Greed

Home > Other > Greed > Page 12
Greed Page 12

by D Thomas Jewett


  Again, Maggie nudged him. But this time no words were spoken – only a stern glare.

  * * *

  The committee hearing over, Maggie and Mark walked back to the Senator’s office.

  “Mark.” Maggie stopped and looked directly into Mark's eyes. “If you can’t stay awake and do your damn job, I’ll make sure you're run out of here – I'll get someone who can do the work. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, Maggie. I'm – I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry. I didn't get to bed until late. I had an emergency.”

  Maggie was quiet as they continued walking.

  Mark's defensiveness passed and he became curious. “Do you know how the Senator will vote on this trade deal?”

  Maggie looked at Mark and smiled. “Well, I’m really not supposed to say. But the fact is that this global trade deal is a terrible deal for America – it's especially bad for blue collar workers, technology workers, and unions. And as Sir James asserted, it will expand the ranks of the poor in countries such as the U.S. Because of this, I think the Senator will vote against it.”

  * * *

  It was 2:00 pm; and Mark was seated in the conference room when Stacy, Maggie, and Senator Leech walked in. Mark watched as the three pulled up chairs around the table.

  Senator Leech opened up the discussion. “Well, what did you find out at the hearing?”

  “Well,” Maggie began, “I can tell you that Sir James Goldsmith doesn't like it. He argues – and I must say he provides compelling arguments – that GATT and the WTO will bring about the downfall of the United States, and of western civilization. He also argues that it will wreak havoc on the third world, causing lasting food shortages, starvation, and wholesale revolution.”

  “Wow!” Senator Leech looked over at Mark. “What do you think?”

  “Well, sir. I think that Sir Goldsmith is highly credible. I could find no fault in his arguments.”

  “Hmmm,” Senator Leech paused. “How about the other witnesses? The economists?”

  “Well, sir,” Maggie answered, “they talked a lot about comparative advantage. They all believe that free trade would be best for our country and that the U.S. would benefit. There was one economist that said we could see benefits as high as $300 billion over the first ten years.”

  “$300 billion?” the Senator’s face took on a quizzical expression. “That's peanuts!”

  “Yes, sir,” Maggie replied.

  “Did anyone ask these 'economists' if they thought the plan actually proposed 'free trade'?”

  “No sir,” Maggie shifted her posture, I don't think that question was asked.”

  “I'm phrasing my question like this for a reason,” the Senator continued. “I looked at the plan for this trade deal. This is not 'free trade'; this is 'managed trade'. The plan says trade will be managed according to some damn international committee, and it looks like the U.S. will lose its sovereignty over international trade.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maggie agreed.

  The conversation paused.

  “I also talked with a finance guy that I trust. He looked at it and said it would alter the worldwide flow of capital. He said there would be a loss of capital in western countries – especially the U.S. – and it would cause a tremendous loss of jobs.”

  “That's my assessment, too,” Maggie agreed.

  The Senator ran his hand through his dark brown hair. “Shit,” he spat. “I think Goldsmith is right. This is a bad deal for us.”

  The Senator looked at Maggie. “What do you think? Do you think this will benefit us?”

  “No sir,” she replied. “Honestly, I think this deal sucks. I think this will kill the United States. Not today, and not tomorrow. But ten or fifteen years from now, the U.S. would be a very different country.”

  * * *

  Mark was working on his post-meeting notes when he looked up and spied someone walking by his door – it was the receptionist accompanied by a lanky, tall man with dark features. He could hear voices on the other side of the wall. “Senator, this is your 3:00 pm – Mr. Daniel Elsbach.”

  Mark heard a greeting from the Senator. Then, he heard a thud as the Senator's office door closed. He watched the receptionist as she walked past his door.

  Later on, when the time to vote arrived, Mark and Maggie were surprised – very surprised – that Senator Shaun Leech voted in favor of the deal.

  * * * * *

  The TV newscaster droned on ...

