“Well, that is an offer you can’t refuse. Congratulations!” Theo said, forcing a smile. “So how—when did it all happen?”
“I met the PM at a fundraiser last year. For some reason, she took a shine to me. Maybe because I spoke my mind freely. As an outsider, I suspect my opinions were refreshing. So we kept in contact. The great thing about our political system, as you know, is that you don’t need to be an elected official to be in the cabinet. A few months ago, the PM was grumbling about the state of the economy. I said to her, ‘Why don’t you fire your finance minister and give me the job?’ Didn’t realize she was actually going to do it.” Walter chuckled. “Now that I’ve shot my big mouth off, I’d better deliver.”
“So when can I tell everyone that I know the finance minister of the Netherlands?”
“I’m being sworn in later this week. Over the next few months, I’ll be putting a team together. People I can trust. I was hoping you’d be one of them.”
Theo raised an eyebrow.
“You’re offering me a job?”
“It’s not a job yet. But there will be one soon.”
“I’m flattered,” Theo said. Flattered? How about thrilled? All his problems solved in one shot. But it was impossible to feel anything with that godawful scream in his ears.
THE LAKE SHONE brightly in the noon sun. Theo shaded his eyes and watched a family of ducks waddling under a willow’s drooping branches. At the other end of the bench, Mara stared blankly at a group of people being tortured by their personal trainers. The corners of her mouth were turned down, eyes pouched.
“It was Emma,” she croaked, as if she’d just smoked an entire packet of cigarettes. “It’s her birthday today. She was going to turn twenty.”
Theo swallowed. He remembered the girl: red hair, awkward lisp.
“It’s my fault.” Mara’s cheeks flushed. She looked like she was about to burst into tears, but next moment, she drew herself erect.
“It’s not your fault,” he said, although privately he held her responsible for ignoring his oft-repeated warnings about Viktor. While the rest of the group dismissed him as a truant child, Theo had always known him to be a bomb waiting to go off. Sure enough, he did.
“As the leader, I have to assume responsibility for what happened. I’ve called a meeting of the elders,” she said. “To resign and propose you as the head of the group.”
“Me?”
“You’re calm. You’re organized, strategic. You’ll make a better leader than me.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve been offered a job.”
She slanted an eyebrow. “What job?”
“I can’t talk about it. All I can say is that it comes with a salary and doesn’t involve run-ins with the riot police.”
“So that’s it? First sign of trouble and you want to run? Viktor was right. You’re not one of us. You were never one of us. What are you waiting for? Go. Go back to your ivory tower,” she spat, the same way a skinhead would say, “Paki, go home.”
At first, he was a little taken aback by the vehemence. Then he accepted it with a stoic nod. She’d come to wash her guilt. Quitting was her absolution and he wasn’t permitting her to have it.
“As you wish,” he said, and rose from the bench.
“Oh, by the way, I forgot to give you this,” she said as he turned to leave. Her outstretched hand contained an advertising brochure, rolled into a tube.
“Go on,” she goaded. “I think you’ll enjoy reading it.”
He took it from her and unrolled it. The front cover featured a night sky with a headline in reverse type:
“ARE YOU READY TO DIE?”
He opened the leaflet to read the inside pages:
There was a time when people asked what was a good age to retire. Perhaps a more appropriate question now would be, what’s a good age to die? The answer to both is the same: when you’ve got enough money. Unlike retirement, of course, the time and circumstances of our death are beyond our control. But assuming you live a normal life span and die of natural causes, how do you make sure you’re financially prepared?
START EARLY
When it comes to saving for your afterlife, time and compound interest are your best friends. To give you an example, a person who invests €5,000 annually from the age of twenty-five will have nearly €1.1 million at sixty-five (assuming a 7% annual return). In comparison, a person investing €5,000 between thirty-five and sixty-five will have around €510,000. So don’t wait until it’s too late. Start today.
Switch to direct debit.
Forced saving is the best saving. The sum of money you need to put away each month will vary depending on your circumstances, but we recommend setting aside at least 20 to 30% of your wages for your afterlife nest egg.
WORK LONGER.
When you stop working, you stop earning, and the longer you live, the less you have for your afterlife. Consider postponing your retirement. Or work part-time to supplement your pension payments so you’re not dipping into your afterlife fund …
He stopped reading and looked up.
“Do I really have to?”
“The last paragraph,” she said. “Read the last paragraph.”
He sighed and turned to the back page:
PRIORITIZE.
Life is short. Afterlife isn’t. Look at every expense through this lens. Is it smart to spend hundreds of thousands of euro on a dream home when someone else will inherit it? Similarly, is fifty grand better spent on a flashy sports car or something more long-lasting? A bit of retail therapy is fine, but does it make more sense to hold off splurging just a little bit …
Theo looked at Mara. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“From a financial planner. They’re handing these out at the bank.”
“Do you know what this means? Do you have any idea?” His voice shook.
She smiled. “Of course. Why do you think I gave it to you?”
21.
