Trading Reality (30 page)

‘I was in control. You could have called me.’

Etienne turned to look at me. ‘How many times did you call in in the last two weeks,
hein?
’

I was momentarily at a loss for words. ‘Uh, well . . .’

‘None!’ shouted Etienne. ‘You leave a kid with three months’ experience a four hundred million dollar position to manage in the most dangerous markets we have seen for years, and you don’t even call in! You are dangerous, mate. Bloody dangerous.’

I didn’t say anything. If Etienne had just let Ed handle it we would have been well on the way to making back the $2.4 million. I was angry with Etienne, but also angry with myself. I knew that in a way he was right, I should have checked in. If only I had answered Ed’s call.

But I forced myself to turn on my heel and walk the five paces back to my desk. Ed cowered next to me.

Etienne disappeared out of the trading room in disgust, and Greg strolled over.

‘Guess that trade didn’t work too well, huh?’

‘Piss off,’ I said.

He leaned against my desk. ‘How are you doing, buddy?’

‘I’ve been better,’ I muttered.

‘How’s it going in Scotland?’

‘Not good. I think I’m going to have to sell FairSystems.’

‘Too bad,’ Greg said. ‘But that means you’ll be back here soon?’

‘I expect so.’

‘Good. We’ve missed you.’ He nodded to Ed. ‘This guy’s been doing well without you. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop Etienne taking that trade off. But Ed’s pointed out some great opportunities for me on that Bondscape machine.’

‘Good for you.’

‘No, seriously. He’s done well.’ And with that Greg sauntered off towards the coffee machine.

I turned to Ed. ‘OK, I made a mistake. From now on you don’t take a trade off without checking with me first. And I will call in regularly. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘So what do we do now?’ I asked. ‘The ten-year two-year trade hasn’t got much left in it, so there’s no point in putting it back on. But I’m determined to make back that money we lost last month.’

‘I have an idea,’ Ed said, looking at me nervously.

I relaxed. Greg was right. Ed was a bright kid. If he had a good idea, I didn’t want to scare him off. ‘OK. Let’s hear it,’ I said in as encouraging a voice as I could muster.

‘Take a look at this,’ he gestured to the Bondscape glasses lying beside him. Bondscape was now permanently installed at his desk, adding to the considerable clutter that was already there.

I moved my chair next to his, and put on the glasses. I was transported into the Bondscape world of gently rolling green hills and scattered buildings. There was something both thrilling and restful about it. Thrilling because you felt yourself literally surrounded by the world’s billions of financial instruments. The sheer size and might of the global capital markets pressed in all around you. When the markets moved rapidly, it was scary, you felt you would be crushed by the sliding buildings, which grew and shrank above and below you.

But on quiet days like today, the buildings languished peacefully in the virtual sunlight as they rested on gently sloping hills. The eagle wheeled serenely overhead.

I found myself at the foot of a very tall building surrounded by a cluster of much smaller ones. Italian flags flew above each of them. The tall building covered a large area. This suggested it was a big Italian government issue, and it had a much higher yield than other similar issues.

‘It’s the CCTs of August oh-one,’ said Ed.

The bonds he meant were the Certificati di Credito del Tesoro maturing August 2001. They had the full backing of the Italian government.

I checked the roof of the building for the yield. ‘It’s two and a half per cent over LIBOR! That’s ridiculous,’ I said. Two and a half per cent over LIBOR meant it would be possible to borrow money, buy this bond and lock in a profit of two and a half per cent with little risk. That is what is technically called a ‘free lunch’.

I took the glasses off. ‘Why is it so cheap?’

‘All sorts of reasons. The Italians have just decided to levy withholding tax on CCTs, so everyone has been dumping them. Then, in their wisdom, the Italian treasury decided to launch their biggest CCT issue ever.’

‘And it was a flop?’

‘A total disaster. It’s at a price of ninety-five, and it should be trading at ninety-eight.’

‘Where’s the catch?’

‘There isn’t one,’ said Ed.

I spent half an hour running through the details of the bond with him. He was right. No catch.

