Chapter 37: Closure

February 6, 1984, Chicago, Illinois

I left work early on Monday afternoon so that I could have my annual physical with Doctor James Darmody.

"Any health changes in the past year?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I haven't been sick or hurt."

"Are you still involved with multiple sexual partners?"

"No. I'm actually not involved with anyone since my wife died in December."

"Wife? Your chart says you're single."

"I was, a year ago. I was dating a young woman, and we were on a trajectory to marry. She was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, so we decided to marry. Despite aggressive treatment, she succumbed at the end of December."

"My condolences, Jonathan. Have you sought grief counseling?"

"No. I'm not an emotional person, and I had plenty of time to come to terms with what was happening. My friends have been very supportive."

"Grief is a tricky thing. I strongly recommend you at least speak to a counselor. I won't belabor that point, but I believe you should do it."

"I'll take it into consideration."

"OK. Between your last physical and the time you married, did you have multiple sex partners?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd suggest you be tested for sexually transmitted diseases."

"I'm OK with you running those tests along with the other ones you're going to order."

"Good. How are you sleeping?"

"Fine. I had some trouble falling asleep right after Keiko died, but that seems to have passed."

"Diet and exercise?"

"I'm not too careful with what I eat, though I don't eat many sweets. I work out three days a week in the gym."

"Alcohol intake?"

"Moderate. I drink an occasional beer, wine with some meals, and a shot of bourbon now and then. I haven't even been close to being drunk ever in my life."

"With your size and stature, it would take more than two beers to have any real effect. What about drugs? Illicit or otherwise?"

"None, not even over-the-counter pain relievers."

"Then allow me to examine you. Once I've completed the exam, I'll have Kelly draw blood, and you can be on your way."

The exam took about twenty minutes, then a cute nurse came in to draw blood. She drew four tubes, then walked me to reception, where I paid my $10 copay. I had about two hours before I had to meet Deanna, but going home would eat up an hour of that time in driving, so I decided to return to the office and work for ninety minutes.

Later, after dinner with Deanna, I had my modeling session. As Alexa had mentioned, our characters were in the midst of a spat, so the pose was with the two of us standing back-to-back with our arms crossed and unhappy looks on our faces.

I almost laughed at the idea of 'make-up sex', though our characters had not progressed to that point in their fictional relationship. But the fact that the idea of sex had entered my mind unbidden signaled that something had changed. I had not, unless prompted by one of the girls, even thought about sex. I'd certainly recognized that Alexa was hot, but I hadn't given it further thought.

That stray thought brought to mind what Beth had said and what I'd discussed with Bianca about a coffee date with Kayleigh, the paralegal from Hart-Lincoln. It made a lot of sense, as did the idea that it had to be after Keiko's interment on February 14th. It also raised the question in my mind of what I should do about my relationship with Deanna.

But it wasn't just Deanna; it was CeCi and, once she gave birth, Bianca. Beth had indicated an interest in resuming the physical part of our relationship as well. I had no idea what I wanted from the future at this point, though having a kid was basically a sure thing. Beyond that, I didn't know, and that urged caution as well.

"What's next?" I asked Deanna after we had left the studio.

"On Wednesday, Alexa won't be there, so you'll sit at the table reading the Wall Street Journal with a stack of other newspapers and magazines on the table. It juxtaposes with the one of her staring at the phone."

"So, I'm the jerk for not calling her and reading financial news instead?"

Deanna laughed, "That is one way to interpret it!"

"And likely the only way anyone will understand it!"

"Perhaps," Deanna said with a smirk.

"What happens next week?"

"On that Monday, facing each other with your arms around each other, in a pose that shows you've made up. On Wednesday, shirtless, though she'll have on her bra. You'll stand behind her, but slightly offset, and your arm around her. There's no class on the following Monday, so the following Wednesday, the same pose, but with briefs and panties only."

"And after that?" I asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yep!" she smirked.

"That's going to be an interesting session."

"It sure is!"

February 9, 1984, Cincinnati, Ohio

On Thursday morning, Violet and I had met Noel Spurgeon at Meigs and boarded the corporate Gulfstream III for the flight to Cincinnati. As Deanna had suggested it would be, the cabin was configured with six seats and a sleeping berth, indicating it would be possible, at some point, to fulfill Deanna's desire to join the Mile-High Club.

We'd landed at Lunken Field at 9:05am local time, and a limo had been waiting to take us into downtown Cincinnati for our meeting with Marvin McCafferty. At 9:23am, we walked into the offices of MTB Sports Management on the 45th floor of the Carew Tower.

"Jonathan Kane and associates to see Mr. McCafferty," I said to the receptionist, as Mr. Spurgeon had suggested.

"He's expecting you, Mr. Kane. I'll take you to the conference room, where we have coffee, tea, and muffins."

"Thank you."

She escorted us to a nicely appointed conference room adorned with sports memorabilia and photographs. I recognized a few of the autographed photos, including Johnny Bench behind the plate and one of Ken Anderson throwing a pass to Bob Trumpy, both taken at Riverfront Stadium. The pass being caught by Bob Trumpy was one of the most amazing I'd ever seen — a flea-flicker with three players touching the ball before it was passed. Ken Anderson had handed off to Archie Griffin, who pitched the ball to John McDaniel, running a reverse. McDaniel caught the ball and handed it back to Anderson, who tossed a twenty-nine-yard touchdown pass to Trumpy.

