Climbing the Ladder 5 - Reaching New Heights
Copyright© 2026 by Michael Loucks
Chapter 32: New York Connections
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 32: New York Connections - Jonathan's business life is booming, but he's also suffering from yet another loss. While he's done his best to pick up the pieces of that sundered relationship, he can't help but feel responsible. However, where two close relationships have withered, another blooms. Violet has transitioned from a badly damaged girl to a vibrant woman. Will he continue to climb this ladder, or will there be another ladder to climb in his future? No matter what, the only direction he plans to go is up.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Workplace
August 6, 1984, Chicago, Illinois
"Mr. Kane?" the salesman at Burdeen's in Jeweler's Row asked as I walked into the shop at 3:45pm on Monday afternoon.
"Please call me Jonathan. You must be Kevin Marx."
"I am, and please call me Kevin. Can I get you a drink? I can offer you champagne, whisky, beer, or a soft drink."
"No, thank you," I said.
"Then let's get started."
He led me to a display case with several watches, none of which had an obvious price tag, which didn't surprise me. I wondered whether prices were negotiable and realized I should have asked Noel Spurgeon about it.
"What are you wearing now?" Kevin asked.
"A Timex Dyneabeat Electric," I replied. "It's about five years old."
"This will be your first luxury watch, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then may I suggest either the Rolex Submariner or the Rolex GMT-Master II?"
"I'm sorry, but those names mean absolutely nothing to me."
"Let me show them to you."
He put down a felt pad with a raised area, almost like a speed bump, on the counter, then used a key to open the display case. He extracted two watches and set them on the felt pad.
"This," he said, pointing to the one on the left, "is the Submariner. It features a 40mm stainless steel case, a sapphire crystal, and is water-resistant to 300 meters. It also has a date function, as you can see. It is an excellent, basic, entry-level watch."
The watch was gorgeous, with a matte-black dial and gold markings. To me, it seemed stylish and elegant.
"This," Kevin said, pointing to the one on the right, "is the GMT Master II. It features a 40mm stainless steel case, a sapphire crystal, and a black-and-red bezel. It also features an independently adjustable, quick-set hour hand that can be adjusted to local time without affecting the other hands. It also has a date function. This watch is ideal for anyone who travels, especially internationally, and who needs to keep track of time at home as well as local time."
The second watch wasn't stylish, but it looked more ... high tech. Given my push to use computers, I wondered whether it made sense to reflect that in my choice of watch to purchase. Of course, price mattered as well.
"Both have points in their favor," I said. "Forgive my ignorance, but how long do the batteries last?"
Kevin smiled, "These are self-winding watches, but they can be manually wound. Wearing them and moving around will wind them, and there will be enough power reserve for you to take the watch off at night and put it on in the morning. If you're going to leave it off for an extended period of time, you can manually wind it via the stem."
I considered and decided I liked the extra features, though if the price were out of range, I might go for the other watch. Of course, I had NO idea what the two watches cost, and quick research had not turned up any numbers.
"My preference, at least initially, is the GMT Master II," I said. "What's the list price?"
"Noel Spurgeon instructed me to bill his account for either of these two watches, so please simply decide based on which one you prefer."
I was not surprised by that, and taking everything into account, the golden handcuffs tightened just a bit further. That did not bother me, as I was likely to make north of $500,000 for the year. The money was almost unfathomable, as were the perks, and all I had to do was 'keep on keeping on' as the saying went.
"Then, obviously, I'll take the GMT."
"Very good, Sir! Allow me to show you the features and how to use them, then we'll get you on your way."
About twenty-five minutes later, I left the shop, my new Rolex on my left wrist and my Timex in a felt pouch. With the temperature over 90°F, I hailed a cab to take me back to the Hancock Center, just as I'd hailed one to take me to the shop. Walking fifteen blocks was no problem, but even in my lightweight suit, I'd be drenched in sweat by the time I arrived back in the office, and I wanted to avoid that.
