Big Deal Read online

  I snort with laughter. “He wanted to hire us.”

  “Not just you?”

  “Nope. All of us. And he gave us a dire warning about how Global has taken on a whole lot more investment, and they’re going to gobble us up in the market. It was pretty unsubtle, even by his standards.”

  Billy lets the bike roll to a stop and turns to me, his face concerned. “You think they’re really up to something, huh?”

  “I don’t know, Billy.” I shrug. “It does sound like more than their usual blowhard bullshit to me. In the meantime, we’ve got a job to do, right?”

  He nods. “Find a way to stay ahead of these bastards in the market. Can’t gobble us up if we’re way out of reach, right?”

  “You got it. Right, back to your cycling, Flynn. I’ll not be held responsible for your lack of lasagna.” He makes a face.

  “Man, talk about bosses who work you hard. This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “Flynn! Cycle! Now!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m cycling.” I leave Billy grumbling and puffing, and head for the changing room. While I’m showering, I think about the conversation with Rick, and something he said—what was it?

  We’re watching what you’re doing, all the time…

  Someone else said something very similar, just a few days ago. Who was it? One of the trainees?

  In a flash it comes to me—the Haas girl. The tall, blond one. The tall, blond, pretty one with the intense look of concentration when she’s thinking. Ronnie.

  Does she have that look of concentration when she’s slipping out of her expensive dress, I wonder?

  I shake my head. None of that Tom. No lechering over the trainees; you’ve got a job to do.

  So, what can we do? The whole world is watching us, so we do—what?

  Suddenly, I get a flash. Would that work? A sustained series of sell-offs designed to test the market across a range of products, then focusing on the things that other firms’ algorithms pick up on? Then a synthetic bond issue specifically tailored to those products?

  I need to think about this some more. And I need to stop thinking about the Haas girl. I towel off, dress, and head back to the office, barely noticing the walk.

  Back in my office, I pick up the phone, and dial Bob Walters’ private line. To paraphrase the meme, I don’t phone the head of the firm very often, but when I do, I have a good reason.

  He picks up after two rings. “Tom. Always a pleasure.” His gravelly voice sounds like he’s been smoking all morning; in fact, I think he quit twenty years ago.

  “Bob. Have you got a moment?” This is a courtesy. Bob Walters never has a moment, but it’s polite to acknowledge that he’s going to make one, because it’s me.

  “Sure thing, Tom. What can I do for you?”

  I take a deep breath. “Bob, I’ve got an idea for a deal. It’s going to take work, and it’s not without risk. But if it works, well, you’ll see.”

  There’s a pause. “Just a minute, Tom.” A series of clicks, and he’s back on the line. “Go ahead.”

  Gradually, over the next five minutes, I explain my idea, piece by piece. When I’m finished, the line is quiet.

  “Hell’s bells, Tom.” I’ve never heard Bob Walters swear before. “Do you think you can do it? You can construct a synthetic bond which people will buy into like this?”

  “Bob, I wouldn’t take up your time unless I thought it was a realistic possibility. Can I promise it will work? No. But I can promise we will put ourselves in the best place to pull it off. What I need right now is your permission to move forward with the research, and the resources to do so.”

  “Tom, I’ve been willing to back you since you joined the firm, and I’m proud to say that’s paid off for both of us. But this…this is something else, son. If it goes wrong, or if anyone else knows what’s going on, we’d be sitting ducks. We’d end up with a massive investment in things which were deliberately chosen because they were volatile. The funding you’re asking for? The firm couldn’t survive a loss of that scale.”

  “Bob, I know.” I’m trying to be as conciliatory as possible. “But you hired me to take risks, right? You hired me to come up with the big idea, the big show. That’s what I’ve done, and that’s what I’m doing right here. If this comes off, it would be a world-first. We’d be in history.” If it doesn’t, we’ll be in history for all the wrong reasons.

  There’s a grunt on the other end of the line. “Okay, Tom. You’ve earned the right to investigate this at least. What do you need to take it to the next stage?”