"Please help yourself to coffee or tea. Mr. McCafferty will be in as soon as he finishes his phone call."

"Thank you," I said.

We were a few minutes early, so I didn't feel we were being snubbed, but I saw the look on Noel Spurgeon's face that showed he was annoyed. From my perspective, a few minutes one way or the other wasn't a big deal, but Noel Spurgeon hated to be kept waiting. I poured coffee for all of us, and Violet and I each selected a blueberry muffin, but Mr. Spurgeon declined. About two minutes later, a good-looking man of about forty-five came into the room with a younger man of about twenty-five.

"Good morning," he said. "I'm Marvin McCafferty, and this is my assistant, Gordon DeLisse."

"Good morning, Mr. McCafferty," I said. "I'm Jonathan Kane, and with me are Noel Spurgeon, Founder and Chief Investment Officer of Spurgeon Capital, and my assistant, Miss Violet Clemmons."

Everyone shook hands.

"I see you have coffee," he said. "Shall we get started?"

Violet handed two copies of my presentation to Mr. McCafferty, and everyone except me took a seat.

"You've had a chance to review the prospectus for the Cincinnatus Fund, and I know your time is valuable, so with your approval, I'll present only a brief summary, then take your questions."

"I have read it, as has Gordon. Go ahead."

I presented a summary, which was a refined and shortened version of the presentations I'd made in Overland Park and Kenosha. That took about fifteen minutes, and I looked to Mr. McCafferty.

"First, why 'Cincinnatus'?" he asked.

"I'm from Goshen," I replied. "I wanted something to reflect that, but which would also be recognized."

"You've been with Spurgeon less than three years?"

"Yes, in progressively more responsible positions. I have primary responsibility for my fund and oversee the Research Department. My day-to-day tasks are developing trading strategies and researching investment opportunities. In the appendix to the presentation, you'll see a partial list of opportunities I identified and the returns on those individual investments. As I noted, a dollar invested on January 1st of last year would be worth about $1.35 after fees and expenses. The same amount invested in an S&P fund would be worth about $1.20."

"And that's after all fees?" he asked. "The two and the twenty?"

"Yes. Obviously, I cannot guarantee those returns, but Spurgeon Capital has a ten-year track record of beating the S&P. All Spurgeon investment funds had positive growth every year, even in years when the overall market declined. As I noted, we use a wide mix of investment strategies to achieve that goal."

"You didn't go to college?"

"No. I am enrolled in a BA program in night school, and I currently hold both a Series 3 and a Series 7 license and will take the Series 30 exam in May."

"Jonathan is the youngest licensed trader at Spurgeon," Mr. Spurgeon interjected. "He's a protégé, and his returns last year were nearly identical statistically to my own."

"Using the same strategies?" Mr. McCafferty asked.

"Differing," I said. "The two funds have different asset allocations, and while there are some trades in common, many are not. The main difference, from your perspective, is that the buy-in for my fund is $150,000, or $100,000 for an accredited investor, while the minimum for the Spurgeon Select Fund is $10,000,000, and there are longer lock-up periods."

"Why is that?"

"Mainly due to the total assets under management and the age of funds."

"Our clients would need complete anonymity," Mr. McCafferty said. "Can you accommodate that?"

"Yes, through multiple avenues. We can handle trusts, limited partnerships, or any other legal structure. To give an example, I have a trust client where the trustee represents eight investors. The only name that appears on any reports — government or internal — is the trust, and all communication goes to the trustee.

"You could set up a single shared trust, or individual trusts, or a limited partnership for any client who does not want their name revealed. Even I don't need to know the names of the principals, though our Legal and Compliance departments will need the names to ensure we comply with SEC, CFTC, and exchange regulations. All correspondence would pass through the trustee or managing partner. Obviously, any of your clients who wanted to sign directly could do so."

"I have clients who are very involved and others who are hands-off," Mr. McCafferty said. "Some are financially savvy, while others are ... less so. I also have some who will need serious hand-holding and want to be able to call you at any time. And some who will bring you investment opportunities."

"None of that is a problem, though my fund's investment parameters limit it to publicly traded securities and governmental instruments. In other words, I cannot provide private equity from my fund. That said, Spurgeon has two venture capital funds, and anyone who invested with me would have access to those fund managers to make their pitch."

"What would be the next step?" Mr. McCafferty asked.

"Applications and authorization for funds transfer," I said. "Violet?"

She handed him a stack of each of the two documents.

"The documents are the same for individuals, trusts, or partnerships; you'll need to submit a copy of the trust documents or partnership agreement for any trusts. How do you propose to proceed?"

"I've spoken to several of my clients who are very interested, and I'm going to recommend they use a limited partnership as their investment vehicle."

"Would you share the total amount that the group would invest?"

"About $3.2 million. It's a mix of rookie, journeyman, veteran, and retired players."

"Understanding you can't make any commitments, would you share the total investable capital you represent?"

