A warning sign flashing: Wrong way. Go back. But like his outburst at Bank of Eternity on the weekend, Theo’s anger had taken on a life of its own. And it didn’t care about any warnings or red lines.
“My point? Do I really need to explain?” Blood rushed to Theo’s face. “We can’t take this damn thing to the market without understanding the risks. Unless we want to be known as the company that creates the next big ass-fuck.”
He heard someone suck air through their teeth. You never talked back to Miguel. You sure as hell didn’t mock him, unless bent on career suicide. But Theo had already crossed the point of no return and was now enjoying the rush of danger that came with it.
“Risk?” Miguel grimaced. “You cross the road, you take a risk. You get in the lift, you take a risk. You breathe, you take a risk because you don’t know if the fucker next to you has Ebola. Life is risk. We don’t shy from it. We dress it, tie a bow and leave it in the shop window. That’s what we do: sell risk. Because without it, no one makes money. Not clients. Not the company. Most of all, not you. Now, lots of people have worked hard to pull this together. Last thing I want is some douchebag derailing the biggest launch of our lives by spreading negativity. Everyone, on your feet!”
The intern snapped out of his daydream and hurriedly hoisted the boom box on his shoulder. He hit play. The wood-paneled walls reverberated with the bass riff from Beastie Boys’ “Make Some Noise.”
This time, no prompting was needed. Everyone danced as if consumed by an apoplectic frenzy. Everyone except Theo, who stood still, arms hanging by his sides, lips curled with disgust as he watched his colleagues: middling executives throwing their arms and legs around, doing laughable impersonations of ghetto gangsters. He hated every one of these spineless fuckers. He hated Miguel. Most of all, he hated Beastie Boys.
The song finally finished. Theo breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
“How did that feel?” Miguel asked, wiping his brow.
“Great,” came the chorus, loud and sycophantic. Theo wanted to puke.
“That’s the spirit. I want you to take this energy back to your desks. Let’s make this shit happen.”
“Not you,” Miguel said when Theo turned to leave.
The chair creaked as he slowly lowered himself back into it. Moments later, it was just the two of them. Theo’s heart was in his ears, as his courage seemed to have departed along with his colleagues.
A chilly draft brushed his neck when Miguel sat in the next chair. The wedding band gleamed on the Colombian’s steepled hands. The eyes drilled Theo, small and yellow. A serpent’s eyes.
“What the fuck was that about?” growled Miguel.
Theo swallowed. “I think I made a valid point. We need to consider risk,” he said in a watery voice.
“Is this about your friend? The one whose funeral you went to when the market was in a meltdown?”
“That’s got nothing to do with it.”
Miguel leaned in. Theo gripped the armrest.
“I lost my father when I was fifteen,” the Colombian said. “Shot before my eyes. He was a high-court judge in Bogota. The cartels gave him a choice: silver or lead. Stupid cunt chose the latter. On the day of his funeral, I took my SATs and came top of the class. Now, I don’t know what this friend was to you, but I won’t let my bonus be jeopardized by someone mourning his gay lover. You’ve got five minutes. Go to the bathroom, finish your cry. Then you’re going to get back to your desk and do your job, which is making money for the company. Now fuck off and don’t make me regret giving you a second chance.”
5.
THE TWILIGHT SKY WAS GOLD WITH STREAKS OF crimson. Theo’s beer fizzed away untouched on the barrel table. He was at a pub in Leidseplein, surrounded by loud voices from a bachelor party, but all he could hear were Miguel’s humiliating words, thrumming in his ears like an attack of tinnitus. He clenched his fist hard, driving his fingernails deep into his palm.
Fuck you. I quit.
That was what he should’ve said to Miguel. He nearly had. Upon returning to his desk, he’d typed the email with trembling hands. But something stopped him from hitting send; the part of the brain in charge of self-preservation, one that had been conspicuously absent in the meeting, tried to talk him down from the ledge. It reminded him of a few basic facts: one, jobs were hard to come by; he’d been trying to get out of Alpha for the last two years without much luck. And two, principles didn’t pay mortgages, and he had four of them. Four ball-and-chains shackling him to the fourteenth floor of the World Trade Center.
Besides, hadn’t he made one bad decision already in the heat of the moment? He closed his eyes and imagined events playing out differently. Theo, sitting quietly through the song-and-dance show, smiling politely as he rolled the anger back in his chest.
After the meeting, he’d leave the room and embark on a mission of silent sabotage, underselling the investments to his clients without anybody getting wind of it. A throwaway comment here or there. That’s all it would take. He’d also influence his fellow asset managers at the Thursday-evening drinks. Once again, done discreetly. But that wasn’t an option now, because Miguel had seen his hand.
Damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t.
“Dude, why the sad face?”
A voice brought Theo back to the present. The bald, muscular figure of Mathias had arrived at the table, cradling a silver bucket.
Theo drew himself erect.
“What’s with that?” He pointed to the bottle of Dom Perignon, cooling on a bed of ice.
“Remember that company from Shanghai I was telling you about? The one I’ve been schmoozing for the last eight months?” Mathias said, eyes wide and crackling with excitement.