The cabbie had the AC on full, which made the ride comfortable, and I thought further about how best to approach the new situation. In one sense, I owed Noel Spurgeon another year running the Research Department, which would severely limit my ability to raise additional capital. I'd have Jack available to help me with client relationships, as well as to do some of the portfolio analysis and management tasks I was doing, which would help, but in the end, it was all about increasing my AUM.
That led me to think about Noel's intention to re-register Fletcher's Arrow Fund in his own name, rather than in mine. I wondered if that was part of a strategy to tighten the golden handcuffs even further. What it meant was that, while he was making me responsible for the success of the Arrow Fund, those clients couldn't leave with me in a theoretical future in which I chose to leave, or if events compelled me to leave.
I understood that there were risks created from Noel's behavior, but I had also seen strong evidence for what Jeri insisted was true — the rules were very different for the rich or well-connected, and doubly so for those who were both wealthy and well-connected. That was Noel Spurgeon, if it was anyone. Based on what I knew, he had so many options to avoid adverse outcomes that the risk was, at least for the moment, negligible.
If he were to get into personal trouble, it would hurt the firm, but I was absolutely certain he and Murray Matheson both had contingency plans in place. I didn't know what they were, but if it were me, I'd have significant holdings of precious metals stashed in foreign countries, and significant liquid holdings in numbered accounts in countries with strong banking secrecy laws.
In addition to that, I'd have some kind of arrangement that would allow me to obtain a second passport, and they might already have one from some country, like Monaco or one of the other principalities in Europe. Another option would be a passport from a non-extradition country such as Brazil or Costa Rica. With access to a private jet, leaving the country would be a trivial exercise, and even without it, a light plane to an airstrip in Mexico or boarding a boat along the Gulf Coast would allow an easy escape.
My thoughts were interrupted when the cabbie pulled up in front of the Hancock Center. I changed my mind and had him pull around to the Delaware Street entrance, where I paid him and got out. Rather than going up to the Spurgeon offices for about ten minutes, I went straight up to the condo. I greeted Jessica, changed clothes, and then grabbed a bottle of Orange Crush. Five minutes later, Bianca and Violet came into the condo.
"Did you buy a new watch?" Violet asked.
"I have a new watch, but it turns out it was a gift from Noel Spurgeon."
"This has something to do with the secret work you're doing and all the meetings you have with him, doesn't it?"
"I honestly can't discuss any of it at the moment," I said. "As soon as I'm able, I'll tell you. Shall we make dinner?"
"Yes! Let me change first."
She went upstairs to change out of her skirt and blouse into shorts and a T-shirt, then returned to the kitchen.
"I have a question about the FX Desk," Violet said as we retrieved the ingredients for our planned meal.
"What's that?"
"Most desks have only four or five staff in total, but the FX Desk has twelve. Can you explain?"
"Sure. The FX Desk has around 400 clients, which is far more than any other desk. Around 300 of those are money management clients who have significant foreign exchange needs. Nearly all of those are companies — both foreign and domestic — with sizable international operations, export or import goods, or provide cross-border services. Spurgeon facilitates foreign currency transactions for them and provides hedges against currency fluctuations.
"Each client has different needs, tied directly to their business, and as such, there are two dedicated portfolio managers to assess client needs, and three brokers who negotiate those transactions, some of which occur on a daily basis. We earn a small commission on each transaction, as well as an overall management fee.
"Murray Matheson, Norm Monroe, and Harry Foulkes trade speculatively in currencies, precious metals, mining stocks, and government securities, both on Spurgeon's own account and for clients, including some clients for whom we manage money. They earn money similar to how I do — placing bets on future exchange rates, interest rates, and precious metals prices. The fee structure is slightly different, but it still works the same basic way.
"Finally, Rich and Mark, who man the overnight desk, are responsible for trading on the Asian markets and in the European morning markets. They are both executing traders. Remember, FX trading runs from late Sunday afternoon to Friday evening, both our time. They also handle trades on foreign exchanges for shares that aren't listed on a US exchange. For example, they handle all my Nikkei trades for individual shares, which are held by a Tokyo-based custodian bank.
