Chapter 40: Approaching the Fork in the Road

January 11, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

“Kane?” Murray Matheson bellowed when I walked past his office while I was delivering the mail later on Monday morning.

“Yes, Mr. Matheson?” I replied, stopping at his door.

“Come see me on your break.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I finished my rounds and went back to the mailroom, and let Nick know that on my break I was going up to 32 to see Matheson.

“I figured he’d ask soon,” Nick said. “Want some free advice?”

“Always.”

“If he asks if you’re ready to be a runner, tell him ‘not yet’, that you want to get some more work experience under your belt, but you want him to mentor you during that time so you’re ready to hit the ground running. I’ve seen people make the jump too soon and it can be ugly.”

“Foulkes?” I asked.

“He seems to be doing OK according to the guys I know over there, but the guy everyone knows about is someone named Steve Winter. He started in the mailroom, moved to runner, then crashed and burned within two months of moving up. He lost Eric Thiele on the order of two million in those two months.”

“Ouch.”

“Just a lesson in getting in over his head. I don’t think he did the stuff you told me you’re doing with your practice portfolio, and I know he didn’t take any classes, so he really was basically flying blind. My advice is to take the supervisor’s job when Mr. Nelson offers it to you, and get three or four classes under your belt, and then move right into an assistant’s role. Matheson will do that for you, but you have to make it happen. Just don’t jump the gun. You’re absolutely as smart as most of those guys upstairs, but you don’t have the knowledge to win more than you lose; at least not yet.”

“Good advice,” I said. “But won’t Matheson be upset if I say ‘no’?”

“He’ll certainly appear to be upset, but he’ll respect you if you lay it out honestly for him. Then, in two to three years, when you’re ready, and your portfolio shows you know what you’re doing, you go and simply ask for what you want. You’ll get it.”

“So why not follow your own advice?” I asked.

Nick laughed and lowered his voice, “Because when I get my JD, I’m going to go to work for the SEC or CFTC and put Suits in prison where they belong!”

“I thought they ran things by the regs here, I mean to the letter.”

“And you don’t think some of those clowns don’t think they’re smarter than Noel Spurgeon and the government?”

“I can see that.”

“Trust me, if Noel Spurgeon ends up in prison it’ll be because of an underage girl, not because of an SEC violation. He might pay a fine for some of his traders playing fast and loose like Jack Gilham, but the Big Boss caught him and turned him in. Spurgeon paid a small fine, and Jack Gilham was barred from trading for life, paid a huge fine, and is doing time. There was a guy, before I started, who got nailed for tax fraud, but he didn’t lose his license nor do time. Spurgeon fired him nonetheless, because guilt by association is a real thing in this industry.”

“Got it,” I replied. “Thanks.”

“I’ll expect you to return the favor at some unspecified time in the future!”

“Like any good capitalist,” I chuckled.

Twenty minutes later, when it was time for my break, I presented myself at Matheson’s secretary’s desk. He’d hired a new one, with the largest breasts I’d ever seen, and she wore clothing to flaunt them as much as she could and not run afoul of the ‘unprofessional’ restrictions in the dress code.

“He’s expecting you,” she said. “Go in.”

I nodded and went to the open door, knocked, and stepped inside.

“Kane, as you requested,” I said, as his back was turned and he didn’t turn when I knocked.

“One second, Kane, I’m trying to arbitrage Yen between London and Singapore and the pricks in Paris are trying to fuck me over.”

He typed something into his terminal, the picked up the phone.

“Buy 5000 Yen at 45 1/8 London; sell 5000 Yen at 45 1/4 Singapore.”

He had confirmation and hung up.

“Fuckers in London almost cost me that. The guys in Singapore might have bought from someone else in the time London was fucking around with Paris.”

“How much was that trade worth?” I asked.

“An eighth of a point on each contract, Kane. You tell me.

“Our default contact is $10,000, so you moved $50,000,000 at an eighth, so $625,000.”

“Yes.”

“Why not more?”

