* * *
Joe relaxed in his recliner as he watched television. Damn, he mused. I don't know why I get so weepy with these old Humphrey Bogart movies. Bogart took the leading lady into his arms and pressed his lips to hers' with all the passion the silver screen could deliver.
“Oh my darling,” Bogart said.
“Yes?” She replied breathlessly as she gazed into his eyes.
“Oh my darling, we need only pack our things and we can leave.”
“But we don't need to pack, my love. Let's just go as we are!” she whispered.
Joe sighed and wiped his eyes. He took yet another swig of bear.
He heard the front door slam shut. He snapped his head toward the foyer and shouted, “Honey? Is that you?”
There was no response.
“Honey?”
Walking softly on the carpet, Jane strode into the room. “Hello,” she crooned in a plaintive voice. She walked over to the TV and pressed the 'off' button, then she seated herself in an easy chair. Her face was drawn.
“Yes?” Joe asked.
Jane's lips quivered as she looked back at Joe, and then she broke out in tears. She buried her face in her hands.
“What happened?” Joe asked as he moved over next to her.
Jane looked up from her tears. “Oh, Joe.” She shook her head in grief. “I'm beat. I'm tired, Joe. I'm tired of fighting.”
Joe took her into his arms. He rested her head on his shoulder and gently rocked her back and forth.
“That's okay, honey. That's okay,” he cooed as he continued rocking her.
She looked up at Joe and burst into tears.
“Shhhhh. Shhhhh. That's okay,” he coaxed.
Joe held her close and felt her stomach spasm as she cried. And then he felt her tears recede.
“Oh Joe. I had a deal fall through today.” Her breath welled up in her and then let go. “It was the most awful thing, Joe. They threatened to sue me if I didn't let them out of the contract!”
Joe looked at her. “That's okay, honey. They're not gonna sue you. They'd go for the company – not you.”
Jane looked at him and began to relax. “You think so?”
Joe smiled. “Yes – I do so think.” He wiped her cheeks with the back of his fingers.
Jane smiled. “Because if they ever did try to sue us, they wouldn't get very much – just a luxury car and a wide screen TV.” She giggled.
Their eyes met and they smiled at each other. And then she said, “Have you eaten yet?”
“No – not yet.”
“Okay. I'll go fix us something.” Jane walked out of the room.
Later, they sat down to dinner.
“Damn!” Joe said. “I'm getting tired of pork and beans.”
“So am I,” chimed in Jane.
They munched on their food in silence.
“Did you call Nate?” Jane asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“So ...” Jane hesitated, “when are you going to call him?”
Joe shrugged. “Oh, I'll call him tomorrow.”
Jane dropped her fork onto the dish, making a loud clang.
“Damn it, Joe. You've been saying for three weeks that you're gonna give him a call!”
“I know. I know.” Joe became sullen.
“I'm tired of being poor, Joe! This food sucks. I don't have the money to spend on my hair. We barely make the payments on our cars. And damn it – we're gonna lose this house to foreclosure.”
“Hell,” she continued, “the only reason we're still living here is that the bank has too many foreclosures to mess with us!”
Jane's glare sliced through his heart.
“I'll call him tomorrow,” he muttered.
The two continued eating in silence. And then Jane asked, “Joe? What's going on? Why are you no longer trying?”
Joe met Jane's eyes and gently placed his fork on the plate. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I. I don't know, Jane. I feel so inadequate. So useless.”
Jane reached over and held his hand. “Joe, you've got to try. You've got to believe in yourself. Please. PLEASE, JOE.”
Joe bit his lower lip as he looked at Jane. “I'll try.”
Chapter 3 – May 5, 2009
We now shift our focus to a congressional hearing in progress – the Financial Services Subcommittee on Oversight and Investigations.
As we look on, we can see the subcommittee Chairman, seated in the middle of the top tier of desks. He is flanked on each side by subcommittee members, all of whom are facing the witnesses and audience.
At this moment, we observe one of the subcommittee members, Congressman Grayson, questioning Inspector General Coleman of the Federal Reserve. The Congressman is attired in a dark blue pin-stripe suit with a flamboyant brown/orange shirt and a striped necktie. His dark hair is combed to the side above his close-cropped eyes.
Inspector General Coleman is a petite woman with medium length auburn hair. Her expression is pinched, tight-lipped. She is wearing a dark green suit with a beige blouse and pearl necklace.
Congressman Grayson is speaking, his hands clasped together as they rest on the surface of his desk.
“... Thank you very much Mr. Chairman.” Grayson said. And then his gaze focused on Coleman. “Ummm, Inspector Coleman, you’re the inspector general for the Federal Reserve. Right?”
“That’s correct,” Coleman replied as her eyes darted toward Grayson.
“Have you done any investigations concerning the Federal Reserve’s role in deciding not to save Lehman Brothers, which led to shock waves that went through the entire financial system?”
“Ummm,” Coleman hesitated as her face took on a pinched expression. “In that particular area, you know – I don’t generally comment on specific investigations; but we do not currently have an investigation in that particular area.”