"Now, compare that to, say, Noel and the Spurgeon Select Fund. He has two brokers who work with him directly to manage the fund, as well as two secretaries. That's not all that different from me running my fund, basically by myself, or Thiele having one licensed professional and one secretary to manage around $550 million in AUM. All of us are supported by Joel Steinem and Lowell Jackson, the executing traders. Their job is to work with floor traders at various exchanges to facilitate all our transactions and to find counterparties outside the exchanges. And of course, all of us are supported by Research, Legal, Compliance, New Accounts, and so on.
"One other thing to keep in mind is that the FX Desk handles tens of billions of dollars in transactions annually, but the actual amount of money in accounts controlled by Spurgeon is limited. Billions flow through, going to and from client accounts to complete the transactions, usually by SWIFT, though speculative transactions go through exchanges or are concluded privately."
"I think I need to learn more about that side of the business," Violet observed.
She certainly did, but I couldn't tell her the pressing reason for that until Friday.
"We'll work on that," I promised, temporizing.
August 7, 1984, Chicago, Illinois
"Are you going to do what Deanna suggested?" Violet asked when we got out of bed on Tuesday morning.
"Which thing?"
"Mirrors on the ceiling," Violet smirked.
It didn't surprise me at all that Deanna had spoken to Violet about it, as both she and Bianca were aware of the most likely long-term outcome — that Violet and I would be together and have a baby. In their minds, that meant Violet had some say in how things went at the condo, despite not living with us.
"I could," I replied, "if that is something that you'd like me to do."
"It might be fun!"
"Then find a source for mirrors and arrange for the building handyman to install them."
"I'll do that today!" she exclaimed as we got into the shower.
Thirty minutes later, after eating breakfast with Violet, I was at my desk. About ninety minutes later, after the daily analyst report was published, Bianca came to my office.
"I have someone I'd like to bring in for an interview," she said, handing me a résumé.
I quickly reviewed it and saw the candidate had recently received a PhD in statistics and was a lecturer at UofC.
"Has this guy ever held a job outside academia?" I asked. "I see his current lecturer role, and he taught as a grad student, but nothing else."
"No. He didn't work in High School."
"Why is he looking?"
"It turns out he doesn't like teaching, and, honestly, I think having a PhD in stats on our team will be a huge win. He has programming experience, obviously, and understands data analysis as you would expect. If we do this, my second hire would be a pure programmer because this candidate can design all the algorithms for the programmers to code."
"Bring him in. I'll need to speak to him, and he'll have to speak to Mr. Matheson as well. I'll be out tomorrow, as well as next Monday through Wednesday."
"Where to this time?"
"New York tomorrow; I can't say for next week."
"There is some serious cloak-and-dagger going on here."
I nodded, "And when I can tell you, I will. Make the arrangements for the interview and clear the times with Violet and Anna."
"Will do," Bianca replied.
She left, and I returned to my usual research and analysis. I had lunch with Bianca and Violet as usual, and at noon, I left for O'Hare.
August 7, 1984, New York, New York
My flight to LaGuardia was about twenty minutes late, and my driver was waiting for me when I deplaned. Ten minutes later, we were in his Town Car heading for Midtown Manhattan via the Midtown Tunnel. The trip took about fifty minutes due to traffic, but I still arrived at the InterContinental Hotel before Tara and I were scheduled to meet. I checked in and declined help from the Bellman, as I only had my suit bag and satchel.
I entered my one-bedroom suite, hung my suit bag in the closet, then brushed my teeth. I checked my new watch, which felt heavier on my wrist than my old Timex, and decided to head down to the lobby to wait for Tara to arrive. I sat down in the lobby, and about ten minutes later, she walked in with a dark-haired girl with olive skin. Both were dressed fashionably in blouses and slacks. I got up and walked over to them.
"Hi, Tara," I said.
"Hi! Jonathan, this is my best friend, Daphne."
"Hi, Daphne."
"Hi!" she exclaimed. "You weren't kidding, Tara!"
"Daphne insisted on meeting you," Tara said. "Would you mind if she joined us for dinner?"