“Again, you tell me.”

“Either an exchange limit, a banking limit, a capital limit, or that’s all that was on offer at that price.”

“Very good. It was the last one. Basically, someone needed Yen to cover an international trade settlement and was willing to pay a premium to ensure they got it in a single trade. I saw it and snapped it up, but London took so long because of something with some trader in Paris that the Singapore trader got antsy and was about to cancel my trade and buy from someone else.”

“Slick.”

“Those are the easy ones, and they’re hard to find. And you have to have the money available instantly. Well, close enough. What’s the delivery on spot forex?”

“T+2, at the agreed price at the time of the trade. If it were a futures contract, the delivery date is two days past the contract settlement date, but many of those never deliver and are closed out with matching contracts. The ones that aren’t are mostly used to hedge exchange rates for trade.”

“You’ve been paying attention Kane, and you seem smarter than the average mailroom drone. Maybe we should move you up.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Matheson, I’m not ready for that. I start a class tonight in Finance Accounting, and I’m still practicing with my portfolio. I’m going to put some real money into the market, I mean beyond the programmed investment in the mutual funds that comes directly from my paycheck. I’d much rather get a very good handle on what I’m doing before I take that step.”

“You’d make more money and work directly with the traders.”

“Again, with respect, I think I’ll do better with you mentoring me while I invest, getting a few classes under my belt, as well as gaining experience.”

“You’re turning me down?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“I’m not saying ‘no’, Mr. Matheson, I’m saying ‘not yet’. I’ll be more valuable to you in a couple of years, and I won’t make rookie mistakes and cost you money, because I’ll know what I’m doing. And I’ll know what I’m doing because you’ll teach me and I’ll pay attention. And prove that I’ll be ready to step into a trading role directly.”

“You don’t think you have to pay your dues by being a runner?”

“I will, of course, but I think I’m offering you something better.”

“Get out of here!”

“Yes, Sir!”

I turned and left, wondering if I’d just shot myself in the foot by following Nick’s advice.

January 12, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

“I’m telling you, you’re OK,” Nick said late on Tuesday morning when I expressed my concern. “Trust me on this one. You basically showed Matheson you have the balls to do what he does. Big brass ones. And for exactly the reason you think you screwed up — you said ‘no’ to him. Well, if you can say ‘no’ to him, you aren’t going to let some trader or customer bully you into doing something stupid with money Matheson is managing. Or,” Nick grinned, “Noel Spurgeon.”

“Right, because telling Spurgeon ‘no’ is going to result in ANY positive outcome.”

“You’ll be surprised, then, just as I believe you will with Matheson. Let me ask you this question, if the Big Boss is as smart as you think he is, and Matheson is as good as you think he is, why would the Big Boss object to Matheson telling him ‘no’ if something didn’t make sense with regard to a currency transaction?”

“I suppose it would depend on egos.”

“Those guys have egos bigger than the Moon, but they also know who knows their shit, and they also know that if they don’t listen to the guys who know, they ALL lose money. That’s the whole point of the overall bonus system — they sink or swim together. So not letting the guy who knows his shit make the decisions costs them all money, and NONE of them, especially the Big Boss, are going to sign up for that!”

“Why does it sound like you’re basically preparing a case for a jury?”

“Because crooked traders cost all of US money! You don’t have to worry, because you, like Spurgeon, will follow the regs to the letter. It’s your personality. And you won’t take shortcuts. Just stay away from fourteen-year-old girls.”

“Those rumors are true?”

“He likes his teenage nookie, and I don’t really care if they’re at least fourteen. I was fourteen and so was my girlfriend, so I can’t say much. The rumor I want to be checked out is the trader who has a thing for even younger girls.”

“That’s just sick!” I declared.

“I agree, and if I had a shred of evidence, I’d be on the phone to the cops. But making that claim and having it proved false or there being no evidence would ruin me in this city. One call from Spurgeon to any law firm, large or small, and I’d never get hired.”

“Anonymous?”

