The Mark and the Void

by Paul Murray

  Tragedy was to strike at the end of the 1970s, when his wife of only six months, heiress Cressida Heinz-Boeing, committed suicide, but Blankly bounced back, taking a position at Drexel Burnham as the junk bond boom began. This was the age of the so-called ‘Masters of the Universe,’ when traders made millions from peddling mountains of practically worthless bonds; Blankly soon became famous for his aggressive acquisitions strategy and his colorful private life, dating a string of models, and being photographed in New York’s hottest nightspots.

  Yet behind the scenes, he was under considerable pressure. The collapse of the junk bond market following the indictment of his boss and close personal friend Michael Milken left him with personal losses of over ten million dollars. A greater loss was soon to follow with the suicide of his second wife, Caspian Dupont. Reeling from this double blow, Blankly spent some time in the financial wilderness. According to friends, he thought seriously about leaving banking and beginning a new career, possibly in restoring old boats. However, the dearth of professional-level golfers in the major houses soon had Wall Street beating a path to his door. He returned to Citi in the early 1990s, where he remained a divisive figure – beloved among employees for his inspirational memos, but attracting controversy for his refusal to indulge what he called the ‘mania’ of that time for political correctness. He drew fire for remarking to a reporter that, with regard to Wall Street management structure, ‘women on top [was his] least favorite position’; less than a week later, he found himself in hot water again after accusing African-American golfer Tiger Woods of stealing his wallet at a fundraising event.

  This was a challenging time for Blankly, one which in later years he would refer to as ‘the toughest hole.’ His venture capital firm, Tourniquet, which had invested over a billion dollars in websites aimed directly at dogs, cats, and other pets, was wiped out by the Internet crash, while on the home front his third wife, Fanfarla Pinochet, survived only ‘by a miracle’ after accidentally dropping a toaster into her bath (the couple divorced later that year).

  But he was to bounce back with the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Center. Now with hedge fund Elite Capital Partnership, Blankly is widely believed to have put in a huge order for gold in the seconds after the first plane hit. By the time the second tower fell two hours later, the price of gold had already risen almost 20%. In the chaos that followed, this single transaction is believed to have resulted in almost unthinkable profits for a small number of investors, including Blankly’s long-time friend the Caliph of Oran; although no records of the trade exist, Blankly was very soon headhunted by Danforth Blaue, where he became the most highly remunerated CEO in the world. Within a year he was delivering record profits through heavy investment in subprime mortgages. He featured on the cover of Fortune, and in the accompanying interview told the reporter that ‘we are in a new paradigm of growth now that cannot be stopped.’

  This paradigm did stop shortly afterwards, however, and with the collapse of the subprime housing market, the subsequent ‘credit crunch,’ and worldwide losses of trillions of dollars, Danforth Blaue was saved from annihilation only by a last-second government bailout. Public anger toward industry chiefs like Blankly, who throughout his career had criticized politicians for any attempts to regulate Wall Street’s activities, was exacerbated by the discovery that Danforth had in fact been betting heavily against the toxic subprime assets they sold their clients. It then emerged that billions of dollars of taxpayers’ money handed over to rescue the firm had been used not only to pay huge bonuses to the failed bank’s executives, but also for a Hawaiian-themed ‘rescue party,’ which featured a live performance from rapper Fugly B of his 2008 hit ‘Bag It and $plit (F*** you B*****s)’ as well as a swimming pool filled with banknotes. Worse, not long after the bailout a lifesize bronze statue of himself that Blankly was having delivered by crane to his office was dropped onto a bus of special-needs students visiting Wall Street for the day. While none was injured, Blankly’s job was felt to be untenable and he stepped down, with a further ‘leaving bonus’ of $33 million and a replacement bronze statue.