  “Today, the World Trade Organization has been created. This new World Trade Organization is derived from the former GATT – the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade. The WTO is created to facilitate free trade around the globe.”

  “This is a direct result of President Clinton’s ambitious initiative. As you may remember, President Clinton convened a special session of Congress to push through the free trade agenda.”

  “But as our Washington correspondent, Brett Skow reports, not everyone is happy with this.”

  With this, the camera switched to a live scene inside a marble palace – somewhere in Washington D.C.

  “I have Congressman Fuller from Ohio here; and he has serious concerns about the WTO and our participation. . . . Congressman? . . .”

  “This agreement purports to advance free trade; but it is actually a major threat to free trade. To implement the WTO means that we implement a world-wide bureaucracy that will manage international trade for their own purposes. This is absolutely opposite the notion of free trade. This form of managed trade is meant to enrich the corporate interests and the interests of government, at the expense of our working class. Mark my words ... this agreement will promote the fall of the U.S. economy and the fall of the middle class in this country ...”

  The correspondent pulled the microphone away from the Congressman and continued, “and that’s the word here in Washington. Back to you, Chet.”

  Chapter 3 – Circa 1992

  Joshua closed up his office and locked the door. He glanced at his wristwatch. It's time to call it a day, he thought. I've just enough time to make the meeting.

  Joshua thought back to last night's telephone call. It was a cryptic message – one that he would usually chalk up as a crank. But I've got a feeling about this one, he mused. I think it will bear fruit! And since he was weary of his present arbitrage job, he decided it couldn’t hurt to listen to this guy. What was his name? Daniel who?

  Joshua walked the corridor until he came to the elevator that quickly brought him down to the lobby. He sauntered through the lobby, nodded to the security guard, and stepped outside. He took a deep breath and coughed. Bloody awful this London air is!

  As he walked along the sidewalk, Joshua Lindt became aware of just how upset he felt. Bloody 'ell, he mused. This has been a bloody tough day!

  He thought back to his wife’s afternoon telephone call ...

  Linda’s voice was more shrill than usual. “Joshua, I’ve gone ahead and filed for divorce.”

  “But Linda, I thought we were going to talk about this first?”

  “Talk!” She shouted. “I’ve talked ‘til I’m blue in the face. I want a nicer home. Bob James’ wife has a much nicer Mercedes than I do – how can I ever look her in the eye? No, you asshole, you just don’t provide what I need – and I’ve had it!”

  “I’ll be home at about 7 o’clock – we can talk then,” he replied.

  “Go to hell, you moron! For months I’ve been neglected. You treat me like I don’t even exist! Hell – you haven’t given me a decent gift in months ...” her voice trailed off. “Wait! Are you screwing someone else? ... I know you are – I just know it! I’m tired of this crap; and I’ve had enough! My lawyer will contact you!”

  Click!

  He still had mixed feelings about the phone call. He was happy that she would soon be leaving, but sad that he would now have to fight to keep his property – to keep what he had earned. He was not looking forward to the court battle. In these matters, the English courts were partial t
o the woman; especially when the man was a high-income earner like himself. And the English government did not like white men who earned a lot of money. After all, they were usually the exploiters of the poor and downtrodden. And they would see Linda as a victim – a poor, downtrodden victim.

  It's a good thing I stuffed some of my more liquid assets in a safe place, he reflected.

  * * *

  Joshua pulled on the heavy ornate door handle, feeling the finely-balanced door begin to swing toward him. But then the door opened quickly just as a couple brushed past him on their way out. “Sorry, mate,” said the man. Joshua stepped back and stared the man down, even as he straightened his suit coat – a coat he had purchased from Tarpleys of London. Once more, Joshua stepped into the pub, pausing just inside the door to take in the layout of The MoonDancer – a popular (at least, popular in the financial district) London City pub.