“That would require naming a potential victim. I mean, think about what the cops would do if you called in and said the guy was a pedophile and they asked for the name of the victim, or at least how to find her?”

“Thankfully, I have no experience with law enforcement of any kind, beyond the Sheriff’s Deputies who shopped at the store where I worked or whose lawns I cut.”

“With a call like that, they have nothing to go on, so nothing would happen. They’d believe it was a revenge call of some kind, like calling Family Services on your neighbor because you don’t like him.”

“That happens?”

“There was a case about two years ago where a neighbor called and said a guy was abusing his kids because the kids had trampled some flowers in his yard. It took over a year for the guy to get his kids back and the way the law works, there’s no recourse against the guy who called in and said ‘I think... ‘.”

“Damn.”

“Family Services is required to investigate, and most of the time they take the kids first, and ask questions later. If you think about it, it makes sense, even if it sucks if you’ve been falsely accused.”

“I suppose I can see that, but making a false report like that ought to be illegal.”

Nick smiled, “How could you tell, short of confession? I mean, everyone now believes it was a revenge call, but they can’t be sure, and that means no prosecution.”

“That would be settled with a shotgun back home, and called ‘justifiable’ in many cases.”

“Frontier justice?”

I laughed, “I don’t think Ohio has been the ‘frontier’ since the mid-eighteenth century! It became a state in 1803, fifteen years before Illinois! We’ve had seven men born in Ohio elected President, starting with US Grant in 1869. The first person born in Illinois to be President was ... wait for it ... Ronald Reagan, who was elected less than two years ago!”

“OK, OK!” Nick said, shaking his head. “I suppose calling you Jed might have worked better.”

“Well, they were from Kentucky, though I don’t think that was ever directly stated; ‘hillbilly’ is a Kentucky thing. If they were from Tennessee they’d be ‘ridge runners’. People from Ohio are ‘Buckeyes’.”

“What did you do? Swallow your Ohio History book?”

“It was one of the classes I really enjoyed. That and world geography.”

The phone rang, interrupting our conversation, and I had to go to check on our first copier breakdown of the new year. I placed the service call, then got my lunch from the fridge and went downstairs to eat with Rachel.

“How was your class last night?” Rachel asked.

“It’s going to be interesting, though I have to add study time to my schedule now, but I can do that on Tuesday and Sunday evenings. Homework is due on Mondays, so that works out, because I can use Saturday or Sunday mornings if I need to.”

“Where did you start?”

“Mostly defining terms, but the first thing is to learn to read a balance sheet, then learn how to create one from provided financial information. I have much more motivation than I had in High School, so I’m confident I’ll at least earn a B in the course.”

“You’re smart enough for an A, Jonathan. Just apply yourself the way you do to work and to advancement.”

“Speaking of that,” I said, “I saw Matheson yesterday, but I’m not sure how it went.”

Rachel laughed softly, “I am!”

“Oh?”

“He was raging to my uncle about that ‘smart-assed, thankless kid in the mailroom’. But when my uncle asked what happened, Mr. Matheson said you’d stood your ground and made your case, which of course, means what he said WAS accurate.”

“I followed Nick’s advice and thought everything was OK until he suddenly told me to get out of his office.”

“Well, the gist I got is that he’s impressed, so just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Which is all I can ever do,” I replied. “Well, unless I discover I’m doing the wrong thing.”

“True,” Rachel agreed with a smile.

I was pretty sure she was dropping a subtle hint, but I was confident that things were exactly as they should be, and that taking time was the best approach. I’d see Bev over Presidents’ Day weekend, and I intended to have a long talk with her about the future, despite her saying she didn’t want any promises beyond being with her when she had her baby.

January 15, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

“How was your week?” Allyson asked when I got into her Volvo on Friday evening.

“Pretty good, I think.”

“You think? You don’t know?”

“Almost everything was good, but I kind of played a game of chicken with Murray Matheson. The others I talked to think I did exactly the right thing, but he told me to get out of his office.”

“Did he sound angry?”