Theo nodded, remembering Mathias saying something about taking Chinese clients to the casino.
“Basically, I’ve been trying to convince these guys that the London property market’s an overpriced laundromat for the Russian mafia. I told them they’re better off investing their money here. Well, guess what? Today, we signed.” Mathias thumped his fist on the table.
“Wow, that’s great. Well done.” Theo eked out a smile.
“This is just the beginning. I’ve been given access to a bottomless pit of billionaires, all using their first-class baggage allowance to take the money out of the country. Fucking jackpot.”
He popped the champagne.
“Cheers.”
Theo forced the bubbly down his throat. Not fair. Why was Mathias having a great day when he was having a crap one? For the next while, Theo was forced to listen to a pumped-up Mathias talk about his deal.
“I did this. I said that. I made this happen … I … I … I …”
Theo hid his frown behind a raised champagne flute. Perhaps you’re forgetting the time you were broke, homeless, and in jail for dealing ecstasy, he felt like pointing out.
I smoothed things out with the police.
I got you a job at that estate agency.
I lent you money to start your own company.
I even lent you my Jaguar so you could fake it till you make it.
And … I offered to foot the bill for your hair plugs because you were so messed up about going bald. So how about some credit this way? He had this entire conversation with Mathias in his head and then a few moments later, berated himself for his pettiness.
“That’s good, Mathias. That’s great. I mean, you’ve worked your socks off. You deserve it. I’m so happy for you. Really happy,” Theo said, perhaps overcompensating.
Mathias smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “So, something happened at work you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh, that.” Theo waved dismissively. “Nothing. Just the usual bullshit.”
6.
THE BAR WAS A PATCHWORK OF MISMATCHED furniture, bookended by dark wooden walls. Theo sat stiffly in the leather chair, surrounded by the usual Oud-Zuid types: men in blazers and tortoiseshell glasses, women with Louboutins and Botox, all conversing in a low simmer of
stiff upper lips and potatoes in throats.
He took a gulp of whisky, wincing as if he’d swallowed pain. Normally, he never drank before a client meeting. But today he needed it. The alcohol that gave you courage to talk to women could also numb your conscience.
You don’t have to do this, the voice piped up in his head. Again. Why don’t you quit?
He grimaced. I can’t. We’ve been over this.
Why don’t you just admit it’s all about the lifestyle? An addiction to real-life Monopoly and flying first class.
Have you seen the legroom in economy? he said to the voice. Besides, what was quitting going to change? Someone else would take his place. Life went on. You couldn’t fight a system. Men better than him had tried and failed.
He gritted his teeth and downed the whisky, quieting the voice just as his client arrived. Walter’s tall, athletic frame was attired in a charcoal suit and red tie. The face under the manicured salt-and-pepper mane looked as if it belonged in an oil painting: handsome jaw; aristocratic nose; sharp, focused eyes.
After the exchange of pleasantries, Theo summoned the waiter.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked Walter.
“Sparkling water, please,” Walter replied, settling in the armchair.
“Are you sure you don’t want to milk my expense account?”
“Very tempting considering the fees I’m paying.” Walter winked. “But no. I’m driving.”
“Are you saying you’re not getting your money’s worth?”
“Relax, it’s a joke.”
A joke that was cracked once too often for Theo’s liking. He flashed a polite smile.
“Two sparkling waters, please.”
The waiter nodded and left as imperceptibly as he’d arrived.
“Check this out.” Walter slid his smartphone across the table to Theo. A news article was open on the screen.
BANK ROBBER ESCAPES TO AFTERLIFE
Guadalajara, Mexico, June 7.
Most bank robbers stash their loot somewhere safe. But twice-convicted burglar Ignacio Rodriguez found a bizarre way to hide stolen money when the law closed in on him. He converted it to Afterlife Dollars and then shot himself in the head, leaving the authorities somewhat confounded.
“The matter is out of our hands now that the suspect is dead,” said the Guadalajara police chief. “It’s up to the lawyers to recover the stolen money.” When contacted, the lawyers representing the Bank of Mexico, from where the money was stolen, said they were operating in a legally grey area, but remained hopeful.
“Interesting.” Theo handed the phone back to Walter. “Do you think they’re going to get their money back?”
“Unlikely. They’ll hit the insurance company for compensation. Glad it’s not us.” Walter was the investment manager for Golden Sun, Europe’s largest insurance company and Theo’s number-one client.
“That article saves me the preamble. Have you had a chance to look at the prospectus I sent over yesterday?” Theo’s heart was running.
“I like the slogan. An out-of-this-world investment opportunity.”
“Does that mean you like the product, too?”
“What’s my favorite ice cream?” Walter asked.
“Vanilla. And what we have here looks like some exotic Ben & Jerry’s flavor, I know. But let me ask you a question. Your favorite topic. Do you know why you pay me these fees you keep moaning about?”
“So you can treat me to sparkling water?”
Theo leaned forward. “You pay me to give you what you don’t know you want.”
“And you think I want this Ben & Jerry’s Afterlife flavor and don’t know it?” Walter said with a wry smile.
“You want to meet your target. That’s what you want. That’s what we all want.”
“What about risk?”
