Chapter 52: Closing the Deal

May 31, 1983, Chicago, Illinois

On Tuesday morning, when I got out of bed, Bianca went to her room so she could have a few more hours of sleep. I showered, dressed, and then went downstairs to have breakfast with Jack. We ate, then headed to the Hancock Center, where I began my day as usual — I made a fresh pot of coffee, spoke with Rich and Mark about overnight trading in Japan and morning trading in Europe, then got to work on my analyst report.

I reviewed the news from the G7 Summit, which had been held over the weekend at Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia. The main thing from a work perspective that came out of the summit was a reaffirmation of free trade principles. Despite Reagan trumpeting that success, I was skeptical, given France would, as they typically did, claim exceptions, especially for their farmers and 'national champions', and that would ultimately block any significant action.

The other thing that came out of the summit was a reaffirmation of the need to deploy Pershing II missiles, a show of solidarity by the West against the USSR. I hated the very idea of nuclear weapons but understood the need to deter an aggressive Soviet Union. Dual-track diplomacy was agreed, and that read to me like an iron fist in a velvet glove. The real question was what would happen after Yuri Andropov, the man who had been instrumental in crushing the 'Prague Spring', died. He was ill, and it seemed to me only a matter of time.

Who the Communist Party chose to lead the country would have a huge, potentially destabilizing effect on the entire world, and I wasn't skilled enough in Kremlinology to be able to read those tea leaves. What I needed was an expert, preferably someone on the inside, but that was a pipe dream.

I wondered if I might be able to meet someone or speak with the Soviet Trade Attaché, Ivan Voronin, who had made several trips to Chicago in recent years. Someone in my position speaking to a diplomat responsible for trade wouldn't be out of the ordinary, and even though I doubted I'd get any information on the internal workings of the Soviet government, I might get some clues.

"Tony, any idea how I might speak to a Soviet diplomat?"

"Carefully?" he suggested with a grin.

"I suspect they have KGB bodyguards, so yeah! But how would I go about it?"

"I'd call the Soviet Embassy in DC and ask to speak to him. You'll get some low-level flunky, but you never know. Why?"

"We really could use some clues as to what will happen when Andropov dies. Rumor has it that he suffered complete kidney failure in February."

"I read that, and trying to find out who'll replace him is likely a lost cause. I bet even THEY don't know. When Mikhail Suslov died, the hard-liners lost their key leader. That's why we saw the agitation over selecting Andropov and probably his successor. I'd bet it's whoever comes after the guy who comes after Andropov who really matters. And you might as well try to pick the winning horse in every race at Arlington Park for a week."

"True, but even the tiniest bit of information could help. I think I'll place the call, but before that, I'm going to research what we actually trade with the Soviets. I know grain, for sure, but I wonder if there's anything we import from them?"

"Vodka?" Tony suggested, causing Joel, the third analyst, to laugh.

"I'm pretty sure Smirnoff hasn't been made in Russia since the Revolution," Joel observed.

"Well, I'm adding it to my research list and I'll see if I can get at least some kind of relationship established with someone, even at a low level."

"That's probably the worst idea," Joel countered. "It'll seem like an attempt to turn them. You're better off going for the top guy or one of his main assistants in an official capacity from Spurgeon rather than trying to cultivate a friendly contact with a secretary or whatever."

"I've seen some pretty hot Russian women," Tony observed.

"And the flip side is the old-fashioned 'honey trap' where they use sex to turn YOU!"

"I'm twenty and not involved in government, defense, or technology," I replied. "What possible use could I be to them?"

"Maybe not now, but in ten or fifteen years? What if they had someone inside a top trading firm? Think about how they might exploit that."

"I dunno," Tony interjected, "for the chance to sleep with a sexy Russian girl like the ones in the Bond movies?"

"They enticed Bond with a hot chick and an encryption machine," Joel replied. "I don't think Jonathan would be interested. Evidence suggests he likes Swedish blondes!"

"Anna and I aren't seeing each other," I replied.

"You or her?" he asked.

"Different priorities, different life goals," I replied. "A compatibility thing."

"Bummer. She's smoking hot!"

"She is! And we have reports to finish."

"Sad but true!" Joel declared.

"I'm not sad about the paycheck," Tony said.

"Me, either," I agreed.

I finished my report and put it on Mr. Matheson's desk, then returned to my desk to begin my research on trade between the US and the USSR. When Mr. Matheson came in, he asked about Keiko, and I said she was doing as well as could be expected, given the chemo.

The day was fairly routine, though in my research I discovered, among other things, Belarus Tractors, based outside Milwaukee, which sold imported Soviet farm equipment. From what I could tell, the farmers liked the equipment, and it was significantly cheaper than similar equipment from John Deere or International Harvester. That provided a potential 'hook', as commodities and foreign exchange were both in my purview.

At the end of the day, I drove home with Jack, checked the work on the flower beds, ate dinner, then headed to Rush-Presbyterian to see Keiko. Bianca had reported that Keiko was feeling much worse but that she was still in good spirits, and that's what I found as well. I spent three hours with her, mostly just sitting with her, reading, as she was very tired. I did convince her to take a walk, but after less than five minutes, she was winded and wanted to go back to bed.

