Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series)

by Neil Behrmann

  After checking in we went on to the terrace to have a drink. It was a lovely evening and we sat there silently taking in the view of the rolling hills of the Cotswolds between Cheltenham and Oxford. A tall, tanned, smart, grey haired man sat down at a nearby table and ordered a bottle of red wine. A short, stocky guy joined him. After about half an hour a pretty blonde, went up to their table and sat down.

  She turned around to take out some cigarettes from her handbag and spotted us: 'Hey Pearl, is that you? Haven't seen you for a long time. What you doing here?'

  'Oh hi Carli! Nice place isn't it?'

  'Why don't you guys come and join us?' asked Carli.

  Pearl grabbed my hand and we went over to their table.

  'Carli, this is Jack. I'm Pearl, she said, smiling at the two men.'

  'Ivan Smeerneck. My partner, Baz Tristwell,' said the tall man, signalling the waiter for another bottle of wine.

  We chatted a bit and it didn't take Pearl long before she boasted that we had been taking the Ferrari out for a spin.

  'What do you do Jack?' said Smeerneck, with an American Southern States drawl.

  'Jack's a hedge fund manager,' responded Pearl. 'He knows a lot about coffee.'

  Smeerneck's eyes narrowed: 'Coffee. You're not that trader are you?'

  'Yes that's him,' said Pearl proudly.

  'We're in your line of business,' said Smeerneck, handing me his card. 'We specialise in energy. If ever you want to trade oil or gas, call us.'

  'We've got a top team at Wynchmore Energy,' said Baz. 'Swift execution, excellent research.'

  'Nice to meet you. We must get going. Booked a table at the restaurant,' I said breaking away.

  It was Friday. No way did I wanted to talk business with brokers who were hustling for business. Smeerneck seemed OK but Baz looked like a City spiv.

  While we were talking, Pearl slipped away with Carli. While they were smoking and chatting on the lawn nearby, I noticed Carli pass Pearl a small sachet.

  Pearl was flushed and lively at dinner that evening and after we had finished two bottles of wine, I asked: 'Who are those guys Pearl?'

  'Just friends.'

  'You mean business friends. I know how you operate. We didn't meet them by accident, did we? Why didn't you just tell me?'

  'OK, Jack, I know you don't like talking business out of hours. They're new clients. Thought I could do you both a turn. I checked them out before I took them on. Smeerneck runs one of the top energy teams in the City.'

  Later when we were in our room, I caught her in the bathroom, pinching some white powder from the sachet and having a snort.

  'Try some of this stuff. It makes you sexy.'

  'I'm not into coke.'

  'Come on Jack, just a bit.'

  I was reluctant, but I thought that I had better not be boring. So I sniffed some cocaine and it gave me a kick. We rushed to bed. For the first time since I had met her, Pearl was passionate, shouting and clawing the back of my shoulders.

  That weekend we toured the Cotswolds and visited Bath and other sites. It didn't bother me that she hadn't been totally straight about setting up the meeting with Smeerneck and his sidekick. Sex was so good now, that I was hooked on her.

  * * *

  During the next few weeks, the Brazilian frost worsened. Combined with the drought that occurred in the spring, the crop was down to a quarter of its normal size. Speculation in the coffee market was rampant. Hedge fund bears were slaughtered and three went bankrupt. According to the Wall Street Journal, estimated combined losses of Borodino and Veruschka, amounted to about $4 billion. A third of their entire investors' capital was in the trash bin. Over enthusiastic bullish speculators pushed coffee through the $4 a pound barrier and the price touched an all time peak of $4.80 by the end of September. During this time, Aquarium gradually off-loaded its coffee options. We finally sold our last batch of coffee options close to the top of the market. Our profit was around $25 million. Ruffish and Maffie made sure that Sergio and Fulvio each received $500,000. Another $1 million went to the Brazilian farmers who I had visited in May. They had lost their crop during the frost.

  My share of the take, including gains on my own original $200,000 investment in Aquarium, plus performance fees, amounted to $7 million! After tax, I was left with around $5 million or around £3 million. I was rich and I had not even turned eighteen!

