Читать книгу Manhattan Voyagers - Thomas Boone's Quealy - Страница 5

Frank Mills, 79, didn't look that old although he felt much older than he was. A roly-poly, gravel-voiced man with a cherubic countenance, curmudgeonly disposition, crinkly hazel eyes, and thinning gray hair, he parked every afternoon on a bench in the courtyard of Trinity Church on lower Broadway. The Episcopal house of worship, the oldest public building in continuous use in New York, was originally built in 1698 and destroyed, the first time, in the big fires of 1776 when the British occupied the city and forced George Washington and the Continental Army to flee north to White Plains.

It stands opposite the landmarked Art Deco office building where he had worked for 44 years. Coincidentally, the building and he were the same age; the ziggurat limestone skyscraper was erected in 1931, the year of his birth, and for the brief period of eleven days, it garnered the distinction of being the tallest structure in the world, until one 23 feet taller topped out on nearby Broad Street.

They didn't build buildings like it anymore. The edifice had aged gracefully over the years and it remained as elegant and sturdy today as the day the cornerstone had been laid. The lobby was, and still is, an architectural marvel of inlaid wood, lofty marble columns, red and gold mosaic tiles, stainless steel, lacquer, frosted glass and sweeping curves; he loved that building.

He, in contrast, hadn’t fared so well; arthritis deformed a few of his fingers, his posture was slightly stooped, and the lump under his armpit, the one he was going for the biopsy on next week, hurt more each day.

The company he worked for had been merged out of existence decades ago, a casualty of the first hostile takeover in the banking industry, however, its name still lived on in a fashion, chiseled into the soft stone above the building’s main entrance. The cost to remove it was, no doubt, considered to be an unnecessary expense by the current owner.

One of the things he missed most about his employer’s demise was the newsletter the bank had published. In addition to updating you on general corporate news, it contained an obituary section which enabled retirees to keep abreast of the deaths of former co-workers. As the situation stood now, he hadn’t the faintest idea who, amongst them, was still alive and who had passed away.

Frank realized that the people who worked on Wall Street now were reviled as a result of the financial crisis and the taxpayer funded bailouts of the banks. Millions of home mortgages had been made to unqualified buyers – called liar loans -- even dead people managed to obtain mortgages. Bankers bundled (securitized) this shitty paper and sold it to thousands of unsuspecting insurance companies and pension funds, making obscene profits.

And there was no accountability when the giant house of cards collapsed since the bankers had no skin in the game -- none of their own money was on the line – they placed huge bets using other peoples’ money. For them, it was an all reward–no risk strategy; they pocketed exorbitant bonuses and walked away very rich people, often landing lucrative jobs at other financial institutions despite their dismal track records, thanks to the Old Boy Network. Of course, mom and pop investors lost billions.

If he were still working today, the public would despise him too; he’d be tarred with the same broad brush that tarnished the entire banking industry. But the man in the street would be wrong, he hadn’t been a fat cat investment banker. As a commercial banker he had financed business and industrial transactions -- the import and export of coffee, cocoa, talc, fertilizer, corn, sugar, spices, lumber, pistachios; he extended working capital loans to small companies so they could purchase raw materials and make payroll. It was nitty-gritty banking that supported the flow of international commerce and created jobs for people all over the world. No matter what others thought, his conscience was clear.

Claire Poole, 44, a petite, moon-faced woman with chestnut curls and lucent green eyes, sat down next to him on the bench, interrupting his reverie. She was attractive in a tomboyish sort of way and wore a conservative white blouse and a navy blue pants suit. Her immense purse was stuffed with business memos and tasty treats to eat.

“Buenas tardes, senor.”

“Hiya, Claire.”

“How’s the world treating you?”

“Ignoring me, as usual, it’s like I don’t exist anymore.”

“Hmm.”

“The days are beginning to run together.”

“What’s going on up in that noggin of yours?”

“My mind is a busy place, Claire, you’d be surprised at the thoughts percolating in my brain.”

“I’m sure I’d be alarmed.” She held out a candy wrapper. “Care for a Gummy Panda?”

“He took one and chewed on it. “Delicious.”

“I also have Fig Newtons and crushed Oreos; want some?”

“No, thanks, I’ve got a sweet tooth but my doctor says I got to go easy on the sugar.”

“Then how about a delicious cookie sandwich with a bacon-chive-goat-cheese filling guaranteed to melt in your mouth?”

“It sounds wonderful but it’d be disastrous for my cholesterol.”

“Too bad, Frank, that just leaves more for me.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “How can a string-bean like yourself eat so much junk food and still be so thin?”

“My job is stressful, it burns away the excess calories quickly.”

He sighed enviously. “I wish my days were more hectic; I’ve got nothing more pressing to do than sit here on this bench.”

“Old people enjoy sitting on benches, Frank, you see them doing that all over the city.”

“Not me, I hate it.”

“I’m looking forward to retiring myself; I can’t wait.”

“I thought you enjoyed being a scalp-hunter at the SEC.”

“I love it but there are other things I’m chomping at the bit to do.”

“Such as?”

“Traveling; the world is filled with interesting places and I want to see them all.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe even live in Asia for a few years as an ex-pat and teach English in Vietnam.”

