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

by Roman Klee

  The two bankers chuckled and helped themselves to another glass each of Bordeaux.

  “Anyhow, it’s a sure thing. In the New Year, we’ll crank up our lobbyists in DC like we’re running low on oxygen.”

  “It’s kinda sad, but nothing will change.”

  “Are you kidding me? Sad for who? Not for us!”

  “Spoken like a true banker! Just wait for the media storm. They’ll say we’re running the politicians. They’ll say it always happens this way.”

  “Yep, but we have to control the creation of money. It’s our birthright. That’s why I love it when those teenage journalists call it crony capitalism.”

  “Sure and think of the alternative. If God forbid we ever let the politicians have a free hand … if we ever let them create money out of thin air … imagine what would follow?”

  “Communism—I know, you don’t need to remind me. It’s been tried before. It ruined my grandfather.”

  “I always ask them that; which of the two evils would you prefer?”

  “Kinda focuses the mind, right?”

  “Sure does. Do you figure they’ll find the weak spot in Wright’s plan? If he can push through the money printing gambit under their noses then we’re home and dry.”

  “What do you figure the odds are? I mean they’re so up against the wall, there’s no chance we’ll fail.”

  “You know what, we deserve another bottle of the ‘95. It’s fast becoming my lucky number.”

  Nathan began to retrace his steps. What he just heard did not surprise him. Those guys had not changed and why should they? They were living the high life. They had money and powerful connections and for sure they were in no hurry to give them up.

  Only some kind of global financial Armageddon, caused by a financial earthquake, tornado and tsunami all rolled into one, would ever be enough to weaken their grip on the money creation process.

  But come the New Year, they were in for a mighty big shock. Nathan smiled to himself, because he was one of the few people who knew that change was on the way.

  As he walked back along the cliff top path to the pool house, he saw Carla coming toward him in the opposite direction. She was carrying two tennis rackets and called out, “So are you up for it? How about that game you promised me?”

  Nathan didn’t remember who promised who a game. In all likelihood it was probably Carla. It was some years since he’d picked up a racket. When he was younger, he reached a reasonable club standard, though he was not good enough to be picked for his college team.

  When Nathan caught up with Carla, they hugged and Nathan invented the excuse that he did not have any shorts or the right sneakers.

  “Not a problem,” said Carla. “We’ve some old clothes in the pool house. I’m pretty sure I can fix you up with something.”

  Nathan gave in. When Carla was this determined there was no escape.

  Δ = T +5.8

  Nathan wanted to keep score. Carla just wanted to practice her backhand. For a rightie, it was a common enough weak spot. Her coach had told her she’d be a better player if she could hit confidently on both flanks. All she really wanted, was to be a social player, she was never competitive enough to take it to the next level and enter her tennis club’s challenge cup.

  The surface had recently been relaid and was now a medium fast pace that suited them both. They traded a few baseline rallies. Nathan was surprised that Carla could be pretty aggressive at times. He started to call out the score, just for the heck of it.

  “Forty love!”

  “Game, set and match!”

  “You know what they say?”

  “I think you’re gonna tell me—never fall in love with a tennis player?”

  “Yep, because …” And they both answered in unison, “Because love means nothing to them!”

  They retired to the nearby pool house, where a freshly made pitcher of iced tea was waiting.

  Nathan was in a reflective mood. He had a lot on his mind. He wanted to believe that change was nothing to be afraid of. When the District Attorney asked him, “Will you testify against Mr. Orofino?” Nathan replied, in a voice lacking conviction, “Yes, I will.”

  “You won’t be able to live like you did in the past, do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  And for the second time in his life, Nathan did not think through the consequences of saying two, simple little words. Carla appreciated the sacrifice Nathan was making. And she wanted to share something with him, to help explain why things had turned out the way they had.

  She revealed the real reason why Budd had indulged Liz; a reason they had not yet told Jimmy, who on their father’s insistence was left out of the loop.

  When Liz first made the threats, they seemed nothing more than the heat of the moment outbursts—like I could kill you or you’ll be sorry, when I kill myself—no one believed she would actually carry through. Only one day, Jade noticed Liz had several cut marks on her arms. They appeared after a heated argument about her role at the family holding company. The warning signs were there, for anyone who wanted to take them seriously.

  The idea was to distract Liz, to give her something to channel her energies into. At times, it looked like Budd was playing to the whims of a spoiled little rich girl. But Liz’s therapist said that her repeated threats to take her own life were not idle ones. Budd was shocked into taking action, though as ever he was reluctant to talk much about it.

  And strangely, Carla explained how the purchase of Anastasia and the intensive period of restoration, gave Liz a new interest in life. She enjoyed the project, discovering a talent she did not realize she possessed. Practical activities were often a useful therapy.

  Then she continued with her remodeling projects, which included the Villa Delacroix. She worked closely with the villa’s owner, who was anxious to put the house on the market.

