Christopher Reich - Numbered Account

The sky had darkened in the last hour. Ominous clouds rolled in from the north like an advancing army and hovered low overhead as if preparing to lay siege to the city. Oblivious of the weather, a throng of shoppers flocked up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Smartly dressed men and women attacked their errands with a brio as joyless as it was efficient. Nick sliced through their ranks, impatience dampening his fear of what he was about to do.

He passed the front entrance to the bank and peered up at the gray building. A row of lights burned from the windows on the Fourth Floor. The lights enlivened the building’s sterile facade and offered passersby the impression that here stood an institution unmatched in its commitment to its clients. The model of industry and enterprise. He shook his head in disgust. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Nick walked to the rear of the bank and climbed the short flight of stairs leading to the employee entrance. He was dressed in a charcoal suit and navy overcoat, his workaday battle gear. He entered the bank, flashing the security guard his identification as he slid through the turnstile. The guard saw his dark suit and waved the card away. Anyone crazy enough to work on a weekend deserved easy entry.

On the Fourth Floor, Nick was hit with the sounds of an office in uproar. Phones rang, doors were slammed, and voices were raised, though none louder than Wolfgang Kaiser’s.

“Dammit, Marty,” Nick heard him shout from the far end of the corridor, “you promised me two hundred million in buying power. Where is it? Five days I’ve been waiting. So far you’ve produced only ninety million.”

A response was mumbled and Nick was surprised to hear his own name mentioned.

Kaiser said, “If I needed Neumann for a day or two, you should have taken his place and liberated the shares yourself. That’s what leadership means. Too late to teach you, I see.”

Rita Sutter scurried from the Emperor’s Lair and bustled down the hallway. When she saw Nick, a worried expression crossed her features. “Mr. Neumann. I didn’t expect you here today.”

Nick wondered why not. It looked like everyone else was here. “I need to speak with Herr Kaiser.”

Rita Sutter nibbled on a slender finger. “It’s a bad day. Terrible news from the exchange. Mr. Zwicki and Mr. Maeder are with the Chairman now. You’ve heard?”

“No,” he lied. “What is it?”

“Klaus Konig has picked up another one percent of our shares. He will have his seats.”

“So it’s finally happened,” said Nick, mustering whatever disappointment he could.

“Don’t mind the Chairman,” Rita Sutter counseled. “He has a sharp tongue. He doesn’t mean the half of what he says. Remember, he likes you very much.”

“Well, where is he?” Kaiser asked when Nick walked through the set of tall doors, this afternoon flung open to admit the Chairman’s counselors. “Where’s Mevlevi? What have you done with him?”

Rudolf Ott, Martin Maeder, and Sepp Zwicki stood in a semicircle around the Chairman. Only Schweitzer was missing.

“Excuse me?” said Nick. The question was preposterous. No one did anything to the Pasha.

“I’ve been trying to reach him at his hotel since last night,” said Kaiser. “He’s disappeared.”

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. He was a little preoccupied with his business’s distribution network. He had a falling-out with one of his partners.”

Kaiser took note of his colleagues. “Tell me more when I’m finished with these two. Stay,” he commanded and snapped his fingers toward the couch. “Sit over there until I’m through.”

Nick settled into the couch and listened as Kaiser vented his anger at his subordinates. He accused Zwicki of a catastrophic failure to communicate and of allowing Konig to scoop up the shares without so much as a peep. Zwicki tried unsuccessfully to defend himself, then bowed his head and fled.

Kaiser turned his attention to Maeder. “What is Feller doing now?”

Maeder melted under the Chairman’s burning glare. “Finishing up the last of the discretionary portfolios. We’ve managed to scrape up another fifteen million.” He adjusted his necktie and squeaked out a question. “No word yet on the loan from…”

“Obviously not,” barked Kaiser. “Or we would have purchased those shares instead of Konig.” He dismissed Maeder and found a place on the couch next to Nick. Ott followed suit.

“No idea where he is?” asked the Chairman again. “I leave you with the man who owes me two hundred million francs and you let him disappear.”

Nick didn’t recall the Pasha owing Kaiser anything. Mevlevi had given his word to consider the loan. Nothing more. Clearly, he was keeping his whereabouts secret to avoid just this sort of confrontation. “You might find him with Gino Makdisi. Probably taking the place of his older brother. Cementing a new relationship.”

Kaiser stared at him queerly, and Nick wondered if he knew what had transpired yesterday at the Platzspitz. Or if that was to be the Pasha’s little secret.

“Your responsibility was to guide Mr. Mevlevi around Zurich,” said Kaiser. “At all times. An easy task, or so I would have thought. Instead you show up at the bank at half past three, a zombie from what Rita Sutter tells me, and sit in your office waiting to do that bastard’s bidding. Forty million he received. Forty million you transferred out. You had the good sense to delay his transfer once. Why didn’t you think to do it again?”

Nick met Kaiser’s intense gaze, knowing it was wiser not to answer. He was sick and tired of Kaiser’s constant bullying. At first he had found it a mark of the Chairman’s decisiveness, his will to succeed; now he saw it as pure bluster, a means to shift the blame for his own mistakes onto his subordinates. Nick knew that even with the two-hundred-million-franc loan, it was too late. Konig had his thirty-three percent. And the cash for his purchases had come from Ali Mevlevi. Tough luck, Wolfgang. There’ll be no loan from the Pasha, no last-minute dispensation granted by your unholy savior.

“What have you come in for today?” Kaiser asked. “More lazing around? Three weeks at the top and you’re exhausted. One more soldier who couldn’t cut the mustard.”

“Don’t get upset at Mr. Neumann,” said Rita Sutter, who had entered the room with a stack of photocopies. “I’m sure he has been doing his job as best he can. You told me yourself Mr. Mevlevi can be diffi—”

Kaiser attacked her venomously. “No one asked for your opinion. Put the papers down and show yourself out!”

Rita Sutter smiled tremulously, blinking back tears as she retreated.

Rudolf Ott kept his fists bunched to his chest and snickered. “You were saying, Neumann?”

“I came in to help Reto Feller with the portfolios. I hadn’t heard that Konig had reached the thirty-three-percent barrier.”

In fact, Nick had no intention of helping Feller liberate more shares. His days as a willing accomplice were over. He had come for one reason only: to steal the Pasha’s file from DZ.

“He may have his thirty-three percent,” Kaiser said, “but I won’t allow him his seats on the board. Not while I command this bank. To think that at one time he worked with us. The traitor!”

“And not the only one among us,” hissed Ott.

Kaiser ignored him. “I won’t permit it!” he said. “I simply won’t!”

Nick averted his eyes from the Chairman. He knew Kaiser wouldn’t give up until the final vote had been cast at the general assembly. But the truth was that once Konig had purchased this last block of shares, the battle was over. Kaiser would fight the changes in management Konig’s presence would bring, but in the end he would lose. Public sentiment was in favor of any measure that might result in a company’s rapidly increasing its earnings. The Chairman was the last of the old school; the last of the men who believed that long-term growth was more important than short-term results. In the end he was too Swiss, even for the Swiss.