So we bought a hundred million dollars of the CCTs, and I went back up to Scotland.

‘We have no choice but to sell,’ I said. ‘I’ve spoken to Walter about it and he agrees. I’ll call Scott Wagner this afternoon and get him to work on it.’

I looked for reactions. Willie was relieved. David just smiled.

Rachel didn’t like it.

‘Are you asking us or telling us?’ Her voice was cutting.

‘I’m afraid I’m telling you,’ I said. ‘But we can put it to a vote if you like.’ I sensed that Willie and David were on my side.

‘Can’t we persuade Jenson to change his mind?’

‘I tried. He was pretty adamant.’

‘What about banks? You should have contacts in the City. Can’t you arrange something?’

‘No bank in its right mind would lend us money in our current state. It would be pouring money down the drain.’

‘Well, I’m against it,’ said Rachel. ‘We all know Richard would never have sold out, so I don’t think we should, just because he’s . . . dead.’ Rachel was getting quite upset. Colour had rushed to her cheeks, and her voice was wavering. It took us all aback. We weren’t used to Rachel getting emotional about anything.

‘If we find the right parent, then you can carry on your work,’ I said gently. ‘You can still bring virtual reality out into the world.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ shouted Rachel. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this! You’ve seen how hard we’ve all fought to get this far. Richard, me, Keith, Andy, Terry, David, Willie, even you. All those seven-day weeks. The twenty-four-hour days. All those impossible problems solved.’ Her face was bright red now, and the words were tumbling out. ‘And we’re so close. So bloody close. And now you’re going to throw it all away, ignore everything thing your brother believed in, all he worked for!’ She stood up. ‘Well, you can do it without me!’ she shouted, and stormed out.

We all sat there, stunned. ‘She’ll come round,’ said David. ‘She doesn’t have any choice. All geniuses are entitled to a tantrum every now and then.’

I sighed. ‘OK, I’ll get in touch with Wagner Phillips and see what buyers they can come up with. One month should give us just enough time if we move. But we must stretch every last penny.’

David and Willie left. I sat and pondered Rachel’s reaction.

I had suspected she would be against a sale, but I hadn’t anticipated the strength of emotion in her response. David was wrong. It was most unlike her to have a tantrum. And without her the company would be worthless.

I was tempted to leave her to cool down. But something made me go after her. There was something wrong, something that she knew about and the rest of us didn’t. Now was the time for her to tell me what it was.

The blinds in Rachel’s office were drawn so I couldn’t see in. Keith, Andy and the others stared as I walked past them to her door. I knocked.

No answer.

I pushed the door open, crept in, and closed it behind me.

Rachel was sitting, her head in her hands, her hair falling down in front of her face to the desk. She was sobbing quietly. She didn’t look up.

‘Rachel?’

She still didn’t look up. The sobbing stopped and was replaced by sniffs.

I sat down in the chair in front of her desk and waited. Her weeping made me uncomfortable, but I decided to stay. I knew that if she wanted me to leave she would tell me.

She didn’t.

After a minute or so, she sat up and threw her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were blotched red and shiny with tear stains. There was a drip on the end of her nose, which she wiped with a sleeve.

We sat in silence.

Then she said, ‘You know this is the first time I’ve cried for him. He’s been dead nearly a month, and this is the first time I’ve cried.’

She tried hard to control her voice, breathing deeply, talking slowly and deliberately, but it didn’t work. She sobbed, and hung her head in her hands again.

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to say something like ‘there, there,’ but it seemed so weak I thought it better just to sit and listen.

‘God, I miss him,’ she said. ‘He was a wonderful person. A truly great person. And I can’t accept that he’s gone.

‘Sometimes, late at night, when I’m in here working, I feel that he’s here with me. That we’re worrying over a problem together. I can be working here for two or three hours with him. And we come up with ideas, with solutions. Together.’

She had controlled her sobbing, but she wanted to talk. ‘I worked with him for so long on all of this. I was often the only person in the world who could follow where his brain was going. I felt privileged, special. And now there’s so much going on in here,’ she pointed to her head, ‘and no one to share it with. Sometimes I think it will drive me mad.’

