Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

And I did want revenge. Ricardo and his brother had destroyed my career, stolen my thesis, beaten me up and forced me out of my flat, all with apparent impunity. The arrogance of it rankled. I couldn’t let them get away with it. What had Ricardo said? ‘If you’re not with me, you’re against me.’ Well, I was against him all right.

But what could I do?

I remembered Kate suggesting Jamie should get a job at Bloomfield Weiss. That would annoy Ricardo a little, true. But he wouldn’t much care if I joined them. Not that they’d have me, with my experience in finance stretching to less than two months.

Wait a moment. I’d got it. It seemed absurd at first, but the more I thought about it the more sense it made. I pushed Pushkin to one side, and scribbled thoughts down on a clean sheet of paper, smiling broadly to myself.

I would need some luck. But, if I pulled this off, Dekker was finished. And I would be responsible.

That afternoon, I asked Kate if she minded whether I made a couple of international calls. She didn’t. I started off with International Directory Enquiries for Bloomfield Weiss’s number in New York. Then the Bloomfield Weiss switchboard for the name of their chairman and the number of his office. Then the chairman’s office itself.

It turned out Sidney Stahl was in London. What luck! I got the London number from his secretary in New York. I tried that.

‘Mr Wolpin’s office,’ a woman’s voice answered.

‘Can I speak to Mr Stahl? I believe he’s in London.’

‘He certainly is. But he’s in a meeting with Mr Wolpin at the moment. Who’s speaking?’

‘Nick Elliot. From Dekker Ward.’

‘Can anyone else help you, Mr Elliot? I think Mr Stahl will be tied up for a while.’

I was being screened out. Unsurprising.

‘No, I need to talk to Mr Stahl myself. Can you tell him it’s about Dekker Ward’s losses on their Mexican position. And can you tell him I’m calling in an unofficial capacity. I’ll give you my number.’ I gave her Kate and Jamie’s.

‘Certainly, Mr Elliot. I’ll tell him,’ said the woman, managing to carry the suggestion that there was not a chance in hell that Mr Stahl would call me back. I had considered going to Bloomfield Weiss through Jamie’s friend Stephen Troughton, but after some thought, I’d rejected that idea. I didn’t trust him, and I would quickly have lost control of events. Much better to hold out for direct access to the top man.

I sat by the phone in the sitting room, reading the newspaper. Kate was in the garden playing with Oliver. She breezed past to get him a drink. ‘Taking a break?’ she asked, with a hint of surprise. I never usually took a break for more than ten minutes or so at a time.

‘I’ve just finished a chapter,’ I said. ‘I’m rewarding myself with the newspaper.’

I was half-way through the sports section when the phone rang. I grabbed it.

‘May I speak with Nick Elliot?’ said a quiet young American voice.

‘Speaking.’

‘This is Preston Morris. I work with Mr Stahl. I believe you called him earlier.’

I looked around. Kate was still in the garden ‘I need to speak to Mr Stahl personally,’ I said.

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible today, sir. Perhaps I can help?’

The screening was in full working order.

‘OK. Listen. I’m a former employee of Dekker Ward. I have details of their recent losses in emerging-markets trading and a suggestion to make. I’d like to discuss it with Mr Stahl tomorrow. It’ll only take fifteen minutes. If he doesn’t like what he hears, he can throw me out.’

‘I’ll check with Sidney and call you back.’

I tried to stay closer to the phone than Kate all afternoon, but didn’t quite manage it. At last, just after six, it rang. Despite my efforts, she got to it first. ‘Preston Morris,’ she said, handing the receiver over to me. She watched as I agreed to a meeting at nine forty-five the following morning.

‘What was that all about?’ she asked.

‘Oh, just someone who wanted to see me,’ I answered.

‘Sounded like a banker to me.’

‘Do you think so? I’ll tell him that,’ I said, as I drifted out of the room, feeling Kate’s puzzled gaze on my back.

Bloomfield Weiss’s offices were in Broadgate, a modern complex of brown marble offices behind Liverpool Street station. I negotiated security guards, reception and secretary, before being directed to a sofa outside a closed door. As I was waiting, I remembered Isabel and my visits to Humberto Alves’s office. I smiled as I recalled the going over she had given him for awarding Bloomfield Weiss the mandate for the favela deal. I would need all her audacity if I was going to pull this off. I felt almost that she was there with me, and I resolved not to let her down.

After half an hour, the door opened and a small, birdlike man in a white shirt and braces came out. He took me in in an instant, and wasn’t impressed. I could almost see him deciding there and then that this was going to take five minutes, not fifteen.

He held out a hand, ‘Sidney Stahl. Come in,’ and he ushered me into a large plush office with a huge desk and a suite of cream sofas and chairs. Two men, who had been perched on the edge of a sofa, stood up. One young, tall and preppy, one older and more world-weary. Stahl waved towards them. ‘My assistant Preston Morris, who I believe you’ve already spoken with, and Cy Wolpin who heads our emerging-markets unit in London.’

We shook hands briefly. Stahl’s voice was rough New York. He really was very small, scarcely taller than five feet, and he can’t have weighed more than nine stone. He seemed dwarfed by the two men next to him, but you could tell he was the boss. They stood back from him, giving him space, as though they were uncomfortable looking down on him.

‘What can we do for you, Mr Elliot?’ Stahl sat down, and the others took their cue from him, as did I. Stahl’s eyes looked my way, but they weren’t focused. He was thinking of his last meeting, or his next.

I came straight to the point. ‘I worked for Dekker Ward for just over a month. I left a couple of weeks ago.’ So what? said Stahl’s face. ‘I happen to know that Dekker have taken on huge positions in Mexican bonds over the last few weeks.’

‘The whole market knows that,’ said Cy Wolpin. ‘Dekker did that Mexican deal that bombed, and they’ve been buying back bonds ever since.’

I ignored him. I had got half of Stahl’s attention. His eyes were at least focused, and pointed in my direction. ‘Dekker’s positions are much bigger than that. They own four billion dollars of Mexico paper, and two billion of other stuff. Their losses on these positions are so great that they’re technically insolvent. They’re relying on funding from their Swiss shareholder, Chalmet, to keep them afloat.’

Now I had them. ‘Go on,’ said Stahl.

‘Well, I know that Bloomfield Weiss want to expand into emerging markets. And everyone knows that that’s Dekker’s market. So my suggestion is that Bloomfield Weiss acquire Dekker. Then it will be your market, not theirs.’

Stahl laughed. It was a kind of extended cackle that worked its way up through lungs thickly coated with mucus or tar. The other two men’s expressions instantly switched from scornful seriousness to mild amusement.

‘D’you hear that, guys? That’s balls for you. The kid’s pitching for an M and A mandate.’ He reached into his pocket for a cigar and lit up. It looked huge compared to his tiny body. Despite the laughter I was encouraged. Stahl’s cigar deliberations were giving him time to think.

‘Isn’t Dekker a private company?’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t that guy they call “The Marketmaker” own most of it? What’s his name? Ricardo Ross, that’s it! He’s not gonna sell to us, is he?’