  The room – a large space with a low-hung ceiling of open beams – was perhaps half full. Through the light fog of cigarette smoke, he could see patrons dispersed throughout the dimly lit space; some standing at the bar, some seated at tables, some milling around. All of them were doing what they do – talking, sipping, smoking, bantering, flirting – or whatever. Off near the back of the room, a piano played a melancholy piece that drifted through the sultry atmosphere.

  There was nothing unique about this pub. It was like a hundred others he visited before. In fact, the people looked the same. Was it possibly the same people he had seen at those other pubs? Quite a few of the patrons were winding down from a typically tough day of work in London’s financial district. Some were brokers; and some were investment bankers, arbitragers, or traders. But whatever else, they all had one thing in common – money. They lived money, they breathed money, they smelled the fragrance of money, they would even sell their soul for money. Blimey, Josh reflected, maybe they did!

  Josh looked down the bar and spied a man seated at the end; a man seated alone, holding a half-full glass in front of his eyes, and gazing past it as though it didn’t exist. Joshua walked the length of the bar. As Joshua drew closer, the lonely man turned and looked at him.

  “Daniel?” Joshua asked.

  The man’s mouth formed a tight, barely noticeable smile. “Yes, I am. And you must be Joshua.”

  All at once, Josh took in Daniel’s ‘too correct’ features – his steel gray eyes and a seemingly tanned complexion, with dark hair and a touch of gray at the temples.

  “Let’s find a table,” said Daniel, eyeing a sparsely populated corner of the pub. Joshua followed Daniel to an empty table where they seated themselves.

  Daniel turned to Josh, “my name is Daniel – Daniel Elsbach. I represent –”

  Just then, a perky young waitress came up to their table. “Good evening, gentlemen. May I take your order?”

  Daniel waved his half-full glass; even as Joshua gazed up at the waitress. “Vodka on the rocks.”

  The waitress’ smile grew even larger. “Certainly, sir. I shall add this to the bartender’s queue, and bring it shortly.”

  She moved off, blending into the backdrop of clinking ice, the din of voices, and the sultry, smoky room. Ignoring all of this, Josh focused his attention on the man before him. “What do you want?”

  Daniel smiled and looked down at his glass. “Mr. Lindt ... ah, Josh. I represent a group who is interested in engaging your services – your services as a master of commodities trading; and your services as a financial department manager.”

  Joshua’s eyebrows raised up. “Oh?”

  “Yes. At AB Jorday investment bank, we are opening a commodities trading department that will focus specifically on the gold and silver trade. We are looking for that spark of brilliance – that crème d la crème – to make it go.”

  Joshua frowned. “Well, I can certainly make it successful, but there are lots of people who can trade commodities. So why choose me? Especially since precious metals’ trading is boring – there‘s nothing to it.”

  Daniel smiled as he ran his fingers along the side of his glass. This is different, Joshua. Very different –”

  Just then, the waitress returned with Joshua’s vodka and placed it in front of him.

  Joshua was holding out a 5-pound note. “Keep the change.”

  The waitress beamed at the nice tip and headed off to the next table.

  Josh turned his attention back to Daniel. “How different?”

  Daniel smiled into his glass and continued. “We want you to work the commodities markets so as to, ah – let’s say, ‘manage’ the price of gold and silver.”

  “Manage? What do you mean by ‘manage’?”

  “Let me be clear, Josh. We want you to drive down the price of silver and gold, and keep the prices as low as possible.”

  Josh's eyes widened. “You’re asking me to manipulate the market? People go to jail for things like that!”

  “Shhhh!” Daniel whispered. “This must be kept quiet!”

  Josh looked down at his glass. He barely noticed the floating ice as he took a swig. “Why are you bringing this to me? If I were to sign up for this, it would be a conspiracy.” He looked into Daniel’s eyes and said, “Frankly, I don’t need any trouble!”

  Josh got up to leave when Daniel grabbed his arm. “Wait. Wait! Sit down. Let’s talk – I can make this worth your while.”

