The Prince of Risk

55

“What the hell happened to you?”

As always, Marv Shank seemed to intuit the exact moment of Astor’s arrival. He stood by reception and flanked Astor as he walked down the corridor.

“Don’t ask.”

Shank grabbed his arm to stop his progress. “I’m asking.”

Astor wrenched himself free. “I saw the close. What have we got?”

Shank clenched his jaw, his eyes looking this way and that, anger oozing from every sweaty inch of him. “Lawyers in conference room one,” he managed after a painful second. “Brad Zarek’s in conference room two and he’s about to have a coronary.”

“Did he bring his mitt?”

“What mitt?”

“Forget it. What about Reventlow?”

“In your office.”

“And?”

“He’s smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

Astor stopped short of the end of the corridor and stepped into the CFO’s office. “Give me the lowdown.”

Comstock’s chief financial officer was a blond, whippet-thin woman named Mandy Price who had forsaken a husband and family for a career and running marathons. A chart on her wall showed that so far she’d run eight races that year, and it was still July. “Total exposure is six hundred million.”

“Cash on hand?”

“Fifty.”

“So we’re five-fifty short.”

“That’s correct. There’s three billion left in the fund-all long equities-but most positions are negative or treading water. If you sell, you’ll take a hit.”

“How bad?”

“On top of the two billion you lost on the yuan contracts and the five-fifty to meet the margin requirements? Does it matter?”

Astor did the math in his head. He’d be down to two billion and change out of five in the space of one afternoon. A loss of over 50 percent. He smiled. “Thanks for the news. You had me worried for a second.”

Astor left the office and crossed the trading floor. He made a point not to look at anyone. From the corner of his eye, he noted Goodchild and Longfellow flying out of their chairs, already mouthing explanations. He raised a hand in their direction. His expression said the rest. Don’t even think of getting any closer. The two Brits wisely retreated to the safety of the trading desk.

Astor slowed before entering his office. After leaving Cherry Hill, he’d stopped first at his physician’s office. The knife had missed all major veins but had taken a chunk out of his bone and possibly damaged the muscle. The doctor wanted him to check into a hospital for surgery then and there. Astor settled for twenty stitches, a shot of Demerol, and a promise to reconsider if the pain became too severe. Afterward he’d passed by his home for a shower and a fresh set of clothes. He did not once consider visiting Janet McVeigh. If Alex felt it was so important, she could tell her herself.

Astor checked that his necktie was knotted satisfactorily. He was sweating and in discomfort, and he’d barely slept in two days. It was not how he would have preferred to go into the most important meeting in his company’s history. Check that. The most important meeting in his career.

He glanced to his right. The conference rooms stood adjacent to his office, and he glimpsed his lawyer from Skadden seated calmly at a table. In the next room, Brad Zarek was pacing back and forth, his cell phone pressed to his ear as if sustaining his life’s breath. Both could wait.

Astor entered his office. “Septimus. Good of you to come.”

“I’m surprised you let me in, let alone called,” said Septimus Reventlow.

Reventlow’s grip was dry and too loose, his perpetual smile saying that he was anything but bothered both to have been so rudely dismissed the day before and to have been called back on such short notice.

“So, Bobby, interesting times.” Reventlow’s habit was to speak softly to draw the other man into his sphere, force him to listen closely.

“Keeps the heart beating nicely.”

Reventlow laughed.

“Let’s sit,” said Astor.

“Your arm. Do tell.”

“Accident at home. Nothing serious. Anyway, thanks for coming on such short notice. I wanted to revisit your investment in our Comstock Astor fund.”

“You declined.”

“I’d like you to reconsider.”

“Yesterday you wouldn’t touch my money with a ten-foot pole.”

“The situation has changed since then.”

“The piece in the Times suggests your position in the yuan is dangerously overexposed.”

“Time will tell if we’re overexposed. It’s not a question of if the Chinese will devalue, but when.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the when that concerns me now. I already have a hundred million in the fund. If you’re underwater, I’d like to know it before committing anything further.”

“We are facing a margin call, but that’s nothing new. We have the means to meet our requirement, but rather than liquidate any of the fund’s other positions, we want to seek an injection of capital that will allow us, and you, to profit when the yuan changes course.”

“If it changes course.”

“When it changes course.”

“How much additional capital were you seeking?”

“You were proposing three hundred million. On top of that, I’ll guarantee your participation in all of our future funds.”

“I have another idea.”

Astor kept a tight smile on his face. “I’m listening.”

“Three hundred million for a twenty percent ownership stake in your firm. You can use the money as you see fit. Meet the margin call or even start another fund.”

“The firm isn’t for sale.”

“Let’s not be hasty.”

“I’m not. The first rule I made when I started Comstock was to run it alone. No partners. Ever.”

“I’m prepared to go higher. Five hundred.”

“You flatter me. But as I said, the firm isn’t for sale. I’m looking for additional investors, that’s all.”

A shadow crossed Reventlow’s face. The perpetual smile hardened to a frown. He stood and took a step toward the door. “To be honest, Bobby, word on the street is that without a lifeline, you’re going under. I don’t think you’re in any position to turn me down. In fact, I think your lawyers might say that you have a fiduciary responsibility to your investors to take the money. To do otherwise would be criminal.”

“Is that a threat?”

The shadow left Reventlow’s face. He laughed. The perpetual smile returned, and once more he was the picture of the urbane, cosmopolitan gentleman. “You are a funny guy,” he said. “I’ll think about the investment. I need to ask around. We wouldn’t want to put three hundred million dollars into your fund only to lose it all a few days later.”

“Call me whenever you’re ready.”

“I believe you need an answer by three p.m. tomorrow. After that, a wire wouldn’t hit your account before the market closes at four-thirty. Comstock would be in default. Technically, you’d be bankrupt.” Reventlow seemed to find the idea amusing, though it would cost him all or part of the $100 million already invested. “I’ll see myself out.”

Astor walked with him to the door and wished him goodbye. Shank was in conference room one with the firm’s attorney, Frank Arcano. Astor joined them but did not sit at the table.

“And so?” asked Shank.

“He wants to buy a piece of the firm.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The firm isn’t for sale. Not now or ever.”

“So we’re screwed.”

“He’s considering his investment.”

“What kind of idiot would put his money into the fund now?” asked Shank.

“I would,” said Astor.

Shank sank in his chair. “I work for a crazy man.”