“No, I don’t think so; I suppose he sounded annoyed.”

“Angry is bad, anything else is probably OK, though I obviously can’t say for sure.”

“I’ll just ride it out,” I said. “Right now, my worst-case scenario is I keep doing the same job I’ve been doing for eight months.”

“What about your promotion?”

“That’s not ‘worst case’,” I replied. “Where are we headed?”

“Connie’s Pizza on 22nd Street. Because I picked without asking you, it’s my treat.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I know it’s not the traditional way, where the guy pays, but I wanted to go to Connie’s. Does it bother you?”

“No. I never dated back home, so it’s not like I’m used to doing things one way or the other, and most of my other dates have either been Dutch or like Sunday at Tom’s place, where I chipped in for the pizza and beer. I’m glad you picked me up, but you said you usually didn’t bring your car to school.”

“This week I did so we’d have more flexibility. What’s your usual weekend schedule?”

“On Saturdays, I go to the laundromat and do my grocery shopping for the week. Sundays, I either hang out with Tom, Stuart, and Dustin, or stay home and read or study. Now I have to make time for homework, though I finished my reading for this week and just need a few hours tomorrow or Sunday to prepare a sample balance sheet. What do you usually do on weekends?”

“Friday and Saturday nights I mostly go out with friends or sometimes on dates, the rest of the weekend is usually homework or just hanging out. I know you want to keep it casual, but I’d like to hang out with you.”

“I have plans for the last weekend of the month and for Presidents’ Day weekend, but otherwise, sure, that would be fun.”

“And if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to spend the night or have you spend the night sometimes.”

“Hmm. A cute blonde girl with a great body wants to sleep with me. What to do? What to do?”

Allyson laughed as she pulled into the parking lot at Connie’s.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she said. “I could invite Kristy to join us before she leaves for Australia, if you wanted.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I replied.

“You enjoyed it, right?”

“I did.”

“So did I. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

“I’ll leave that to you, then,” I said.

“It just dawned on me that Valentine’s Day is the Sunday of Presidents’ Day weekend. Bummer.”

“Hoping for a romantic date?” I asked.

Allyson laughed again as she put the car into Park.

“That’s where your mind went?” she asked with a silly smile. “Not the party?”

“I was thinking about something that could really happen!”

“You don’t think I was serious?”

“Let’s just say I believe it’s possible, not probable. And even so, why? I guess I don’t get it.”

“You’re upset,” Allyson said.

“No, I’m just confused. Why would you do something like that if you want to eventually be my girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,” Allyson sighed. “It just seemed like something that would be fun for a guy.”

“It would, but you don’t have to do anything like that to keep me interested. I am interested, but just not ready to go steady.”

“You’re sure you’re not upset?”

“Positive.”

“But you’d be OK with Kristy?”

“I would.”

“Cool.”

We got out of the car and went into the restaurant. We had to wait about thirty minutes but because they let us order our pizza before being seated, and the pizza took forty-five minutes to prepare, it wasn’t really an inconvenience. The deep-dish pan pizza was awesome, and when we finished eating, we headed back out to Allyson’s car.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked as she started the car.

“I’m game for pretty much anything you want to do.”

“I have a bag with me so I could spend the night.”

“I’d like that.”

I realized that we were quickly falling into a relationship that was a bit more than ‘casual’. It was obvious that Allyson was trying to figure out how to keep me happy, both in terms of having a good time, but also in not pushing too hard for what I was fairly certain she wanted — an exclusive relationship of some kind. Well, exclusive plus Kristy, something to which I would not object.

Allyson parked on the street, as she had the previous weekend, then got her bag from the trunk. When we walked into the apartment, we took off our Winter gear, and Allyson continued undressing, making it clear she wanted to go to bed right away. I turned on the radio, then undressed and joined Allyson in bed. She moved on top of me and we kissed while she rubbed her soft pubic hair along my shaft. When I was hard, she rubbed lube on my dick, held it upright, and slowly impaled herself on it.