  On a roll, I paid off the mortgage on my Hampstead flat and following Pearl's advice, employed an interior designer. I spent a fortune on some uncomfortable glass fibre furniture and some black and white canvasses from a gallery Pearl recommended. To top it all they installed a large fish tank, my very own aquarium, with exotic, tropical fish.

  Weekends Pearl and I would jump into my red Ferrari and race to parties or go abroad.

  We went on a quick trip to New York and I bought a one bedroomed apartment for around $1 million on West 70th Street near Strawberry Fields. The location was in memory of Dad and Mum who were fans of John Lennon and the Beatles.

  * * *

  My love affair with myself began in earnest after another trip to New York to sort out my new apartment. As soon as I walked into the office, Bess handed me a Daily Mail. Inside was a two page spread: 'Teen Trader Traps Coffee Bears'. The headline was seriously impressive and I blushed with pleasure. I had met Rae Rilling, the writer, at a party with Pearl, but we had only had a brief chat. When I read the article closely, I saw that it had all sorts of personal information. Quoting a 'friend', it described my 'boring life in Bridlington', the fish and chip shop and Mum and Dad dying young. There was a picture of our tatty block of flats and another with the caption: 'Trader Jack Makes it Good'. There I was in my red Ferrari with dark glasses and red frames to match. I wasn't terribly happy with another photo: me leaning sideways on a bar stool with glazed eyes. An empty glass was almost falling out of my hand. The caption: 'Teen Trader's Late Night Out'. I wasn't quite sure whether the article was praising or damning me.

  'How did they get all this stuff?' I asked.

  'Perhaps Pearl,' said Bess, picking up the paper and glancing at the feature.

  Yes, Pearl! That's why the Daily Mail had all the details. I had told her a lot about myself. Pearl must have given Rae the photos. One of them came from the drunken time we had spent with the energy dealers at that hotel in the Cotswolds. Despite that, I was secretly pleased with Pearl, even though she gave the reporter personal stuff. It made me famous. A two pager in the Mail! I went to the nearest newsagent and bought half a dozen copies.

  Ruff, Maffie and other colleagues had a different view. They concentrated on a throwaway line that I had glossed over: 'Jack's Dad warned him against smoking, but he enjoys a joint. A friend hinted that he's tried harder stuff.'

  'You're not into drugs are you Jack?' scolded Ruff. 'What the matter with you?'

  Lovely Bess who was always supportive, was scathing: 'You've changed since you've made money. When you first arrived at the office, you were really nice, Jack. Gentle, considerate, modest. But now there's an arrogance about you. I don't know whether it's the money, Pearl's influence, or both. Those photos . . . You look like a spiv.'

  'I think that sums it up, Jack,' agreed Maffie. 'I can understand that money's gone to your head. But booze and drugs? Really! I thought you had more sense than that.'

  'OK, OK, I'm sorry. Really guys! Pearl gave me some. It was only an experiment. I won't do it again. I promise,' I insisted, hurt by the vehemence of their comments.

  'That's what they all say,' said Krishna.

  Maffie and the other guys at Hastings & Ruffish were appalled for good reason. The Hastings & Murray group of fund managers had an excellent reputation. The firm was regarded as a serious,principled Scottish investment company that donated to charities. The $1 million donation to coffee farmers was one such example. The firm and managers didn't want to be tainted by drugs. I could be sacked.

  I called Pearl to tell her that the Daily Mail article had embarrassed me and want
ed to know her motives.

  'Hi Pearl. You were obviously the Daily Mails source. What's in it for you?'

  'Come on Jack, it's given you great publicity. You now have celebrity status. When you open your fund to investors, you'll have a ready-made marketable brand.'

  'My boss and colleagues don't think so. You could have told me that you were giving the Mail a story. Why didn't they contact me? Why were they quoting "a friend" which could only have been you.'

  'They couldn't get hold of you, Jack. I thought it was best not to give them your number and you well know that your office blocks the press. Come to my place and let's talk about it. Take it easy. Be cool.'