THE PARLIAMENT COMPLEX IN THE HAGUE, THE Binnenhof, contained a mishmash of structures that ran the gamut of styles from sandstone gothic to post-modern steel and glass. A collage that hung together with more cohesion than some coalition governments that ran the country. For his present mission, Theo was in a seventeenth-century castle that overlooked a shimmering lake.
He entered a room bursting with gaudy baroque splendor: panels upon panels of lush frescoes framed by gilded inlays, ornate cornices, intricate chandeliers, all contributing to the weight of history he felt as soon as he walked through the door.
The ministers were seated around a large table in the middle of the room with Prime Minister Elke at the head. The light from the large window shone on her silver bob and pearl necklace. Her broad, masculine face furrowed with concentration as she listened to the man in the next seat, the minister of home affairs, a rakish figure who was tapping the table to emphasize his point.
The faces in the room possessed varying degrees of familiarity. Theo exchanged glances with the most familiar of them all, Walter. The recently anointed finance minister had the tense look of a man coming to terms with his job.
A few days earlier, Theo had showed him the report. That meeting had resulted in this one, and so here he was, grey jacket, red tie, tan brogues, his stomach a tight ball. It wasn’t just whom he was presenting to, but also what he was presenting.
He went to the end of the room and connected his laptop to the projector. When he was ready, Walter introduced him to his cabinet colleagues.
“Thank you, Walter. Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Theo said, smiling through his nerves. “Thank you for your time. I know you have a country to run. I also know it’s close to lunch. So I promise to keep this short. In the last ten years, we’ve seen a phenomenon take over the world. Afterlife Dollars. A product that has inspired passionate ethical and theological debates. But so far, not a word has been said about how it’ll affect the global economy. And that’s what I’m here to show you.”<
br />
He hit the space bar on his laptop to call up the first slide: a bar graph and timeline.
“The root of the problem is a simple slogan from Bank of Eternity,” he said. As he paced from his computer to the projector screen, he felt his heart slow down and some of the nervousness ease. “Eternal happiness for three hundred thousand Afterlife Dollars. That number hasn’t changed since day one. But what’s changed is how much that represents in earthly money. In 2003, the exchange rate was around 0.01, which meant you needed just under three thousand euro to buy eternal happiness. No big deal.” He shrugged.
“But today with the exchange rate hovering at three, the same thing is now going to cost you nine hundred thousand. Let’s meditate on that figure for a moment, shall we? What’s it going to take to save that money over a lifetime with today’s cost of living? For the purposes of demonstration, I’ve used the example of Joe from Amsterdam.”
He summoned the next slide, a headshot of a young man downloaded from a stock library and next to it, a pie chart that looked like a color wheel.
“Joe earns eighty thousand per annum. Most of you will agree that’s good money, much higher than the average wage. Of the eighty, roughly thirty goes to taxes. Let’s say he spends fifteen on rent. That leaves thirty-five. Now, if you deduct bills, groceries, shopping and beer money, he’ll be left with what—ten grand? For him to have nine hundred grand at the end of his working life, he needs to save most of that ten. But what about other things like buying a house or going on holidays? Ladies and gentlemen, every day, millions of people like Joe are being confronted with this choice. Thanks to the spiraling exchange rate and rising cost of living, it seems there isn’t enough to enjoy both this life and the next. So what are they choosing?” He looked straight at the PM as if posing the question to her. “Is fifty thousand better spent on a flashy new car or eternal happiness?”
He read out a series of quotes on the screen.
“‘Retail therapy makes you feel good for a few hours; Afterlife Dollars can make you feel good forever.’ ‘You have only a lifetime to earn the money, an eternity to spend it.’ I’ve taken these statements from various financial-planning brochures. This is what people are being told out there. Which begs the question, if they listen and prioritize the next life over this one, what’ll happen to the economy?”
Next slide: more graphs, more charts.
“Obviously, housing, the single biggest purchase one makes in a lifetime, will be the first to get hit. I expect demand will fall by an average of at least six percent every year. In five years’ time, we could see prices fall as much as forty percent. But at the same time, people have to live somewhere. So rents will skyrocket, putting more pressure on cash-strapped families. Cars, the industry that’s been struggling since the 2008 global financial crisis, could see an annual decline of seven percent. Luxury goods will fall by at least seventeen percent. Tourism sixteen. F&B, fourteen. Healthcare and pharmaceuticals, five. To put these figures in perspective, I’ve compared them against the corresponding numbers from the last recession. As you can see, it’s—”
“Mr. Van Aartsen,” someone interrupted. “Is it possible that your analysis might be excessively pessimistic?” The man had a wan face, furrowed forehead, a pale scalp with a smattering of grey hair.
“Not at all,” Theo replied with confidence. The data had been triple-checked. “Quite the contrary, I’ve assumed that the exchange rate will remain constant. It most certainly won’t. I also haven’t factored in the domino effect from other economies, which could be significant considering we rely on exports.”
“Forgive me,” said a heavy-jowled man near the other end of the table. “I find your predictions slightly unbelievable after seeing my credit card bill this morning. I think we’ll be safe as long as we have wives and daughters.” The remark triggered eye rolls from the female members in the audience.