When I arrived home, I went straight up to bed and wasn't surprised when Bianca offered to join me again. As we had the night before, we simply snuggled close, and, as with the night before, it took me some time before my mind was quiet enough for me to fall asleep.

June 1, 1983, Chicago, Illinois

Wednesday was a fairly normal day at work, including going to the gym, and I managed to spend about forty minutes researching trade between the US and the USSR. Nearly all the trade volume was grain, sold by the US to the USSR, and accounting for around 70% of all US exports to the Soviet Union. US exports to the USSR only accounted for between 1% and 2% of total US exports, and Soviet exports to the US accounted for only about two-tenths of a percent of total US imports.

The main challenge for the USSR was obtaining hard currency with which to buy imports, money that was largely derived from exports of natural resources — oil, gas, timber, and metals. What the Soviets truly wanted from the West was technology, but that could not be had at any price due to sanctions, embargoes, and other restrictions on selling 'high technology' to Eastern Bloc nations.

The problem with those restrictions was that they were a dragnet, which ensnared even some basic equipment that had no specific strategic or military use. That had generated complaints from US businessmen about being hamstrung in expanding their markets in the East, though even with some of the restrictions lifted, the Soviet Union still lacked hard currency reserves with which they could pay for further imports.

When I left work, I went to Waldenbooks to get a copy of Roots for Keiko, then headed to Violet's house for dinner, as I usually did on nights when I had class.

"How is Keiko?" she asked once we'd greeted each other with a hug.

"Suffering from the side effects of the chemo," I replied. "But nothing more than was expected."

"Do you think she'd be OK with me visiting her?"

"I don't see why not," I replied. "You'll have to go during normal visiting hours, though, so I can't take you after class."

"I'll go tomorrow after work if you think that's OK."

"I do. Bianca and Deanna will visit her tomorrow afternoon. We do have to be careful about overwhelming her because she's going to feel progressively worse over the next few days, and the two following weeks are going to be the toughest."

"When will they know if it worked?"

"They'll have some idea on Monday," I replied. "But her doctor made it clear that there is a second round and possibly a third. None of those are uncommon, and I'm not sure what the criteria are for what she'll need. I'm sure the doctor will explain it on Monday."

"You have your exam on Monday, right?"

"Yes. So after Monday, we'll start with our Sunday dinners, if that's OK? And as we agreed, that won't be the only time we see each other."

"OK. I'll miss seeing you three times a week, but I understand."

"Why don't you pick four baseball games, and we'll go. I can try to get them from Spurgeon, but if not, I'll buy the tickets."

"Cool! You'd want to see the Reds if possible, right?"

"Yes."

"Changing topics," Violet said, "I like Glen, but he seems a bit old for Bev."

I shrugged, "I don't worry about things like that. Whatever makes people happy is OK with me. The government might care, but she was over sixteen, which is legal in Ohio. It's similar to the situation with the boys because, in quite a few states, gay sex is illegal. Honestly, it's nobody's business so long as everyone can legally consent, and even then, unless the girl is very young or improperly pressured, it's none of my business."

"Sure, but I was thinking more that it feels, I don't know, kind of creepy."

"Then my advice to you is not to have a relationship with an older guy. Bev is happier than she's been in two years, and I'm not about to do anything to mess that up."

"You're probably right; I'm just worried about her."

"My concern for Bev was that she was trying to run from her past and, in the process, cutting herself off from everyone who cared for her. Now, she's accepted help from the people who care for her and has embraced her past. That's good for her, good for Heather, and appears to be good for Glen. To me, that's all that matters. Fundamentally, do the things that make you happy and don't hurt others, and don't worry about what the rest of the world thinks."

"That's how you live your life, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Dinner's ready; let's eat so we can get to class."

We ate, cleaned up the kitchen, and then walked to Circle. Violet and I exchanged a hug, and she kissed my cheek before she went into the building where her class was held, as I was going straight to the hospital when my class ended. When I arrived in the lecture hall, Teri asked how Keiko was doing, and I gave her the same answer I'd given Violet. Once class ended, I hurried to my car, drove to the hospital, and used my all-hours pass to get in to see Keiko.

She was on her fifth day of intensive chemotherapy and was feeling really bad, suffering even more severe side effects, including nausea and diarrhea. She looked sick for the first time, and seriously so. I gave her the book, as well as three scarves Deanna had chosen, but I couldn't convince her to get out of bed. I didn't try too hard, given how she looked and how she said she felt, and just sat with her for about twenty minutes until a nurse brought a sedative to help Keiko sleep. I stayed in the room until she fell asleep, then headed home.

At home, I went up to my room, did my assignment for math class that I normally would have done at the diner with Violet, then went to bed.

June 2, 1983, Chicago, Illinois

Thursday was like any other day until 1:30pm when I left the Hancock Center to walk the short distance to the offices of Hart-Lincoln for my meeting with Thomas Hart to secure their business. I had a folder with all the necessary forms and agreements in my satchel, along with a dozen copies of the prospectus for the individual investors.