“I believe your downsides are limited for two reasons. One, the product is in the early days of its life cycle. Two, you can find ways to avoid taxes but not death. Which is to say, there’ll always be a demand for it.” Theo had never acted in a play, but if he had, he suspected it’d be a bit like this. Delivering rehearsed lines, except in this instance he didn’t have a script to work from, but a flowchart. A tangled subway map of boxes and arrows, anticipated questions, possible answers. When you were dealing with someone as sharp as Walter, you had to do your homework.
Walter shrugged. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“What, in your opinion, is the biggest risk?”
“Bullshit risk?”
“Yet no one’s called it, even though the product’s been around nearly ten years. You know why? Because people are full of shit. They say one thing publicly, do another in private. Those that denounce Afterlife Dollars are secretly queueing to open an account. Financial insecurity and fear of death always trump cynicism. No matter what happens, the number of people believing in it will exceed supply, driving growth in the foreseeable future.”
And the award for “Hypocrite of the Year” goes to … drumroll … Theo van Aartsen! Conscientious objector to fervent evangelist in less than a week. Let’s all give him a big round of applause, ladies and gentlemen.
Theo swallowed.
Walter nodded thoughtfully. “What you say is all very well in theory. But I can’t stake millions of euro on theoretical possibilities. I need to see some precedent.”
Once again, Theo had anticipated this. Somewhere in his mind, the flowchart lit up, a flashing arrow directing him to the response.
“Have you heard of papal indulgences? They were the equivalent of presidential pardons, granted by the pope in the middle ages. If you had one of them, you were excused from the punishments of purgatory. Originally, they were given to knights who fought in the Crusades, then extended to anyone providing cash contributions for the war effort. In the sixteenth century, however, Pope Leo X, needing funds for the construction of St. Peter’s Basilica, decided to hit the mass market. Through a network of franchisees, indulgences were granted to anyone willing to contribute to the papal coffers. So you see, there is a precedent.” The words rolled off his tongue smoothly but inside, his lungs ached as if he were underwater, holding his breath.
“So what happened to these so-called indulgences?”
“Martin Luther and Reformation.”
“I rest my case,” Walter said, turning his palms up.
“Indulgences lasted nearly four centuries. Hell of a lot longer than all the companies we’ve invested in.” This wasn’t in the flowchart. This was Theo thinking on his feet.
“Sure, but wasn’t that when religion was the dominant force in people’s lives?”
“What’s filling the God-shaped hole in our consciousness now?”
“Money.”
“I rest my case.”
Walter smiled, conceding the argument. “You really believe in this, don’t you?”
“I know you take pride in not being an early adopter,” Theo said, a final push to get Walter over the line. “You say you like letting others make your mistakes, but the biggest mistake is not picking up an asset when it’s undervalued. Once it appreciates, so will the risk. It’s your call. But I don’t know how else you’re going to meet your target in this market.”
Silence fell over the table. Walter’s bright silver eyes studied Theo as if he were looking at something under a microscope. Theo hid behind his glass of fizzy water, sick with tension. His entire career hinged on this moment. If Walter said no, it was game over.
“I’m not fully convinced,” Walter said finally, “but since you are, I’ll go along. However, I’ll need a more comprehensive risk analysis to convince my bosses. Perhaps you can base your model on papal indulgences?”
“Of course. I’ll email you something tomorrow,” Theo said. He shook Walter’s hand and watched him leave. He waited a few more moments before collapsing in the chair.
7.
THEO HAD NEVER KNOWN HEAT LIKE THIS. IT was like a living thing, a beast that wrapped its tentacles
around your body and sapped your strength. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and glanced at the ceiling. The fan was churning, but he couldn’t feel any air coming from it. On the other side of the table, Hans was typing a text message with both thumbs, oblivious of the sweat trickling down his face.
“I don’t know how you put up with it.” Theo sighed. “Is it always like this in Mumbai?”
“This is a cold wave. You should’ve been here last month.”
“Stop showing off. You’re coping just as well as any white man here.” There were a few of them in the bar, faces red as the checked tablecloths.
“Look on the bright side. It makes the beer taste better. Cheers.”
Theo sipped his beer and grimaced. “Too sweet. I know, I know,” he said, palm up. “I’ll stop grumbling. At least the music’s good.” He bobbed his head to a familiar tune from the jukebox.
“I didn’t know you liked Beastie Boys.”
“I didn’t used to. I do now. You know, I never thanked you for saving my life all those years ago.”
“It’s nothing.” Hans waved his hand. “You’d have done the same for me.”
“I’m not so sure, Hans. I’m not sure at all. You think the whole world is as nice as you. But it isn’t. I, for one, am way too selfish to risk anything for anybody.”
“That’s because you’ve never been put in a situation where you’ve had to.”
“For God’s sake,” Theo said, irked by his friend’s naivety. “I know you like to see the good in everyone. But you underestimate my capacity for selfishness. Even now, I’m here for a selfish reason.”
Hans chuckled quietly. “Why do you like whipping yourself so much? Try being a bit more like Mathias.”
“You mean wear fake tan and fuck anything that moves?”
“No. I mean, don’t think so much.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
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