"About $40 million across all my clients. Some of that is tied up in annuities and other vehicles that can't be immediately converted, and some will never be simply because the individuals prefer guaranteed returns, even if they're smaller. With the caveat that some may elect not to go with you, I'd say we could conservatively bring you around $20 million, possibly more."

"How many athletes do you represent?"

"About a hundred and fifty across pretty much every major league and another forty prospects, which includes draftees and minor-league players."

"Do you have any further questions? If not, we'll get out of your hair, and I'll be available by phone for questions, either from you or any of your clients."

"No further questions for now," he said.

"Violet, would you give Mr. McCafferty a stack of my cards, please?"

She handed his assistant a hundred business cards. We all stood and shook hands, then Mr. McCafferty walked us to reception.

"I'll be in touch very soon," he said.

"Thank you for your time, and I look forward to a profitable future together."

We shook again, and then Mr. Spurgeon, Violet, and I took the elevator to the lobby. The car was waiting, so we got in, and the driver set out for Lunken Field.

"That was really short," Violet said.

"He just wanted to look Jonathan in the eye and shake his hand," Noel Spurgeon interjected. "The numbers speak for themselves, but when you're going to give somebody several million bucks, you need to see them in person. Good job, Jonathan."

"Thanks."

"Do your best to get someone with a name we can put on our client list. Marvin McCafferty is a good one, but we want a name or two that people will recognize. Someone with star power. That will open other doors for us across all our funds."

"Once I hear from Mr. McCafferty, I'll work with him on some names."

February 9, 1984, Chicago, Illinois

"I still find it strange we flew all that way for a meeting that lasted less than thirty minutes," Violet said as I gave her a ride back to the office from Meigs. "And for Mr. Spurgeon to go along and barely say a word."

"He was the eye candy," I said.

Violet laughed, "Seriously?"

"Yes. Basically, his being there telegraphed that he would take a personal interest, and that helped Mr. McCafferty feel comfortable with the deal. It's all about perception. You were there to hand out the documents and business cards."

"Which you could have done!"

"Yes, but you doing it telegraphed that I know how to delegate tasks and that I'm focused on research and investment. It also shows I rate an assistant, which demonstrates Mr. Spurgeon's confidence in me. The three of us flying there on the Spurgeon jet shows how successful we are. I know it might seem extravagant, but it sends the message that we're making so much money we can afford to do that at any time, and the numbers show our clients make more than we do, by a wide margin."

"How did you learn all of that?"

"From Mr. Matheson and Mr. Spurgeon. I watch what they do and ask questions."

"If you sign all of them, how much will you make?"

"When all is said and done, if I sign $20 million in new investors, I'll earn about $30,000 in commission. And I'll get a portion of the 20% of gains over the hurdle."

"That's just crazy!"

"What's crazier is I'll make that every year. And remember, every dollar I bring in increases the bonus pool."

"I just can't believe how much money I'm going to have!"

"Me, either. It's a bit mind-boggling, but then I remember that Mr. Spurgeon makes over $10 million a year in salary, plus his portion of our rake on gains. His net worth is probably around $275,000,000, maybe more."

"Unbelievable."

"And even that's a tiny amount compared to JD Rockefeller or Henry Ford, who were billionaires in the 1920s. Given the devaluation of the US dollar, that would be something like five billion today, give or take."

"I knew they were rich, but that's crazy!"

"Henry Ford was the richest man in the world when he died in 1947. J. Paul Getty was the richest man alive in the 70s; his net worth was only about $6 billion."

"Who is it now?"

"I don't know for sure, but the consensus seems to be Yoshiaki Tsutsumi, a Japanese real estate investor. It makes sense, given the inflated prices of real estate in Japan. Those valuations are what is driving my investment in the Nikkei."

I parked in the garage, and we headed up to the office. The first thing I found out was that Yuri Andropov had died, but the Soviets had yet to announce a new leader. A number of commentators were suggesting Mikhail Gorbachev, but I didn't know enough about the USSR to evaluate that suggestion. There was no news before the end of the day, and at 5:00pm, I headed home.

"I have an idea for my gallery," Deanna said when I arrived at the house. "There's an empty storefront on South Wabash, between Balbo and Harrison. The rent is reasonable, and it has nice windows. There's another gallery across the street, which is a good thing."

That was about a block and a half from the tailor shop and close to the subway stop, which would be very convenient.

"If you write down the address and the contact information, I'll go into the office early tomorrow so I can check it out late in the afternoon. In fact, why don't you plan to meet me there at 4:00pm?"

"I will! How was Cincinnati?"

"We were there for about eighty minutes, total!"

"That doesn't sound good."

"Actually, it was great. I should get a capital infusion and new clients."

"Awesome!"

"I'm going to go up and change. I'll be back down shortly."

February 10, 1984, Chicago, Illinois

On Friday, I had driven in early so that I could leave the office by 3:30pm. Jack and Bianca had driven in together, and he'd come home with me after our usual Friday night out. At 9:00am, I called the leasing agent for the space Deanna had found and arranged to see the space at 4:00pm. The day at work was routine, and I left at 3:30pm and hailed a cab.