  I pause. “First, I need my whole team focused on this. I want to be able to push ongoing business off onto other teams. They’re going to bitch about it, but I can smooth that out. You just need to know it’s going to happen.”

  “Done.”

  “Next, I need some resource from outside. I want my pick of the trainees to come and work on this.”

  “Done, although I’m damned if I know why you want a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears graduates taking up space on the floor. I saw them myself down in the foyer just the other day. When I started, we would have stuffed every last one of them into a trashcan before we let them so much as pick up an order book.”

  I try to sound disapproving. “Bob, the game has changed, and that’s why you hired me. Those kids you talk about stuffing into trashcans are MIT graduates. Those kids run the whole world now, and our competitors are snapping them up. If we want to stay ahead, we need to go one better.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Bob Walters doesn’t admit that other people are right very often, and I allow myself a small smile. “Go talk to Barbara and get whichever ones you want. The milk and cookies are coming out of your budget, though.”

  “Thanks, Bob. They’re the future of the firm, you know.”

  “You’re the future of the firm, Tom. You need to think about leadership beyond just the number-crunching. You need to think about where you want to be with Walters Capital in ten years’ time. I’m not going to live forever, Tom, think about that.”

  Sheesh, succession planning already. “Thanks, Bob, but right now I’ve got more than enough on my plate with this deal. Look, give me a week to work on it, and we’ll talk again, okay? I’ve taken up enough of your time as it is.”

  “Very well, Tom. Keep me informed.” He rings off. I put the phone down, stare at the wall for a moment, and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. After a few moments, I pick the phone up again, and dial another number.

  “Barbara? It’s Tom Macaulay. Yes, good, thanks. Busy, but good. Look, I need to borrow some of the trainees for about a week. Would that be okay? Yes, I know their lectures are of vital importance. Yes, I know a rounded exposure to all areas of the firm is critical for their development. I’d still like to borrow them though. Which ones?”

  I pause for a moment. Really, this is all a sham. Tall, blond, determined, concentrating. Very, very pretty.

  “Actually, now I think about it, just one. What was her name again?” I make pretend rustling noises. “I have it here somewhere.” Rustle, rustle. “Ah, here it is. Veronica Haas. Does that ring a bell?”

  6

  In the mid-afternoon sun, the crosswalks are busy, and the way back from lunch is a tricky one. We’ve got more lectures this afternoon, and no-one really wants to go back and sit in that damn conference room.

  After the first few days, some of the middle-row people have warmed up to Adam and Errol. Even Abby, the girl who tried to sell us the suits, has become friendlier. It turns out she’s been studying for an MBA part-time, and attempting to sell us discount businesswear was part of an assignment.

  “Yeah, look, they were a really good deal, honestly. I kinda couldn’t understand the supplier so well, because it was a lousy line; apparently the phone system in Kansas, or Kazakhstan, or wherever they are, is not so good. But he did assure me they’ll be great. And the price! Boy, the price!”

  Her enthusiasm is infectious, even though I am co
nvinced this is a terrible deal. I like Abby, but I have gently steered Adam and Errol away from purchasing any form of clothing product from her. Beside us, Adam walks, head down, talking to Errol. I catch slight fragments of conversation from them.

  “…machine learning…optimization problems in polynomial time…” Before I can poke my nose in, Abby grabs my shoulder. She only comes up to my shoulder, so this is a pretty good effort for her, especially while we’re dodging people on the street.

  “Hey Ron,” flicking the hair out of her face while she’s hanging on to me, “Whaddya think about when Tom Macaulay came to talk to us? Do you think he’ll be back?”

  I think for a minute. If he does, he won’t want to talk to me much. Abby plunges on.

  “Whoo-ee, he could lecture me. Any. Time. He. Wants.” Somehow she manages to make the word ‘lecture’ sound more salacious than I could ever have believed it could be. “Cute, huh?”