  Though Blankly had been pilloried by some for ‘turning reality into a fruit machine’ via complex financial instruments of which he himself had little understanding (cf. the leak of his highly embarrassing memo re ‘hoosits’ and ‘whatsits’ for collateralized debt obligations and synthetic collateralized debt obligations respectively), others took a more nuanced view. Following his departure from Danforth, Blankly – still a ‘scratch’ golfer with famously soft hands – was approached with several different job offers, including Special Advisor to the Treasury, Chair of Professional Ethics at Harvard University, and President of the World Bank. It is no surprise, however, that the man who once said he had ‘capital allocation in his blood’ opted in the end to return to investment banking. Previously helmed by Sir Colin Shred, best known for his outspoken views on the Windsor knot, Bank of Torabundo emerged from the crisis punching above its weight and hungry for fresh ideas on loan portfolio management. A statement to shareholders said that Blankly’s brief was to radicalize the bank’s MO and leverage its sound financial fundamentals into market share. Potential joint ventures or other strategic combinations have not been ruled out, though Blankly has refused to comment on rumors that the bank will begin trading on its own account, or that he is seeking to set up a hedge fund within the firm itself.

  About his own role in a financial collapse which in the US alone has cost more than the New Deal, the Marshall Plan, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the 1980s Savings and Loan Crisis, the invasion of Iraq, and the total cost of NASA including the moon landings, all added together and adjusted for inflation, Blankly is unrepentant. ‘We were wrong about a lot of things. But don’t forget about all we got right. We helped people to borrow more money than anyone ever thought possible, and with that borrowed money, they went out and bought their dreams. Yes, they fell far, but only because they had soared so high – higher than the human race had ever gone before, high enough, almost, to touch the face of God.’

  ‘One thing’s for certain,’ Jurgen says, putting down the magazine. ‘The days of thinking inside the box are over.’

  ‘He sounds like a nutter,’ Ish says.

  ‘They are not paying him to be sane,’ Jurgen says. ‘They are paying him to innovate solutions and then monetize them.’

  ‘He sounds like my Uncle Nick,’ Ish says.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jurgen says. ‘But having heard several stories about your Uncle Nick, I am satisfied that he and Porter Blankly bear no resemblance to each other.’

  ‘Have I told you about the time he bought the bag of ferrets?’ Ish says.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like he’s a big fan of lady bosses,’ Jocelyn Lockhart says. ‘Bet Rachael’s shitting it.’

  ‘You’d better watch your back too, Ish,’ Gary McCrum advises.

  ‘I wonder if he’ll send us an inspirational memo,’ Kevin says. ‘It’s so exciting!’

  Paul hasn’t arrived yet, but I set the Blankly article aside for him. That’s not the only thing awaiting his attention this Monday morning. Jurgen plays a song for us on his phone, which he tells us he recorded with his old reggae band, Gerhardt and the Mergers.

  ‘As the lyrics are in German, I will give you a synopsis. The song is called “Banking Babylon”. It tells the story of a Rastafarian who comes to the big city in order to look for a loan. However, the bank manager, who is white, turns down his application.’

  ‘Why?’ Ish says. ‘He’s a racist?’

  ‘At first it appears a straightforward case of racism. However, as the song goes on, we discover there is more to it than meets the eye. The bank manager has legitimate concerns about the Rastafarian’s ability to repay the loan. Specifically, he believes the Rasta wants to use the money to buy “ganja”, and not as start-up capital for a small business as he is claiming on his application form. So you see, it is overturning your preconceived notions.’

  Is
h and I agree that this is a very unusual angle.

  ‘That was the unique selling point of our band, the Mergers,’ Jurgen says. ‘As four white men working in highly paid private-sector jobs, we were able to give both sides of the story. This is evident in the very title of the song. In Rastafarianism, “Babylon”, which according to the Bible has enslaved the Jews for many centuries, is regarded as the site of all evil. But in fact, ancient Babylonian society was highly sophisticated. Indeed, with the Hammurabi Code, the Babylonians could be regarded as the forefathers of modern banking. That is something few reggae songs give credit for.’