  Carla had received reports that Liz was showing signs of multiple personality disorder. Of course, the news that Budd’s plane had crashed would not have helped her condition. It was Dirk’s idea to take Anastasia back to the Med, to see if their sister was okay. Reminding Liz of a past success would surely help her.

  Then Carla changed the subject.

  “Dad was shocked when he heard the rumors about what Solomon was getting up to. Sure they were exaggerated. It was like the threat was enough to have an impact. It sounds like something they would do in the Soviet Union.”

  “I guess so,” replied Nathan not really sure how to reply, but mightily relieved to have escaped from the Solomon gulag.

  Carla suggested her father could have come up with a more straightforward way of resolving the problems that troubled him. But then again, he enjoyed playing games and making money was nothing more than a grand game, played out on the public stage.

  “I think he’s pleased you’re going all-in, I mean it’s very brave of you.”

  Nathan hadn’t really thought about what he was doing in those terms. Up until that point, he was driven by a desire to strike back at the people who he considered were responsible for his pain. Now that he had finally succeeded, he felt curiously flat, as if it was all a very big let down.

  Giving evidence against Antonio Orofino meant he was also placing his own life at risk; an outcome he hadn’t bargained for.

  If Carla said it was serious, then it was probably a great deal more serious than he first imagined. But as the saying went, cloistered and untested, your virtue has no value.

  On reflection so many things were now clearer. At the time, he thought Orofino had extended the hand of friendship to a member of the Italian Diaspora. Or at least, that was what he wanted to believe.

  Now he understood how people like Orofino operated. The guy had done him a favor, except it came with a price. And Nathan had not calculated how high it would be, simply because he preferred the easy wa
y out.

  He had traveled so far and now he was back at the beginning.

  Carla squeezed his hand. They both knew it was the right thing to do.“Yes, I will do my best,” he said.

  And Carla gave him a big hug. They kissed and headed for the shower.

  Jade’s Christmas Letter

  From the desk of Budd and Jade Wright:

  Villa Esmeralda

  Camino de la Doncella

  Isla de Ballenas

  Georgia, GA 120229

  United States

  Our Christmas & New Year Letter Combo

  Season’s Greetings and Happy New Year to you all!

  Oh my, what a year! What price normalcy? You couldn’t make it up! So much has happened to us over the last twelve months, I don’t know where to start.

  All I can say is, even my active imagination had a hard time keeping up. I’d like to start with a thank you, then an apology and finally a surprise!

  I want to thank everyone for their support and words of comfort during the time Budd went missing. We were both touched by all your good wishes for his safe return.

  Some of you wrote to me expressing deep sympathy and fearing for the worst. And there was I thinking a visit to Switzerland wouldn’t give me much to write about, how wrong was I?

  Now I guess both of us must come clean, and admit to some mischief making.

  I don’t know who put the rumor about, but some of you probably heard it already. It went something like this; after Budd’s plane crashed in Switzerland (made to look like an accident) Budd spent his time dressing up incognito, traveling and sleeping rough with the homeless and outcasts in some of the world’s major cities.

  So now you want to know, is any of this true?

  Well, the first part is wrong. His plane crash was an accident. They were forced to make an emergency landing in a Swiss prairie, near a place called la Salanfe. There was a problem with the engines’ oil seals. You could say it was one of those life-changing or life-affirming moments.

  But whatever you want to call it, Budd realized the time had come to take action and solve a problem that had been bugging him. We would both need to use our acting skills and naturally, he swore me to total secrecy.

  See, for some time we’ve been thinking about the best way of handing over the fruits of Budd’s labors, what to do with his life’s work at Brenton Davenport.

  Sorry kids, and anyone else who held out hope, but this is what we decided; the largest part of our family fortune will be transferred to the Budd and Jade Wright Foundation. (Hope you still feel like reading to the end!)

  So now you want to know if the second part of the rumor was true, right?

  Well, I can reveal here for the first time—it was, and let me explain, there was method in our madness. Budd told me that he wanted to do some undercover research. (When he meets folks, they usually only tell him what they think he wants to hear.)

  He needed to understand why people often fail to reach their potential and then end up in a bad way. He wondered if they could be helped. It was like he was auditioning for the ‘Secret Billionaire’—I don’t know if they will ever make that into a TV show, but after what Budd went through, he could star in a pilot version.

  He learned a lot, especially from going around trailer parks, meeting subprimers in LA and Las Vegas. And that was when he came up with the idea of creating a foundation that would start to rebuild America (and later branch out to other parts of the world). It would provide homes for people living rough after the housing scam and offer special financial educational programs.

  We also expect to JV (Budd’s words) with our good friend Will Porters and his wife, on overseas projects in Africa.

  Our eldest daughter Pam told us she’s happy to oversee everything, even if she has a lot more work to do on the farm these days.

  Now for the surprise.

  Budd gained another daughter, this year. No, I didn’t break the record for the world’s oldest mom (Budd tells me he’s very keen to make it happen any time I choose) but after a difficult period for them, Budd and Liz finally made up and called a truce. Liz will now be a regular member of our family, and I’m more delighted than anyone can imagine to have a stepdaughter.