My goal was to leave Hart-Lincoln with at least $5 million committed - $3.7 million from their retirement fund and another $1.3 million from partners. If I could do that, Noel Spurgeon's money would no longer make up the bulk of my fund, something I felt was important, both psychologically and for the long term.

That thought brought to mind something I hadn't considered — would Noel Spurgeon add more money to my fund to, in effect, lock me in? The rules were such that he, and he alone, could redeem his shares at any time, and that would potentially create a huge tax liability for my fund. The problem was, there was no reasonable way for me to say 'no', if he offered to add money to my fund. But that was a concern for a future where I followed Jack's suggestion and went out on my own.

"Jonathan Kane from Spurgeon Capital to see Thomas Hart," I said to the gorgeous blonde receptionist.

"He's expecting you, Mr. Kane," she said. "His secretary will be right out to get you."

"Thank you."

A minute later, I was shown into a conference room where Thomas Hart was waiting.

"Good afternoon, Jonathan."

"Good afternoon, Thomas. As we agreed, I have the forms for you to sign, along with the instructions on how to wire the money and transfer the securities to the Cincinnatus Fund. You said you had a notary available?"

"Yes. She'll be here in a moment."

"OK. How many partners will I speak to today?"

"Five of the nine, which includes me. There are also two Senior Associates who would like to invest."

"That's fine," I replied. "The individual minimum is usually $100,000, as we discussed."

"They're aware."

A young woman in her early twenties came into the room, and Thomas introduced her as Kayleigh, a paralegal who was a Notary Public. Thomas and I reviewed the forms, copies of which he'd seen in advance, and ensured everything was in order. He signed, and the notary stamped the documents and made notations in her log book. Once everything was signed, Kayleigh took the documents to make copies and returned with them a few minutes later. She handed me the originals and handed the copies to Thomas.

"Give me five minutes, and I'll have the seven attorneys come in. Kayleigh will stay to notarize those forms as well. Can we get you something to drink? A Coke? Coffee? Water?"

"A Coke would be nice, thanks."

"Kayleigh, would you get Jonathan a Coke while I round up the herd?"

They both left, and Kayleigh returned about thirty seconds later with a bottle of Coke.

"Do you work in Compliance or Legal?" she asked.

"Neither. I'm a licensed securities broker. I work as an analyst but also run the fund listed on the paperwork you notarized."

"You must be older than you look."

"No, I'm twenty."

"Jesus!" she gasped. "Sorry."

I chuckled, "I'm surprised about how well this has worked out."

"Where did you go to High School?"

"Goshen, Ohio. I moved here for a job with Spurgeon."

"From High school to a stockbroker in two years? Is your dad a stockbroker?"

"No. he died in a plane crash before I was born. Mind if I ask how long you've been a paralegal?"

"About a year."

"Two-year degree, right?"

"Yes. And yes, I'm twenty-one, if that is your way of asking my age!"

"No, just a question."

She pulled a pad to herself and wrote on it, tore off the sheet, and handed it to me.

"My home number," she said. "I hope you'll call."

There was no point in potentially creating a scene by refusing, so I folded the paper and put it in the inside pocket of my suit coat, knowing I probably wouldn't act on it because of Keiko. About a minute later, Thomas Hart returned with six other men whom he introduced. The notable missing person was Paul Lincoln, who was a distant relation to the 16th President.

I went over the prospectus with them, explained how the fee structure worked, and made sure they understood before they filled out the new account forms and the forms to transfer their current investment accounts to Spurgeon to be added to my Cincinnatus Fund. When I reviewed the forms, I kept a running total of the approximate amounts and was very happy, as the number actually came in at just over $5.5 million — $3.7 million from the retirement fund and $1.8 million from the seven individual investors.

At the end of the session, I extended the dinner invitation that Mr. Matheson had suggested, and Thomas Hart accepted on behalf of the firm, though we agreed to set a date at a later time. He promised his assistant would be in touch, I shook hands with everyone, and with originals of all the forms safely in a folder in my satchel, I left Hart-Lincoln to walk back to the Hancock Center.

"Mr. Matheson is expecting you," Mia said when I stopped by her desk. "Go right in."

I went into the office, and Murray Matheson turned and looked up.

"Well?"

"5.5," I replied. "Five of the nine partners, plus two Senior Associates."

"Both name partners?"

I shook my head, "Not Paul Lincoln. I wasn't given a reason and didn't ask."

"You're an analyst; speculate."

"Paul Lincoln is seventy-two and likely to retire soon, and wants access to the money without a lockup period or redemption rules. Hart and the other partners are younger — all fifty-eight or younger — except Josh Cantor, who is sixty-eight. I'd say that's likely the reason for both Lincoln and Cantor."

"Good analysis, and I suspect you're right. Did you offer the meal?"

"Yes. Hart's secretary will call to set it up. I suspect arranging the schedules for seven attorneys won't be easy."