  Ish, for her part, has brought in some anthropological material about the island of Torabundo. ‘Turns out to be pretty interesting,’ she says. ‘So, the Polynesians have been there for thousands of years, just minding their own business, canoeing back and forth between the other islands in the archipelago. Then, in the seventeenth century, the British arrive and start raiding the islands and carrying people off to use as slaves. The building that eventually became Bank of Torabundo, that was the headquarters of the whole operation.’

  ‘It was quite common for empires to station their slave trade in the New World,’ Jurgen says. ‘As it was no longer tolerated in Europe. It became a sort of offshore industry.’

  ‘Could be pretty good for the book, though, eh?’ Ish says. ‘Like this big fancy bank’s origins are sending slaves off to dig up pigeon shit.’

  ‘Scratch beneath the surface of any great power and you will find slavery,’ Jurgen says equanimously. ‘The Romans. Alexander the Great. This very city, in Viking times, was the biggest slave market in Europe. In fact, Irish slave girls became units of currency for a time.’

  ‘They used girls as money?’ Ish says, horrified.

  ‘Ireland did not have any precious materials – gold, silver – for export,’ Jurgen says. ‘So for international trade they used slave girls, or cumals. I believe one cumal was worth approximately three cows.’

  ‘That explains a lot about Irish men,’ Ish says, looking darkly at Jocelyn Lockhart, who’s taking a call on the other side of the cubicle. ‘A lot.’

  ‘My point is that slavery has always been a part of the business world,’ Jurgen says. ‘But what is to be gained by dwelling on the past, or unpleasant aspects of the present? Most people would prefer to think about happy, upbeat things that reflect our twenty-first-century outlook, such as smartphones, or casual sex with attractive strangers.’

  ‘Yes, but Paul wants to show what’s beneath all that,’ Ish says. ‘Such as slaves.’

  Jurgen taps his pen against his teeth. ‘Hmm, I do not think it will be necessary to bring this particular detail to Paul’s attention.’

  Ish squints at him. ‘You’re not censoring me?’

  ‘Of course not. I am simply advising you, as your superior, that this is not the kind of information the average Joe Bloggs reader is interested in. I know, because I have asked myself, as the average reader, if I am interested in reading about the bank’s origins in slavery, and the answer I have come back with is a resounding “No”.’ He issues a decalorized smile. ‘Now, time to work. Claude, please review this report for Mellon. The statistical information seems underdeveloped.’

  He tosses a heavy folder onto my desk. I wait till he’s gone, then hand it to Ish, who hands it to Kevin. ‘Put in more pictures,’ she tells him.

  * * *

  Seven o’clock becomes eight becomes nine, with no sign of Paul. I try to work, but find it hard to concentrate; in fact, I have been fretting all weekend. What did he mean when he said he wasn’t getting to the heart of things? The bank’s whole purpose is to get away from the heart of things – to turn things into numbers, then those numbers into imaginary things, then to divide up the imaginary things into pieces to be bought or sold, swapped or hedged, back and forth, again and again, until the underlying reality they emerged from is entirely forgotten. He knows that; it’s what drew him to the subject in the first place. So what’s the real issue? If he thinks something’s missing – does he mean me?

  His eventual appearance, shortly before eleven, does nothing to reassure me. He is pale, tired, preoccupied; I give him the Forbes article, but he puts it aside with barely a glance.

  ‘Something is bothering you.’ There is no sense ignoring it.

  ‘It’s just a little more complicated than I expected,’ he says. His smile, meant to put me at ease, only flags his own frustration. What can I do? I offer to make him a flow chart showing the different departments and their various tasks; I ask if he wants to go over the analysts’ assessment methods again, price/earnings ratios, free cash flow, and so on. No, no, he shakes his head, it’s not that.

  ‘So what is it?’ I ask, with my heart in my mouth.

  ‘It’s the money,’ he says at last.

  ‘The money?’

  ‘If it’s a book about banking, ultimately it has to be about money, right? But I don’t…’ he trails off, knits his brows. ‘I don’t see anything. You do all these deals, you get paid all these fees, and it’s all just…’ He makes a poof! gesture with his hands.