"No. Where are we going?"
"Gallagher's Steakhouse on 52nd; it's about eight blocks north, between 7th and 8th. I have reservations for thirty minutes from now, and it's about a fifteen-minute walk."
"Then let's go!"
"We should probably walk to 7th, rather than take 8th," Tara suggested. "It's a bit further, but there are some pretty seedy places on 8th."
"Hookers?" I asked.
Tara laughed, "Right the first time! And peep shows, bars, and that kind of thing. There are also bath houses, if you get my drift."
"I read about those," I said. "And about cleaning up Times Square."
"Mayor Koch has hired a ton of police," Daphne said.
"Is it safe to walk along 8th?" I asked. "I'd actually like to see it."
"It's light out, and you're over six feet tall," Tara replied, "so nobody is going to mess with us."
"Then let's do that."
Thirteen minutes later, after walking past the 'seedy' area on 8th, we entered Gallagher's Steakhouse, where a plaque commemorated its 1927 opening. During the walk, Tara had let me know the reservations were in my name, so I let the maître d' know we had arrived. Four minutes later, we were seated. I thought about ordering a bottle of wine, but as soon as the waiter arrived, he stated that we'd need to show ID to order alcohol. He took our soft drink orders and left.
"It's so dumb that we can't drink," Daphne complained. "My family visits Greece basically every year, and I can drink there! Effectively, there's no drinking age. In Germany, it's fourteen for beer, wine, and cider if you have an adult with you; otherwise, it's sixteen."
"In Germany, you can legally fuck at fourteen!" Tara declared. "It's fifteen in most of Europe. They're like totally sane about teenagers."
"When do you come back to Chicago, Tara?" I asked.
"The Thursday following Labor Day. Classes begin the following Monday."
"Daphne, where do you go to school?"
"I start the Architecture program at Cornell the Tuesday after Labor Day. Tara said you only have a High School Diploma but have three securities licenses."
"That's correct. I'm working on an undergraduate degree in business, but it's not a requirement for the licenses."
"Do you know someone? I mean, according to my dad, who works with Tara's mom, what you did is basically impossible unless you are somebody's kid or nephew or whatever, and they pulled some serious strings."
"No. My uncle, who is a successful, self-made real estate investor, called his friend and got me a job in the mailroom at Spurgeon, and I worked my way up from there through hard work and determination."
"That's pretty cool," Daphne observed.
The conversation stopped briefly so we could look over the menus and decide what to order. The prices were high, but I could afford to spend the money, and it was places like this where I would entertain clients and prospective clients, as well as business partners. It dawned on me that I'd made a mistake by not calling Will Waterston from Goldman and arranging to meet, but there wasn't much I could do about that now. The waiter came and took our orders, and a few minutes later brought our salads.
"How long have you two been friends?" I asked.
"Since I was nine and Daphne was eight," Tara replied. "That's when her dad went to work at Bank of New York with my mom. We met at a company Christmas party for families. From that point on, we pretty much did everything together. The first time we were apart from each other for more than a couple of weeks was when I went to Chicago."
"I had a friend like that," I said. "We were friends from the time we were toddlers, and the first time we were apart for more than ten days was when I moved to Chicago."
"Had?" Daphne asked.
"She had a very turbulent life after I moved to Chicago and ended up taking her own life a couple of months ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Daphne said. "Your best friend was a girl?"
"Yes."
The waiter brought our salads, and we began eating.
"Have you been to New York before?" Daphne asked.
"First time," I replied. "Other than going across the Ohio River to Kentucky a pair of times, I was never out of Ohio before I moved to Chicago."
That kicked off a conversation about travel, where they'd each been, and where we all wanted to go. We had a nice meal and a varied conversation, and finished with coffee and dessert. Once we finished, we left the restaurant to walk back to the hotel.
"I can stay for a few hours, but I can't spend the night," Tara said as we approached the hotel. "My parents wouldn't be cool with that, and I don't want to mess up your meeting with my dad."
"Well," Daphne smirked, "my parents are in the Hamptons, so I could stay the night!"
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