“That’s not for me,” he said, “I’m a homebody, a city slicker with no outdoorsy inclinations whatsoever, highly allergic to poison ivy and immune to all of Nature’s other charms. I never had any interest in straying far from New York; I never even owned a car. Everything I want is located right here.”

“They say travel broadens the mind.”

He nodded. “So do vodka martinis, Claire, after downing three of them I have a definite mind-broadening experience. And I don’t have to be worried about bad weather delaying my flight, or being strip-searched at airports, or being stuffed into economy seats designed for anorexics.”

“Well, I’m made differently, I’ve definitely got a gypsy in my soul.”

“My wife was of German descent; over there they call the travel bug wanderlust. Mary also had the urge to see faraway, exotic places.”

“It seems to me, Frank, you’re stuck in a rut; you’re don’t seem to be enjoying your golden years.”

“I detest retirement!”

“Hmm.”

“Work prevents us from getting older than we are. Having nothing to do from morning to night is debilitating, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“My late grandmother, a former nurse, used to say that in order to have a successful old age a person must keep a positive attitude and find a way to stay busy. She, for example, became an expert knitter as a retiree.”

“It’s different for men, Claire, men are defined by their jobs; we are what we do. When we’re put out to pasture we lose our reason for being, it’s all downhill from then on out for us.”

“Don’t you have any hobbies, Frank?”

“Not anymore, exploring the city with my wife was my sole hobby.”

“I realize you miss her.” She clutched his arm affectionately.

“Mary and I got married and we lived happily-ever-after, Claire, just like it says in the fairy tale books. Only now in the real world, it’s after happily-ever-after time and I’m stranded here alone without her.”

“Hmm.”

“Congress needs to pass a law; when you’ve been married to someone for fifty years, you ought to have the right to die together with that person in the same hospital bed. The doctors should be allowed to give you a lethal injection if you demand one.”

“Life can have a Second Act, Frank.”

He shrugged dismissively as if it wasn’t even a remote possibility.

“Did you ever consider writing your memoirs?”

“Nobody would be interested.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve not a marquee name, Claire, there’s no drama or spicy scandal to titillate a reader into buying my book.”

“You could write a fictionalized memoir and make up a little drama and scandal.”

“Phooey!”

“Well, at least you’ve got friends, Frank, I’ve seen you with them at the Bull & Bear.”

“Yes, I stop by there most nights for a couple of drinks and to listen to the war stories.”

“That’s healthy, you can’t be alone all the time; you’ve got to interact with other people.”

He noticed her fingers fidgeting with the clasp on her purse, compulsively opening and closing it. “Claire, you and I do have one thing in common.”

“Oh, what?”

“Neither of us is a chatterbox and given to idle chit-chat. So tell me, why are you here now instead of slaving away back in your office like the workaholic you are, ferreting out stock market cheats?”

“You’re not as dumb as you look, old man.”

He tapped his temple. “I’ll be 80 next March and I’ve only got a few active brain cells left, but enough to know when I’m being flimflammed.”

She nodded. “Ok, let me ask you a direct question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you ever in your banking career have any dealings with law enforcement?”

“The NYPD?”

“No, Frank, I was thinking more along the lines of Federal Agencies.”

He sat forward on the bench. “A bunch of years ago a customer of mine in the freight-forwarding business got into financial difficulties. The owners tried to solve their cash flow problem by doing a little money laundering and currency smuggling on the side.”

“And you got wise to them?”

“I grew suspicious over wire transfers and foreign exchange transactions with companies in countries they didn’t do business with.”

“I see.”

“I alerted my bank’s Senior Credit Officer and he notified Treasury and Customs.”

“What happened?”

He frowned. “It ended badly for all concerned. My bank wrote-off a sizable loan when the company filed bankruptcy and the owners ended up in Federal prison for a long stretch.”

“That was very astute of you.”

“It just didn’t smell kosher,” he said, touching his nose.

“I may be able to use your nose on a new case I’m working on.

His mouth fell open. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No, Frank, I’m serious. It involves insider-trading and that’s only the tip of the iceberg.”

He sat up ramrod straight and sucked in his chin as soldiers do when at attention. “If my country needs me, Claire, I can’t refuse the call.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I had only remembered to bring an American flag with me, Frank, you could wrap yourself up in it and sing The Star-Spangled Banner.”

“There’s no denying that Frank Mills is a patriot.”

“So was Benedict Arnold, for a time.”

“Do I get to wear a badge?”

“No!”

“Can I carry a gun?”

“Certainly not!”

“When do I spring into action?”

“I’m bringing someone along with me to the Bull & Bear tomorrow night, Frank, perhaps you can have a drink and dinner with us.”

“Are you buying, Claire?”

“Uncle Sam is buying.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “In that case, count me in. I’d like to finally see some of my hard-earned tax dollars being spent wisely for a change.”

She rose to her feet. “We’ll be there at seven.”

“It’s a date, Claire.”

“And Frank, please don’t mention our chat today to any of your gossipy cronies.”

He gave her a smart half-salute. “Loose lips sink ships!”

She sighed apprehensively. “I hope I’m not making a grievous mistake in getting a simpleton like yourself involved in a major fraud case.”

*