Grayson was sure of himself as he posed his next question. “All right. What about the one-trillion dollars plus in expansion of the Federal Reserve’s balance sheet since last September. Have you conducted any investigation regarding that?”
Coleman hesitated and then waved her hands as she responded. “Right now we have a, ummm, ... it’s called – they call it a review, and ahhh – the term ‘investigation’ may have different connotations – so we are actually conducting a fairly high-level review of the various lending facilities, collectively, which would include, ahmmm, you know the – a variety of different programs that are in process – so we are looking at them at a fairly high level to identify risk.”
Grayson hesitated and then posed his next question. “Well, I understand that. But we’re talking about events that started unfolding eight months ago. Have you reached any conclusions about the Fed expanding its balance sheet by over a trillion dollars since last September?”
“We have not yet reached any conclusions.”
“Do you know who received that money?” Grayson countered.
“For the ...” she paused and then said, “We’re in the process right now of doing our review, and ummm ...”
“Right,” Grayson interrupted her. “But you’re the inspector general. My question is specifically: do YOU KNOW who received that one-trillion dollars-plus that the Fed extended and put on its balance sheets since last September. Do you know the identity of the recipient?”
“I do not know. We have not looked – at – that – specific – area.” She paused and then said, “At this particular point on those reviews.”
The female aide seated behind Colman leaned forward and whispered in Coleman's ear.
Grayson looked down at the surface of his desk, and then he countered with his next question. “What about, ummm – Bloomberg’s report that there are trillions of dollars in off-balance sheet transactions that the Federal Reserve has entered into since last September; are you familiar with those off-balance sheet transactions?”
“No, ah ...” Coleman hesitated as her mouth tightened. “I think it may be important at th
is point just to bring up a certain aspect related to our jurisdiction, and just to ... clarify perhaps some of my earlier comments. We are the inspector general for the board of governors – and we have direct oversight over board programs and operations. And we are also able to look at board-delegated functions at the reserve banks as well as, ummm – the board’s oversight and supervision of the reserve banks. We do not have jurisdiction to directly go out and audit reserve bank activities specifically. Nevertheless, in our lending facilities project for example, we are looking at the ... board’s oversight over the program and, ah – to the extent that it extends out to the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.”
Grayson’s eyes were penetrating as he replied. “I have a copy of the inspector general act, and it says that among other things that it’s your responsibility to conduct and supervise audits and investigations relating to the programs and operations of your agency.”
“That’s correct,” Coleman replied.
“So I’m asking, Grayson continued, “if your agency has in fact according to Bloomberg extended nine trillion dollars in credit – which by the way works out to $30,000 for every man, woman, and child in this country – I’d like to know, if you’re not responsible for investigating that, who is?”
“We actually...,” Coleman stumbled and then said, “we have responsibility for the Federal Reserve’s programs and operations audit – to conduct audits and investigations in that area. Um. In terms of who’s responsible for investigation ...” Coleman shook her head in confusion.
“Would you mind repeating the question one more time?” She asked, her face turning pale.
Grayson was patient as he slowly repeated his question. “What have you done to investigate the off-balance sheet transactions conducted by the Federal Reserve which, according to Bloomberg, now total nine trillion dollars in the last eight months?”
“Ah ... I’ll have to look specifically at that Bloomberg article. I’m not, um – I don’t know if I’ve actually seen that particular one.”
“That’s not the point,” Grayson interjected. “The question is, have you done any investigation or auditing of off-balance sheet transactions conducted by the Federal Reserve?”
Coleman's face was pale as she responded. “At this point, we’re at the very – we’re conducting our lending facility project at a fairly high level and have not gotten to a specific level of detail to really be in a position to respond to your question.”
Grayson patiently countered with yet another question. “Have you conducted any investigation or auditing of the losses that the Federal Reserve has experienced on its lending since last September?”
Coleman hesitated. Her mouth was pinched as she replied. “We’re still in the process of conducting that review. Until we actually go out – you know – and gather the information I’m not in a position to respond to the specific question.”
Grayson countered. “So are you telling me that nobody at the Federal Reserve is keeping track on a regular basis of the losses that it incurs on what is now a two trillion dollar portfolio?”
Coleman’s expression was pinched as she replied. “I don’t know if – your you’re telling me that they’re – you’re missing their losses – I’m just sayin’ that we’re not – until we actually look at the program, and have the information, we’re not in a position to say whether there’re losses or respond in any other way to that particular –”
The sharp sound of the gavel rang out. And Grayson closed by saying, “Mr. Chairman, my time is up, but I have to tell you honestly I am shocked to find out nobody at the Federal Reserve, including the inspector general, is keeping track of this.”
The Chairman responded with, “I thank the gentleman ...”
Chapter 4 – Circa 2009
London’s financial district, also known as the City of London, is approximately one square mile. A major business and financial centre, the City was a prominent fixture alongside New York City as the leading centre of global finance. But today, its prominence was to be elevated still more – because of its status as the host to the G-20 meeting.