‘Did you love him?’ I asked.

She stared at me for several moments deciding how to answer. She wasn’t shocked by the question. I was sure it was something she had worried over during those long nights.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what love is. Do you?’

Did I? Of course I did. I loved Karen, didn’t I? Didn’t I? I wasn’t sure.

Then I thought of Richard.

‘I loved him,’ I said.

She gave me a small smile. An acknowledgement that she understood. That she respected my love for my brother.

Then her face darkened. She took a deep breath. ‘And then you talk about selling out, selling everything that he worked for. And it’s like you’re killing him again. Don’t you see?’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘But there’s nothing I can do.’

‘You don’t understand.’

That hurt, but I didn’t want to argue. I shrugged my shoulders.

Her eyes rested on mine. Beneath the moisture and uncertainty, raw intelligence stirred. She was thinking. She came to a decision. ‘You don’t understand, because you don’t know about Project Platform.’ She stood up. ‘Come on.’

She shook out her hair, smoothed her jersey, straightened her shoulders, and walked out. I followed her.

We crossed the room to the door marked Project Platform. She took out a Chubb key and unlocked the door. I raised my eyebrows.

She gave me a weak smile. ‘The guys back there could break into almost any modern access system known to man. But none of them is a locksmith.’

The room was small. It contained a Silicon Graphics workstation, and two Jenson PCs. All three had FairSystems virtual glasses linked to them. There were also the tell-tale spoors of Rachel, an empty wine bottle, a full ashtray. One wall held a large white board. Rachel’s small neat handwriting covered it. It was a work schedule for Project Platform.

We sat down. Rachel turned on one of the Jensons. ‘Try this,’ she said, passing me the virtual glasses, and handing me a wand.

I put the glasses on. I found myself in a plush office. Rachel was sitting opposite me at a well-polished mahogany table. Behind her was a terrific view of a modern city under a cloud-less sky.

‘Hi,’ said Rachel. It was a good image of her, almost as good as a photograph. And she moved naturally. ‘Although in reality I’m sitting right next to you, I could just as easily be hundreds of miles away.’ She smiled. ‘Both you and I could be working from home, and need to talk to each other. This way we can have a realistic meeting without ever leaving our homes.’

‘But can’t you just talk over the phone?’

Rachel smiled. ‘You can, but face to face is better. Body language is everything in social interaction. Sensors in the virtual glasses can detect a range of expressions that are then replicated on the virtual image you see in front of you. Besides, meetings are better than the phone when there are more than two of you. Let me get Keith to join us, and I’ll show you what I mean.’

She paused and a few seconds later Keith walked into the virtual room, wearing his uniform of black jeans and T-shirt. ‘Hi, Rache, what’s up?’ His eyebrows raised when he saw me. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.

‘It’s Mark,’ Rachel said. ‘Don’t worry, I had to tell him about Project Platform.’

Then she turned to me. ‘To us, you look like Mel Gibson. That’s why Keith didn’t recognise you.’

‘Mel Gibson?’

‘Yes. He’s our default male. My choice. Once you’ve been body-mapped, then you’ll look like yourself in the virtual world. Of course, there’s nothing to stop you choosing a totally different image for yourself, if you want to. You’ll notice that Keith has managed to put on a fair bit of muscle.’

It was true. Keith’s normally skinny frame had filled out, his pectoral muscles clearly defined under his T-shirt. I laughed.

‘Now, let’s say we all wanted to look at some figures together. Boring, but one of those things people do in real life.’ She pulled out a piece of paper from under the table, and passed it over to me. It was one of Willie’s forecasts. ‘See that figure there?’ she said, pointing to the cash balance. Try to change it.’

‘Happily,’ I said. ‘What do I do?’

‘Just point to it, say “change”, and then the number you want.’

I changed the number to one million. The whole forecast changed, and FairSystems ended the year solvent.

Keith laughed. ‘Easy, isn’t it?’

It was strange how quickly I could get used to the virtual world. Within a couple of minutes it did take on its own reality. And it was true that it was much easier to talk to three people in a virtual office than over a phone.