  ‘Ah,’ I say. ‘Maybe you need to visit the back office.’

  ‘Back office?’

  ‘The administrative part of the bank. It’s where they do the paperwork, record into the system all of the trades, underwritings, bond issues, and so on, put the actual money into the accounts.’

  This seems to awaken his interest. ‘How come I haven’t heard of it till now?’

  ‘There is a Chinese wall between it and the rest of the bank.’ Seeing his blank look, I clarify: ‘That just means that access is barred to us. In case someone is tempted to sneak in during the night and change the records, cover up a bad trade or losing ticket, even re-route funds into an unauthorized account.’

  ‘Right, right,’ Paul says, frowning again and opening his red notebook to jot this down. ‘So you can’t go in there?’

  ‘From our side, no. The doors are locked. But I’m sure you can get clearance, if you are looking around only for your book.’

  He asks me if I will make the arrangements. This turns out to be difficult, and not just for reasons of security. There is a strict hierarchy to investment banking, of which back office lies at the very bottom, below even lawyers. Suspecting, accurately, that the analysts and traders look down on them (just as the M&A bankers look down on us), back office are notoriously unsympathetic to requests for help. My banking career started in the back office, however, and this gives me a certain amount of currency among them. Eventually, Paul gets his tour.

  When he returns, however, his mood seems even worse. He takes out his notebook and sits by the window, but he writes nothing, instead just stares balefully out over the river. Then, though it’s not even 4 p.m., he gets up and leaves. He doesn’t say goodbye.

  That evening, the Minister gives a press conference to announce further exceptional liquidity assistance, that is to say, money, for Royal Irish Bank. On the TV screen, he has regained his air of command, though he grips the lectern with both hands, as if anticipating the torrent of fury that will come back at him; sitting on the dais behind him I spot the little sallow man, staring at the Minister as before, like some horror-movie psychic demonstrating mind control.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Kevin says.

  ‘You’re not the only one.’ Since the news came out, the zombies have been beating a drum by the unfinished HQ, with motorists honking their horns in solidarity.

  Not long after the announcement, we discover the reason for the Minister’s clandestine visit the previous week. He has commissioned BOT to write a special report on Royal Irish Bank.

  ‘Essentially, they are worried that more recapitalization will be needed,’ Jurgen says. ‘A lot of taxpayers’ money has been put into the bank. Now they are getting nervous that the bank’s executives have misrepresented its return to health.’

  ‘Fucking right,’ Ish says. ‘Talk about make-up on a corpse.’

&n
bsp; ‘They don’t have advisers already?’ I ask.

  ‘Up until last week they were being advised by Gerson Clay,’ Jurgen says. ‘However, as you are aware, Gerson have gone bust.’ He pauses to allow himself a brief moment of gloating. ‘I need hardly tell you that this is a highly prestigious commission.’

  ‘Good job, Claude!’ Ish ruffles my hair.

  ‘Is it going to be a lot of work?’ Kevin says.

  ‘Most of the work’ll be deciding how much we can get away with charging them,’ Ish says. ‘Poor old Minister, he hasn’t got a clue. If we told him to buy a really big mattress and stuff all the country’s money in it, he’d go and do it.’

  ‘We will not be advising the government to put the country’s money in a mattress,’ Jurgen says. ‘Rachael is keen that we find a positive angle. A way forward which will produce the most favourable outcomes for the major players.’

  News of the government commission, as well as our rival Gerson Clay’s demise, buoys the whole office. I have my own reasons to be glad. Royal Irish was the centre of the great Ponzi scheme that was Ireland’s property market, with one hand doling out money to the developers who built the apartments, housing estates and mansions, and the other doling it out to the people who wanted to live there, neglecting, at every point, to establish whether anyone was in a position to pay it back. This report, directed right into the heart of the national folly, will surely give Paul what he needs to root his novel.