  'OK, I've been invited to Leila Slimcop's latest exhibition. You've never seen her work. You can come along with me.'

  'Sure Jack, would love to.'

  When I arrived at Pearl's place, she didn't give me time to complain. She pulled off my clothes and dragged me to her bed. Before I knew it we were making violent love. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep. When I woke up, I realised that we would be late for Leila's show. We had a quick shower and drove to the exhibition.

  'Pearl, the article was good, except the stuff on drink and drugs.'

  'Sorry, Jack. Rae dragged it out of me when she caught me in the rest room. Journalists have their ways.'

  'OK, please don't do that to me again. I could have lost my job.'

  When we arrived at the gallery in Flask Walk, Hampstead, almost everyone had left.

  Despite being in their seventies, Stan and Leila stood tall and elegant; Leila in a long black dress with black high heels and Stan in a light grey suit.

  'Haven't seen you for a long while, Jack, good of you to come,' said Stan, shaking my hand warmly. 'How are you, Pearl?'

  'Fine thanks!' shouted Pearl who seemed to be hyper. She knocked back a couple of glasses of wine and started giggling. The Slimcops just stood there, perplexed.

  Somewhat embarrassed, I quickly walked around the gallery admiring Leila's charcoal drawings of birds and nudes and her sculptures in the adjoining room. The last room displayed her unfinished work. One was a torso without a head. Pearl followed, but it seemed as if she wasn't very interested.

  David Drummond and Jim Wardle were there. I hadn't seen them for more than a year. Wardle had put on weight and I noticed that Drummond had begun to go bald.

  'Hi Jack, heard that you're doing OK. Thanks for all the business,' said Drummond, sarcastically.

  'No problem. David, Jack's a big guy now. He doesn't need us,' said Wardle.

  'Come on you guys, you know it's not up to me. We have to deal with . . .'

  'Sure, Jack, sure. Only the big boys,' said Wardle.

  They made me a little angry because they were being unreasonable. They were a private client firm and I couldn't deal with them without Ruffish's permission.

  'OK guys, I'll ask my boss.'

  'Sure, Jack, I'm sure you will,' said Drummond sarcastically. 'Saw you in the Mail today.'

  I flushed, but before justifying myself, I noticed Pearl wandering around the sculptures giggling and fingering them. I fretted that she could damage them. Fortunately she went to the loo and I hoped she would calm down. A little later Leila followed and came back shaking. She whispered something to Stan and he pulled me aside. I couldn't understand why Leila was so upset.

  'Leila caught your girlfriend snorting coke,' Stan said.

  'It's only a bit of Charlie,' I replied rather stupidly. 'Hasn't Leila seen it before?'

  'She certainly has. Sean was an addict. He had a heart attack because of cocaine. It killed him.'

  At first it didn't sink in that he was talking about their son. They had never spoken about Sean before.

  'I read the Mail today. You're also taking drugs aren't you?' said Stan looking straight into my eyes.

  'No, no I'm not,' I said. 'I experimented with the stuff, but I've stopped.'

  'That's what drug addicts always say. What Sean used to tell us,' he said, getting heated up.

  He was seriously upset. I had never seen him in that mood. Unwittingly, he touched one of my weaknesses. When people became angry, I became aggressive. After being lectured at the office and having drunk a few glasses of wine at the exhibition, I lost it.

  'Who do you think you are?' I snapped. 'You're not my father. You can't tell me what to do.'

  'You're like a second son to Leila, Jack. I'm also fond of you,' said Stan beginning to control himself. 'But that was before . . .'

  'Before . . . before what? Before I stopped coming to visit you?' I said, raising my voice.

  'We don't expect you to visit us, Jack. You're young. You're busy. You've done well. We know that. It's not a duty.'

  'So what do you mean?'

  'If you want to see us, Jack, you must give up drugs.'

  'As I said, I'm not on drugs,' I snapped. 'I've smoked a bit of pot, but that can't be classified as hard stuff.'

  'And coke? Where does it end, Jack?'

  'OK, I've tried that too. But I've promised my boss and my colleagues that I'll never do it again.'