As usual, the meeting would be attended by dignitaries from twenty of the world's richest economies. But the meeting was not be held in silence, for a mob of protesters formed en mass – young English students protesting a tripling of tuition and associated costs, as well as the general ruin of the English economy by the bankers.
Allystair Shaw was in the middle of it – the shouting, the jostling, the fists waving, and the chanting. The bodies surrounded him, bumping against him and pushing him, and making it difficult to keep his balance. But he didn’t mind, for he held a large sign attached to a pole, and it was on prominent display high above his head. “DEATH TO CAPITALISM,” he shouted, while waving his sign. The sign read 'DEATH TO BANKERS', and it contained a message that many in the crowd shared – a crowd of more than 4,000 students and anarchists.
Bloody fucking G-20[33], he thought. All these rich bastards want is to make us poor. To enslave us with their austerity bullshit! Allystair continued his shouting, “Death to the bankers! Death to the bankers! Maybe we can shut it down, he thought. Maybe if we're loud enough the bastards will give us back our money!
Allystair managed to work his way through the crowd until he arrived at the picket line running along the side of Threadneedle Street. The street was narrow, and it was lined with older stone buildings. And although the buildings were only 6 or so stories high, they towered over the crowd.
Allystair stopped at the picket line, for on the other side the police stood watch. He waved his sign and chanted and shouted along with the myriad other demonstrators; but then he was distracted by a motion to his left.
He turned and watched first-hand as ten or more protesters hung a banker in effigy and lit fire to it. The 'banker' burned, and everyone cheered. And Allystair joined in, shouting, “Burn you bastard, burn!” More pumped-up than ever, he turned back toward the barrier and continued chanting his slogans, even though the street before him was without traffic.
And then as he chanted, he caught a glimpse of cars coming down the street. Limousines, he thought with cynicism, the carriage of the elite. Maybe we'll have a chance to beat the bloody shit out of one or two of 'em!
While still chanting, he continued to watch the limos approach. They moved closer, as though in a procession. And then the procession began to pass by the crowd on the other side of the picket line. And as they passed, Allystair caught a glimpse of a rather rotund man with gray hair in a dark suit; the man looked toward him and smirked, and then turned away. The procession continued onward, and he watched as another limousine approached and then slowly drove by the crowd. Inside the car was a woman with high cheekbones and electric eyes. She turned and looked at him; and when their eyes met, Allystair felt a rush of energy surge through his spine. Her limo continued on ...
Allystair spent the remainder of the day protesting. At one point during the protest, he watched as a group of masked students broke the glass windows on the Bank of Scotland. They disappeared into the building and soon emerged carrying computer equipment. The mob was raucous, and they screamed and shouted as they slammed the computers into the pavement.
Allystair was visibly elated. Bloody banks, he thought. We'll keep hitting 'em!
* * *
Mikaela Bradford glanced around the conference circle, looking at each of the department heads in turn. She conducted most of her meetings in her office. And why not? She had comfortable sofas and a relaxing atmosphere. And when it was late in the day, they could pour drinks from her wet bar.
But this meeting was not late in the day, it was in the morning – and it was assembled so she could prepare for her attendance at this afternoon's real G-20 meeting, where the important decisions would be made. Of course, the high-level dignitaries would attend tomorrow’s 'public' G-20 meeting – produced solely for photo-ops and public consumption.
Mikaela leaned back in her leather chair, rolli
ng her pen through her fingers. “All right, gentlemen. Is there anything else we need to bring up for this afternoon's G-20 meeting?”
Some of the staff members glanced at each other, but the room remained silent.
Mikaela stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. “Okay, I hope that all of you have a very productive day.”
She paused and then said, “Josh, will you stay here for a minute?”
Josh nodded and waited until everyone had departed.
She pursed her lips as she looked at Josh. “They're going to ask me about our silver short positions. So, I need to ask you. How are we doing with silver?”
Josh hesitated. “Well, ah – we have a short position of about 2 billion ounces.”
“Are they naked?”
Josh leaned back with an air of assurance. “Most of them are – yes.”
Mikaela frowned, and then said “How are you going to cover them?”
“The same way we always do,” Josh sighed. “We'll sell still more naked shorts to drive down the price. This will force the weak hands to give up their silver, and then we'll sweep in and buy it at fire sale prices. And if that doesn't work, we'll get the government regulators to raise the margin requirements. Hell, that always drops the price.”
“Okay,” Mikaela said with a smile. “I just needed to be able to explain your strategy in the meeting. You may go.”
Josh stood up and walked out of the office.
Mikaela glanced at her finger nails and pressed the intercom button. “Shannon, will you send in the cosmetologist. I need to be up for the G-20 meeting.”
“Yes, ma'am. She will be in shortly.”
“And please notify me when the limo is ready.”
“Yes ma'am.”
Mikaela's long tapered finger pressed the disconnect button.
* * *
Tall, slim, and riding her three-inch pumps, Mikaela strode out of the lobby and stepped into her limousine. Truman the doorman held the door open for her. “Thank you, Truman,” she said as she lifted her left leg into the car. Truman closed the door.
End of the World Page 8