“Typical of men. Hang back and wait for women to save their asses.” One of them snorted.
Theo smiled. “It’s a common perception that women are more active participants in the economy than men. However, research on Afterlife Dollar customers shows a near fifty-fifty split. I’d also like to make another very important point: not everybody needs to be saving up for their afterlives. Even if fifteen percent of the population do it, the knock-on effect on demand and investor confidence could be devastating.”
“Mr. Van Aartsen, are our choices so black and white? Can’t people enjoy this life and the next?” It was a woman in a navy dress.
“No, not if you’re the average joe. With today’s cost of living and the appreciation of Afterlife Dollars, it’s increasingly a case of one or the other.”
“What measures can we put in place to prevent this?” she asked.
“A lot of it is being driven by Afterlife Dollar investments. For some bizarre reason, the capital-gains tax on these investments is considerably lower than shares and property. I’d begin by closing this gap. On top of that, I’d consider some form of levy across all Afterlife Dollars transactions, regardless of whether they’re for investment purposes.”
“In other words, more taxes. The electorate would love that.”
“They’d love a recession even less,” Theo countered. The woman scowled and turned away.
“Mr. Van Aartsen, assuming you’re right, when do you see the crisis happening?” The PM’s voice arrived from the end of the table. She fingered her pearl necklace like it was prayer beads.
Theo exhaled a mouthful of air and shrugged. “Hard to say … I predict a tipping point when the market penetration of Afterlife Dollars hits thirty percent. Eight years, maybe. But that’s just a guess.”
“How big a problem are we talking about?”
“Big.”
“How big?” the PM snapped with impatience. “Worst-case scenario.”
“Worst-case scenario …” This wasn’t a guess; this he was sure about. “When shit hits the fan, the Great Depression will seem like a walk in the park.”
THEO EXITED THE building and walked past a fleet of black BMWs and Audis with government number plates. The chauffeurs huddled in the shadow of a gothic tower, smoking cigarettes, trading gossip.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the arched gates of the parliament complex, arriving at a square rather imaginatively named “the Square.” It was ringed by grand government buildings on two sides and a mushroom colony of cafe umbrellas along the other two. The towering high-rises in the distance completed the contrasting picture of old and new.
The green statue of William of Orange, the father of the fatherland, stood high and silent on a sandstone plinth, his outstretched finger pointing in the direction of the new city.
At the other end of the square, Mara sat under a cream umbrella, face buried in a left-wing rag. She lowered the magazine upon seeing Theo.
“How did it go?” she asked.
He sat down and sighed with exhaustion.
“I think I made my point,” he said, recalling the grim look on the ministers’ faces as they left the room.
“Are they going to do something about it?”
“I hope so, although Walter did warn me not to expect instant results in a coalition government. Especially one hanging on by a slim majority. I noticed he was quiet in the meeting. I have a feeling he’s using me to test the waters.”
“So what’s next?”
“I’ve got to do the same thing in Brussels.”
“At the European Parliament?”
“Eurozone finance ministers’ meeting. The American secretary of treasury is going to be there too. So Walter thinks it’s a good opportunity to put the issue on the global stage.”
“Typical. So typical.” She snorted.
“What?”
“Do you have any idea how many petitions I sent? And do you know how many replies I got? Now the economy’s threatened, suddenly everyone’s in a flap.”
“How does it matter? You wanted their attention. You’ve got it
.”
“It may not matter to you, but it does to me. Our motto is justice and fairness. Why am I fighting to preserve a system that’s neither just nor fair but promotes greed, exploitation and mindless consumption? It’s a fuckedup system. I should be throwing a party if it’s going to die.”
“Oh yes, that Marxist fantasy you people like to jerk off to,” Theo scoffed. “What do you think’s going to happen to all those factory workers in China and Bangladesh when this fucked-up system ends? You think they’ll be holding hands and singing songs in some workers’ paradise? I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Without jobs, they’ll be begging on the streets. I’m not blind to the flaws of capitalism, but at the end of the day, it’s not the likes of Mother Teresa that lift societies out of poverty, it’s markets. By the same token, what you label mindless consumption can be as altruistic an act as giving money to a homeless person, because when you buy something, a whole chain of people can feed their families. Even when you’re gambling or doing drugs, someone benefits. Maybe the wrong kind of person, but you see my point? The system is by no means perfect. But it has improved more lives than any other in history. If you don’t believe me, think back to life a hundred years ago. Can you imagine what’s going to happen when all this collapses?”
“Can’t let it fail, there’ll be disaster.” She flapped her hands, mocking panic. “That’s why we’ve never seen any real change. Maybe we should let it fail. And by the way, what do you mean by you people? Just because I don’t agree with you doesn’t make me a Marxist.”
“At least Marxists have ideas. All you’re saying is fuck everything, let there be chaos.”
“It takes fire to forge a diamond,” she declared, raising her chin as if modelling for a Soviet-era propaganda poster.
The pomposity made him laugh.
“Fire to forge a diamond? Where did you get that from? Do you have a little red book of platitudes in there?” He pointed to her handbag on the table.
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