Nathan called his personal concierge at Amex, and got a Mercedes SL550 Roadster sent to the dock side. He was encouraged that his card was still good for something, after his experience on Zürich’s Bahnhofstrasse (and he wasn’t concerned about the car’s color).
According to the Merc’s sat-nav, the drive to the restaurant would take no more than half an hour. Unlike in England, at least the French drove on the right side of the road. Cunningham had arranged for Nathan to eat at a noted two star Michelin restaurant.
But before Nathan made it to lunch, he spent the morning at George Bryan’s Estate just outside Aix-en-Provence. Bryan now led a largely reclusive life. The guy had owned the place for near on thirty years, developing the main house and outbuildings and letting his wife create a magnificent Provençal garden, which Bryan proudly showed Nathan around.
La Violette was George’s favorite restaurant and he insisted on leaving early, because it soon became packed at lunch time.
Virgile showed them to Bryan’s usual table on the terrace with a view across to the cathedral. Nathan was in luck. He had caught George in one of his talkative moods.
“I always said to Budd, let’s not try something new. If we go to say Gorat’s or Smollensky’s, at least we know what we’re gonna eat. There’ll be no nasty surprises, when you pick up the tab.”
Nathan easily understood the logic. Stick with the tried and tested, new experiences might be more fun, but they could also turn out a lot more expensive.
“I know this is a dumb question, but have you heard from Budd lately?”
Nathan had to ask, if only because his boss wanted to have a record of what they discussed. Bryan paused much longer than Nathan expected, as if he was really making an effort to remember. Then he shook his head. “No son, see … Budd and me, we were very close at one point in our careers. We used to exchange a lot of ideas. He would run stock tips past me first, and my usual response was no, no and maybe. But Budd was persistent.”
Bryan recalled their time at the partnership, before the days when the term hedge fund was coined. Then Budd set up his own shop, raising money from family friends and telling them he would report back once a year, but in the meantime he would not tell anyone what he was doing with their money.
“Now today, when you read about a swindler around every corner, it seems unimaginable any guy could attract serious money with that approach. I mean the regulations are killing outfits. I would not be surprised if more and more hedge funds returned to family office status. They’ll be a bunch of sore outside investors receiving checks in the post.”
Although Nathan found Bryan’s reminiscences interesting, he had that sinking feeling he was never going to get a straight answer. Yet again, chasing up one of Cunningham’s contacts looked like a total waste of time.
“I packed in the investment game when I reached seventy-five. I don’t know what happened … one day I lost all interest. It happened out of the blue … you know, or maybe you don’t know what it’s like, waking up one morning and your motivation’s gone for good. You just sit about the house all day in your bathrobe … and ask yourself, what’s the point? What’s the goddamn point?”
Nathan never imagined he would ever speak to a famous master of the investing game, who had just expressed exactly how he felt on bad days.
“So anyhow, after that, Budd and I spoke less, but we still communicate from time to time. And Jade sends me her Christmas letter. I really enjoy reading about …”
Ah yes, that famous letter seemed to be following Nathan around the globe.
“What more can I add? All I know is that Budd never had any down days. I can only ever think of two occasions, and they were because of family circumstances. The rest of the time, he was a live wire. Always upbeat.”
The first course of bouillabaisse arrived. Nathan looked at the serving plate and caught the unforgiving eye of a scorpion fish.
“So I’m not buying into the whole suicide clinic thing in Switzerland. Or at least that’s what I read in the local press. I guess considering the source, it doesn’t count for a whole hill of beans.”
Bryan’s answer appeared to support Cunningham’s false identity scenario. But since Nathan had actually sighted the billionaire at the clinic, he remained unconvinced. As far as Nathan was concerned, Budd Wright had been sunning himself on the terrace of the Clinique Alpha-Omega and looked pretty relaxed about everything. Whatever the truth, Nathan saw no point in telling Bryan.
They were interrupted when Nathan felt his phone vibrate. He had a text message from the first officer. The engineers had worked miracles and the mechanical problems were fixed.
Anastasia was leaving for Villefranche-sur-Mer in less than an hour!
Nathan then received another text, this time from Carla. She gave him the address of the family friend they were going to meet.
Then she added: Captain Volcker waits for no one!
Δ = T –16,282,440
Nathan felt bad about leaving George Bryan earlier than planned, but he didn’t want to literally miss the boat. Carla’s warning was clear enough. But after a couple of wrong turnings and a very slow moving traffic jam, by the time he arrived at the quayside, Anastasia was no where in sight.
Nathan plugged in the Villefranche-sur-Mer address and headed for the autoroute. He had a few hours of driving ahead of him; time to reflect some more on his lunch meeting.
“I can tell you this for nothing—Budd never took to Carla’s husband.”
It had taken a while before Nathan got the kind of information he could really u
se.
“At first I thought it was the usual problem, you know, over possessive father, can’t stand to see his darling daughter in the arms of another man. But later I realized Budd was not that kind of father.”
“Did it have anything to do with Dirk’s line of businesses?”
“Yes, I think there were tax problems with a bunch of companies Dirk invested in. If I remember right, the IRS investigated a couple. And then Budd was not happy about how the guy used the Wright family name to impress people. He was bragging all the time, you know, saying Budd told him what stocks to buy and sell … which companies had good or bad management.”
Nathan thought that Budd was betting against human nature if he expected his son-in-law to behave as if he had no family connection to a multi-billionaire investor.
“Then there was the incident with the book.” This was new. Nathan had heard nothing about Dirk’s decision to become an author.
“Dirk boasted that he’d written the best investment book ever. He said he developed a bunch of Budd’s original ideas and made them even better. Budd called me on that one. I never heard him sound so mad.”
Nathan had often wondered whether Budd Wright would get around to writing about his investment techniques. He was certainly not surprised that someone would try to cash in before the guy (who was the real deal) put pen to paper.
“Dirk was leveraging up his father-in-law’s name to turn over a quick buck and cut his own family business in on new deals. But Budd never dealt with the guy. I guess that really made him pissed.”
“Did the book ever get published?”
“Nah, no way! Budd threatened to sue him and the project was dropped. I figured out later there was no manuscript anyway.”
In the end, even though the lunch was cut short, it was much more useful than Nathan feared it would be at the start. Clearly, he had not appreciated the tension between Budd and his son-in-law and how that must have affected Carla.