  I try to look noncommittal. “Yeah, I guess.” He’s red-hot, but now is really not the time to be lusting after senior management. I need to be focused on getting a job offer, like Momma says.

  Adam looks up, just in time to avoid walking into a fire hydrant. “Oh, Dr. Macaulay? Yeah, really interesting. Super-cool guy. His Twitter feed is worth subscribing to. You know he did a lot of work on conditional mutual information networks? When he moved into finance, he applied all of that network stuff to finding relationships between asset prices, in ways that nobody had ever thought of. His team is super, super-cool too. They’ve got their own space, and they can just basically work on whatever they want.”

  Abby snorts. “I’d like him to work on MY mutual—” I try to cut this euphemism off before it gets started.

  “Abby, come on. We’re supposed to be learning from these people, not ogling them.” I’d really like to see what he looks like out of that suit—stop it, Ronnie.

  “Honey, we can do both at the same time. It’s called multitasking, and it’s an essential skill for survival in the modern workplace. Ogle while you learn, that’s what I always say.”

  I give up. “Right. I don’t seriously think he’s going to want to teach me much after what I said to him at the end of the class.”

  All three of them stop and look at me. “You talked to Tom Macaulay?”

  “Yeah, briefly.” It’s hard to remember details apart from those eyes, and that voice, but I remember it was really embarrassing.

  Errol looks as envious as it’s possible to look behind those glasses. “What did you talk about?”

  Oh, you know, I insulted his intelligence. Just the usual things you do to a hot guy who has the power to make or break your future, really.

  “Well,” I start, and then, blessedly, my phone rings. “Sorry, guys, I have to take this. It’s my Mom. Look, you go on, and I’ll catch you up, okay?”

  The three of them walk off, falling into a discussion about data processing. At least that will protect Adam and Errol from errant suit purchases. I stare at my phone again, and steel myself.

  “Hello, Momma.”

  “Veronica? Is that you?” I swear Momma has been in this country since she was a little girl, and she still sounds as Dutch as can be.

  “Yes, Momma, it’s me. You called my phone, so of course it’s me.“

  “Okay, okay. How did your first week go? Are you paying attention?”

  “Yeah, I’m paying attention. It’s a lot more like college than I thought it would be, to be honest.”

  “Are you going to have exams and things? I know you like exams, even though we used to have to push you to study for them. When you were a little girl, you always wanted to take things apart and put them back together, not read textbooks.”

  “I know, Momma. I still like taking things apart and putting them back together. You know that.”

  “This is a really ‘portant opportunity for you and for the family, Veronica. You know that, don’t you?”

  I try not to sigh audibly. “Yes, Momma. I know it’s important. I’ll do my best.” Getver, why is this the same as when I was in school? In college?

  “We only say this, your father and I, because we love you and we want you to succeed. You’re so smart, you can do anything, and those finance people, they need you.”

  Trying to change the subject, I seize on the one thing that might distract her. “How’s Poppa? Is his breathing better?”

  My mother’s tone changes, and for a minute I remember how worried she always is. “Yeah, he’s better. He can talk. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, I’m handing the phone over. Don’t hang up after you’ve finished talking to him, okay? I want to talk to you again.”

  “Okay, Momma, okay. Just let me talk to Poppa, alright?”

  “Okay, I’m handing the phone over now. Here I am, I’m handing it to him.” There’s a rustle and a cough.

  “Hello, little one.” My father’s deep, reassuring drawl sounds through the phone, as if he’s straight from Utrecht, and I feel a wave of relief.

  “Hi Poppa. How are you feeling?” I know he’s been worse than usual this week, and this is the first time he’s been able to talk since he came out of the hospital.

  There’s a rumble of a cough, but he stifles it. “Better, better. Your moeder is in your ear about the job, huh?” A squawk in the background suggests that Momma can hear one side of this conversation, and I smile to myself.

  “Well, yeah. But it’s okay. The job is fine, Poppa, really. We don’t know what we’re doing yet, and it’s a whole lot of sitting in rooms listening to stuff, but it’ll work out.”

