UniteDead Kingdom. Stuart Irving Irving
to fade Zan reached up to grab the thug’s pinkies …
“STOP!” shouted Ed.
The thug released his grip and stepped back behind him. Zan coughed and spluttered and looked behind at the smiling, shaven-headed ape and felt himself getting angry. But he couldn’t let it out, he just suddenly felt … very tired. He sat forward in his chair and put his head in his hands. Ed seemed to relax at that gesture and sat back on the edge of his desk in his time-honoured, statesman-like pose.
“OK look … Zan, I'll level with you. There are, eh, individuals you are unaware of … who you would never want to meet at the best of times. People who operate above politicians, police and the media. Real power, Zan, not like you with your high stakes trading or me running what used to be a highly regarded bank. Behind the scenes power, which is the greatest power, trust me. And who - there’s no kind way to put this - will want you dead for what’s happened today. Do you understand? Chopped up, remains burnt, no traces. And nothing in the media of course. Your disappearance and, suspected drug-dependency (he lifted a finger to shush Zan's imminent objection) will be a very convincing rumour. And then, like all titillating rumours, it will become the truth, as the actual truth dies without trace. A bit like you.
“I’ve checked your psychological report Zan; Dr. Douglas is on record as saying you have schizophrenic and psychotic tendencies. Acute mood swings and paranoia. Delusions of grandeur. It would be a piece of piss to explain to detectives or journalists how you unravelled after what you’d done. Perhaps even to suggest the very real suicide risk you presented. Oh yes. You see Zan, everyone has a boss. Even me. It doesn't have to be an actual manager of course, just someone who you can’t contradict. I don't want to have to step aside and see you get killed, that would be eh … unethical … as the steward of this bank.”
“Hah.” Zan spluttered a derisory laugh. He guessed that was the first time Ed had said the word 'unethical' about himself out loud.
“Yes, yes, very good. Laugh it up. Shall we carry on discussing how to avoid your violent dismemberment? Thought so. You can avoid that grizzly outcome if you just tell me who you were working with. We’re not making a deal on your employment here, I am simply offering to save your life. After all, these … individuals … will also want to pursue your criminal friends for damages, both direct and indirect. That will take the heat off you. You could be painted as an ‘unwitting pawn’. Otherwise, make no mistake; this loss you have presided over will hit the news wires by early tomorrow morning, despite everything we can do to prevent that. It is now … five past four. The individuals want names from you by five pm London time. There is no other option, it is simple survival. Forget your career; that is already over in this bank and the whole of London. This bank is also finished unless you give us those fucking names right now. This firm has one chance of survival … and so do you.”
Zan craned his neck to look out the window at the Japanese garden downstairs. The overdressed woman was still there but feeding the one solitary swan. It also wandered into view, thus far hidden by the window frame. It was a beautiful radiant white. But something didn't look right, something about the …
“ZAN! Stop looking out the window, no one out there will help you now. Take this fucking pen and write down the fucking names NOW.”
“LOOK!” said Zan, his face straining with exasperation. “For god’s sake, I worked alone; I was simply trying to make me and every person working here a gigantic bonus. And, by the way, I know the internal systems here inside out. Just by overwriting a couple of lines of code I could leverage the bank’s capital by a factor of a thousand for a few hours. I’ve made these sorts of bets before. But no one could have imagined the markets moving as they do, you must know that! And sir, might I also say…” Zan cleared his throat. “If I was still trading I would go even more leveraged in those positions. There is a massive unnatural spread between those markets. You must see that!”
“Well, thankfully Zan, your trading is no longer a liability we have to put up with.” Ed looked down to his left arm again and raised one eyebrow. “But … I’m going to give you benefit of the doubt. The markets are actually starting to move back in our favour. I have already assigned a trading team on damage limitation, looks like that’s already paying off. The firm may yet survive this … episode as a going concern.”
Zan looked down at his own number. His PnL was down one hundred and eighty-four billion pounds. And although that was still double the revenue the bank made in its record year, the clammy nauseous feeling that had gripped him since being summoned was actually receding. Was this the worst of it? he dared to dream. He swallowed loudly and sighed hard, shutting his eyes. Perhaps he would be OK. He exhaled slowly.
“Well, Zan,” said Ed, looking at his sleeve, “Just over a hundred and seventy billion underwater. If this recovers to a hundred billion loss your life will probably be saved. None of your positions were closed out; there was no choice on that score. The markets would have found out for sure and all hell would break loose. However, there is no amount of recovery that will safeguard your job. You are still finished here. Even if this miraculously went to profit.” He looked down at his sleeve and raised his eyebrows. Almost a smile appeared. “You committed fraud and you still represent an unacceptably high level of operational risk here at this bank. I will accept your full resignation with immediate effect.”
Zan opened and closed his mouth. He looked down at his loss of one hundred and forty-one billion. He swallowed hard again. Fuck this, it wasn’t fraud! Anyway, resignation would mean a pay-off, and my trading ideas could still work somewhere else. Or on my own, although starting my own firm would be a hassle. But fuck it, why not? I’m better than this place with its oppressive traditions and rules. Or I could get a golden handshake worth thirty or forty million in a West-End hedge fund. Maybe this was for the best.
He felt his shoulders relax and he let out a hiss of relief. What would my father say? Zan cast his mind back to the day his father left to start a new medical research facility in Switzerland, taking his big brother Colin with him. He remembered looking up from his bed, into the darkness of the hall, seeing his Dad’s unmistakable tall slim shape. He couldn't figure out if it was a dream; then Colin also moved into view, looked at Zan blankly, and walked down the stairs without a word. The effective end of a largely empty sibling relationship. Then his father said his last words to him for several years …
“No matter what you do, son, be courageous. Goodbye, Zan.”
Not knowing what he'd done wrong, but terrified of the words, a single tear had immediately fallen. He was frozen in his bed, not understanding, still hoping it was a nightmare. A minute later he plucked up the courage to give chase downstairs and out into the street, but all he could see in the road were red lights in the distance. Zan was fourteen years old.
He tried to live up to those words like they were branded on his soul but never felt he succeeded. The same old questions surfaced in times of stress, and on cue they popped into his mind. Why did his Dad really have to go in the middle of the night? Why take his twenty-one year old brother Colin with him? Why did his Mum let them both go without a fight or even a raised word? Years later, confronting his Mum, she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) shed any light on why. Zan sighed at the agonising memories and then looked up at Ed. He was whispering into his sleeve. He stopped whispering and addressed Zan.
“The firm’s now seventy-six billion pounds underwater. We will continue to monitor the situation and unwind the positions gradually and carefully from here. If we end up in profit by the New York close you may get five per cent of the net profit. Consider that your farewell gift and never talk of this to anyone ever again. You’ll be back in this room if you do. Gather your shit, you’ll be escorted out.” His voice was the calmest it had been since this ordeal began. He almost looked disappointed it had ended the way it had, the sick old fuck. Ed’s faithful and predictably buxom Hispanic secretary appeared at the table beside him, carrying a couple of sheets of paper and put them down beside Zan.
“Sign those, Mr. McMaster. It will be your best course of action today.” she said flatly. He looked up at her doll-like face and scowled. What, a fucking secretary is giving me career guidance today?! Fuck you. Now I’m definitely