  'You must stop, Sean,' insisted Leila.

  'Sean? I'm Jack!'

  'You must give up that girl, Sean, she's a bad influence on you.'

  'Come on Jack,' shouted Pearl, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the gallery.

  She was furious and the coke seemed to increase her strength as she dragged me down the road.

  'Who do they think they are? Trying to break up our relationship!' she screamed.

  Before I could say goodbye properly and make my peace, the Slimcops were left standing outside the gallery. The owner, a plump, middle-aged, smartly dressed woman, who was next to them, looked shocked.

  Back at Pearl's place we both fell asleep almost immediately. It was Saturday and early in the morning we made love. Sex had become really good with Pearl.

  She gave me scrambled eggs for breakfast and then started complaining about the Slimcops.

  'I've never been so insulted in my life.'

  'They have a point. You were high as a kite!'

  'I'm feeling pretty clear-headed now. Time you grew up, Jack; stopped looking for father and mother figures. It's natural. Your parents died young, so you look to older people for guidance. The Slimcops can never be the same as your parents.'

  'I'm well aware of that.'

  'You may need them for security and advice, but they also need you.'

  'So what's wrong with that?'

  'Nothing, provided you don't owe them anything. You told me that Stan gave you fifty thousand for helping him make money on gold shares. That was a gift, but psychologically you feel that you owe him. It's a sort of debt. Wealthy people do that sort of thing. But generally there's some form of payback.'

  'They're not those sort of people, Pearl.'

  'Maybe, maybe not. Leila called you Sean. Don't you find it odd?'

  'It was your fault. Your coke sniffing brought back memories of her son.'

  'Yes. But she genuinely thought that you were Sean. Remember when we were with them at the restaurant? How she behaved?'

  'Yes. She was a little strange.'

  'And now she calls you Sean? Thinks you're her son.'

  'So?'

  'The exhibition. The latest work. Very different from her earlier pieces. They looked incomplete.'

  'I thought that you were too high to notice.'

  'I noticed. What's happening to her, Jack?'

  'Dunno, I'm not a doctor.'

  'You're just not prepared to admit it, Jack. It happened to my aunt. Steady deterioration. Alzheimer's.'

  'You want me to cut them out now? When she's ill?'

  'No. It's going to get a lot worse for Stan. You can remain friends. I just don't think that you should owe him. He'll want you to be there continuously. Why should you be there when it doesn't suit you? You're not his family.'

  'But that's what friends are for.'

  'Up to a point,' she sighed. 'Now let's sit do
wn and write a letter. Do you have your chequebook on you?'

  'Yes it's in my jacket.'

  It was then that I did something that I have regretted to this very day. I wrote out a cheque for 75K, made it out to Stanley Slimcop and placed it in an envelope. Pearl virtually dictated the letter:

  Dear Stan and Rena,

  Thanks for yesterday. I really appreciate all the help you gave me when I first came to London. Please accept this cheque for £75,000.

  Best regards

  Jack.

  When I posted the letter the next day, I instantly regretted it. I never received a reply.

  16 - A PRIZE SUCKER

  The Daily Mail feature caused the market to focus its attention on me. Maffie, Ruff and I reluctantly decided that I would have to respond. We decided that the best way to put the record straight was to offer Bloomberg an interview. John Spittlefields, Bloomberg's commodities correspondent, was a reporter who wrote stories without any bias.

  Maffie gave me practice sessions, drilling me on how to come up with the right replies: 'Be smart, cheerful and cool, regardless of the questions. Watch the politicians on TV. They rarely get ruffled.'

  Soon after Spittlefields' piece was on the wires, newspapers, radio and TV stations pestered me for interviews. That made me feel seriously important. Jack Miner, who hadn't even finished school, in front of the cameras defending hedge funds and explaining that the Brazilian frost was to blame for soaring coffee prices. Saying that poverty-stricken South American and African farmers deserved higher prices. Wow!

  Not long afterwards, when the coffee market and media were off the boil, Maffie and I were relaxing in a Costa coffee shop. A lined and crumpled man with a white beard walked in.