  “Good. I’m really proud of you for getting this far. Whatever you do, just follow your nose, and it’ll work out okay.” His breathing rasps, and even now I wonder if he should be talking this much.

  “I know, Poppa. Are you in bed?”

  “Uh-uh. She’s got me out in the garden on the bench seat. It’s a lovely day here; you should come back soon for dinner.” I wonder about how the house has changed since I moved out, and whether my room is the same. Is it inevitable that places change to fit the people who live in them?

  “I will, Poppa, I promise. You shouldn’t talk too much; all that coughing is no good for you.”

  Another rasp. “Yeah, I know. Dammit. Okay, I should give you back to your moeder now. Take care, little one.”

  “Bye Poppa. You take care too, and I’ll see you soon.” Every time we speak, he sounds older. There’s another rustle, and I hear the clink of my mother’s earrings against the phone.

  “Hello? It’s me again. It’s your mother.” Her voice sounds far-off.

  “Yes, Momma, I know it’s you.”

  “You sound very faint, Veronica. What’s wrong?” I bite my lip.

  “Momma, are you holding the phone the right way round? Is the writing on it right-side up? We have talked about this before, you know.”

  “What? Oh.” More rustling, and she comes back much clearer. “Is that better?”

  “Yes, that’s much better.”

  “Okay, good. Now, you know how important this job is, don’t you? You know that you need to do everything you can to make a good impression, huh?”

  I take a very deep breath. “Yes, Momma. You’ve said this a lot of times before. You said it to me when I left college. You said it to me when I took the exam. You said it to me when I passed the exam. You said it to me before I went to Walters Capital on the first day. I get it, Momma.”

  My mother sounds slightly affronted. “We want you to do well, that’s all, and you know how you get sometimes, being irresponsible and—” My phone beeps, and I interrupt, partly because I have another call, and mostly because I really don’t want another lecture about needing to be responsible.

  “Momma, I’m sorry, but I have a call from the office, okay? I have to take this. Okay? I’ll come and see you and Poppa very soon. Maybe next week. I don’t know. Okay, I’m hanging up now. Okay. Goodbye, Momma.”

&nb
sp; Deep breath. “Hello, this is, uh, Veronica Haas.”

  “Ms. Haas?” It’s Clipboard Lady, who, it turns out, has a name. Barbara. You’ll always be Clipboard Lady to me, honey. “You are to report to the twelfth floor reception tomorrow morning at 8am. You have been assigned to the Macaulay team. You will miss out on lectures, but,” a sniff, “you will just have to make up the gap in your own time.”

  “Assigned?” Anything that gets me out of those lectures has got to be good.

  “Yes, assigned. Don’t be late.” She rings off before I can ask any questions. I think briefly about calling her back, but then decide it would be perceived as a terrible faux pas, or something equally nuts. Dodging the foot traffic, I’m nearly back at the Walters Capital building now. I stop and look up at the twelfth floor from the street.

  Assigned to whom? Assigned for what?

  7

  I knock on the large wood-paneled door. No answer.

  I knock again, louder this time. Still no answer. I can hear a murmur of voices inside, so I assume they just didn’t hear the door. I place my hand on it, and turn it as gently as I can. My best friend in college was always really good at sneaking into places without being seen, and now I really wish I’d gotten her to teach me how to do it. Very slowly, I push the door open, and stick my head through.

  In the room, I see a large group of screens, surrounding a conference table. It’s a video-conference, and the screens each have a face on them, a bunch of old guys in suits. They look like a retired men’s chorus, or the sort of wealthy-but-trustworthy types you’d hire to advertise an investment opportunity.

  Seated at the table is Mr. Hot But Not A Salesman himself, Tom Macaulay, head of the quantitative division. I needn’t have bothered with all the subterfuge, because everyone ignores me sticking my head through the door. Tom is talking, and doesn’t even notice me. His jacket is off, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up, showing off his arms. I take a moment to admire the way he looks before I get seen.