  Well, that’s enough of the heavy stuff.

  Moving on to lighter subjects, as usual we received a lot of nice gifts over the holiday period.

  Budd was real pleased to add to his collection of punch bowls (many of you know he’s been an avid collector for years). He’s very proud of what he calls his crystal infinity bowl. I’ve no idea why, but it came with a nice inscription from one of his friends at the Fed. And Budd was warned, more than once, not to drop it.

  You all probably heard by now, someone finally gave Budd a real job. I know, it’s been a long while coming, and he still can’t commit to doing it full time, but what can I say?

  He’ll be spending a few days a week in New York—no more than three he promised me! And it will only be for six months.

  To be frank, I don’t understand why they asked him. But then somebody told me, the well of people with integrity on Wall Street has run dry (was it ever half full?).

  Budd says he’s not expecting to make many trips up to Washington DC, but neither can he rule out one or two. I know when he was younger, he hated living in that mosquito infested swamp as he calls it.

  So let’s hope he keeps the visits down to single figures—because the place has only gotten worse.

  The kids have a new name for Uncle Budd, they call him the Sheriff of Wall Street and they gave him a gold badge and Stetson as insignia of office!

  Those bloodsucking bankers and their political sidekicks in Washington better watch out!

  I don’t remember who was responsible for giving our grandson his favorite birthday present this year, but he got a complete box set of ‘Toy Story’ DVDs, (that’s movies 1, 2 and 3 if you’re not one of the cognoscenti). After watching God knows how many repeats, Al insisted all his toys had to be given special names.

  So on an unusually wet afternoon, a naming ceremony duly followed. We placed the names in a hat, and when it came to the turn of the helicopter, it was christened Ben.

  Well, it turned out fine in the end. Because one of the children’s favorite games this holiday was Helicopter Ben. Budd puts on a pilot’s hat, with a battery powered personal fan duct-taped on top, and circles the living room, tossing out gold foil covered chocolate dollars from one of his silver punch bowls, while hollering at the top of his voice, “Lollapalooza, to infinity and beyond!”

  Whoever collects the most chocolate is made king or queen for the day and everyone has to do as they are told—a whole lotta fun! If only real life was like that.

  So after what we went through this year, I figured many of you are wondering what my new book recommendation will be. As you can imagine, I spent a lot of time thinking about it because I want you to get as much enjoyment from it as I have.

  Now let’s be clear, I’m not about to go all spiritual on you. Of course, I could tell you to read whatever book is closest to your beliefs. But then most of you already know, I’m not one for all that mumbo-jumbo religious talk. I mean, how can they be so certain about stuff that’s unknowable?

  Well, I hear you say, it’s easy for me. I have Budd and the children and many other nice things surrounding me. So in one sense you’re right. But you know, it’s never easy—this year has taught me that much. Maybe I needed a reminder. And that’s how it should be.

  Anyway, back to the book. I first read it just after we got married, not knowing what lay in store for me—it’s called ‘The Little Book of Give and Take’—something I figure we could all use a refresher course in, every now and again.

  And finally, one more thing … as they say.

  Both of us are delighted to announce the arrival of an artist-in-r
esidence on the island!

  Those of you who come here regularly, already know we have an artist’s cottage on the north side. For a good part of the year, it remains empty, though it’s well looked after. (Judy and Bert always insist on being put up there when they visit. So I’m sorry folks, but it will be occupied for the next twelve months.)

  I remember Yvonne telling me something she learned after taking French lessons (her husband was about to be sent to Paris for a term as the U.S. ambassador and she wanted to brush up on her conversational skills). She told me that some famous French writer (I forget his name) once said: ‘We must all tend our gardens and then learn how to paint them.’

  So there you have it, our new artist asked me to respect his privacy, so I won’t be naming him here. But next holiday season, expect our family Christmas card to look spectacular!

  Here’s to another twelve months of fun and games.

  Jade and Budd

  P.S. We both hope you all continue coming over here. Budd promised me he’ll double the number of American Eagles he lets fall through the holes in his pockets, just so long as I promise not to mend them! Could there be a better incentive?

  P.P.S. Just to let you all know, we’ll be spending New Year’s Eve at Vic Bolger’s remodeled six-into-one pad in Manhattan. Expect pictures of the updated color scheme I chose for him—but only if Budd let’s me open a Twitter account!

  Nathan checked again and saw his name in the To line of the email. It was no accident this time. And at least he was certain of one thing—he had no intention of dragging it to the trash can.

  When he closed his laptop, it never crossed his mind to check his reflection in the screen.

  Δ = T +5.8.1

  For Nathan, the cottage was everything he hoped it would be. He smiled to himself, because he was not using the word in the same way as members of the Astor or Vanderbilt families would. For them, a cottage meant a full-on mansion. Nathan’s temporary residence had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room and kitchen, leading through to a small, north-facing studio.