  Josh stared into Daniel’s eyes. “Let go of my arm.”

  Daniel released his hold. “Will you let me explain?”

  Josh slowly re-seated himself. “Bullshit. I don’t know you from Adam. Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

  Daniel held up two fingers, almost in the shape of a peace sign. “Two reasons. First, I know that you presently work for Marcia Simpson at Lehman and that you know Marcia well – ask her about me. Second, the salary for this job is substantial. At a minimum, a low eight-figure number.”

  At this, Josh whistled.

  “But there is a stipulation,” Daniel continued. “We must be certain that we can trust you.”

  With his friendly smile, Daniel was as smooth as though he were selling free heat to an Eskimo “So, how much must we pay to secure your trust?”

  “You talk to me about breaking the law; and then you want my trust?”

  “This is really a two-way street,” Daniel said. “You need to be able to trust us; and we need to be able to trust you.”

  “We? Who is ‘we’?”

  * * *

  A few days later . . .

  The MoonDancer was a busy place tonight. But Joshua had found a table out of the mainstream. There, he waited for Daniel while sipping on his wine.

  Joshua reflected on what he knew, and what he didn’t know. And he realized, shaking his head, that there was much he did not know – about Daniel, about the people behind him. Nor, did he know what knowledge they had about him.

  Joshua couldn't know how carefully Daniel investigated his prospects – especially those who were to play an important role in Daniel’s plan. Nor could Joshua know that he had been investigated more thoroughly than most.

  In fact, Joshua did not know anything about Daniel’s dossier on him – that Josh was accustomed to living high, as was his wife and his mistress, and that Josh was not making it on his six-figure salary, and that his wife and mistress were each demanding ever-more.

  No. Joshua had no knowledge of any of this.

  Joshua continued to reflect on Daniel’s offer. Eight figures was huge – he would have no trouble supporting his lifestyle with that much money! Blimey! It’s only illegal if you get caught!

  Just then, Joshua was distracted by a young woman who stumbled by his table. She had the face of a model. And her body – oh, wow! Josh enjoyed the way she moved, feeling more than just a twitch down in his loins.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Joshua looked up to find Daniel sitting down next to him.

  “She’s something, isn’t she!” Daniel couldn’t keep his eyes off of her eithe
r. “I see her here once in a while. I think she works at the Bank of England, as a banking analyst. Whew – she can analyze me anytime!”

  Both men were now very much at ease.

  “So Daniel,” Josh opened. “I am very interested in your proposal. Please tell me more.”

  Smiling, Daniel began talking more details.

  * * *

  Two months later . . .

  Joshua was digging through his plans for the new commodity trading operation, when out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a shadow in his office doorway.

  He looked up to find a young shapely woman standing at the entrance.

  “I’m Stephanie Walker,” she said, reaching her hand out. “I’m guessing that you’re Josh. And if my guess is correct, then I’m your new assistant.” She smiled and looked at Josh through her clear blue eyes – eyes slightly obscured by her straight blond hair.

  “Ah – oh. I’m a – Josh. Yeah, ah – Josh Lindt.” Josh reached out and shook her hand. He looked at her with a quizzical expression, and asked, “How did you get here? Ah – I mean – who hired you?”

  “Oh, Daniel asked me to stop by. He didn’t tell you?”

  “Ah, no. He didn’t mention you. Come to think of it, I don’t ever see Daniel.”

  “Well,” Stephanie was almost bouncing with energy, “Daniel asked me to sign on as your assistant. With your permission, of course.”

  “Hmmm ... Well – okay. Will you please sit down? I'd like to talk for a moment.”

  Stephanie’s smile was wider still as she took a seat.

  By the end of the interview, Josh had made up his mind. Tall, blond, lanky, well-proportioned, and with an incredible smile, Josh immediately liked her. More importantly, he found her to be articulate, smart, vivacious, and engaging – she was the perfect assistant and hostess, and a great spokeswoman for a man in his position.

 

‹ Prev