The Tainted Trust

by Stephen Douglass

  “That sounds like fun. What type of work are you looking for? I mean, do you have something specific in mind?”

  “I’m really not qualified to do anything specific, but I would really like to find a job that would give me some business experience. Eventually I want to return to university and get an MBA.”

  Dennis reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed a card. “Here’s my business card,” he said, handing it to Kerri. “Please drop by my office anytime. I’ll have the books waiting for you. If you don’t make it, I’ll bring them with me on Tuesday.”

  Now that Kerri had talked to Dennis on a personal level, she liked him even more. Maybe it was his sincerity, or the self-confidence he exuded without appearing arrogant. Both reminded her of so many self-effacing but competent professors she had known. Uncertain why she wanted to see him again, or even impress him, she just did it instinctively. She reached the front door of Iacardi & Sons at eleven-fifteen the following morning. She opened it timidly and entered the sparsely decorated reception area.

  Dennis appeared seconds later. “Hi,” he said, delighted to see her. “Sorry we don’t have a receptionist here. We replaced her with a video monitor. Welcome to my kingdom.”

  Kerri’s face flushed red and she lied, “I had a job interview down here this morning, so I thought I would drop by and pick up the books you offered to me last night.”

  Dennis gave her an understanding smile. “Would you like to come in? I’ll show you our operation.”

  Kerri nodded, thrilled and excited. She had expected Dennis to give her the books and show her the door. Instead, she found herself in the financial center of the world and about to be introduced to a fascinating business by a man she barely knew.

  At one o’clock, Dennis lifted three books from the table behind his desk and handed them to Kerri. “Take these and spend as much time as you want with them. If you enjoy them half as much as I did, your time will be well spent. Feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

  Kerri smiled. “Thank you, Miles. Thank you for your time and for the books. I wish there was some way I could express my appreciation.”

  “There is,” Dennis said with a large grin. “You could come to Iacardi & Sons and work for me.”

  “I could?” Kerri asked, shocked, thrilled and surprised by the offer.

  “Sure. If you agree, I’d like you to be my assistant. I can’t pay you much, but I guarantee you’ll never be bored. You’ll have a wonderful opportunity to learn the business from the inside… You interested?”

  “Interested! I’d be delighted!”

  “Then I’ll see you sharp at eight tomorrow morning. I’ve been looking for an assistant for quite a while,” Dennis said as he shook Kerri’s hand. “I was about to hire one until you came along. She has all the secretarial skills I could want, but there’s no way she has the keen interest in the business that you do. To me, what you have is far more important. My instinct tells me you’ll do very well at the job, and that you’ll like it. I promise I’ll do my best to keep it interesting.”

  “I’ll do my best to justify your choice,” Kerri promised, thrust into a state of euphoria. She had a job. At last her meaningless empty days were about to come to an end. Now she could contribute, start to grow again. Not only would she be working in a business which fascinated her, she would be working for Miles Dennis. Tomorrow could not come soon enough. She wished Brian was with her to share her incredible news.

  Dennis found Kerri waiting on one of the two wooden chairs in the reception area of Iacardi & Sons at seven-thirty the following morning. She had dressed neatly in white silk blouse, navy blue jacket and light gray skirt.

  “You’re going to be very successful here, young lady. Come on in. I’ll introduce you to all the crazies who work here.” He led her to the inner office and took the time to introduce her to each of the office staff and account executives. The final introductions were to Charles and Mario Iacardi, the two sons and only progeny of Armando Iacardi, the firm’s founder. Together, they held eighty-five percent of the company’s stock. The remaining fifteen percent was employee owned. With the formalities completed, Dennis spent much of the remainder of the day familiarizing Kerri with the investment portfolios of his clients, including the one held by the King’s trust.

  Thrilled with her new status, Kerri wanted to tell two people: Brian, her beloved husband, and Mike King, the father she had not seen since she was nine years of age.

  CHAPTER 28

  New York. Sunday, November 5, 1988.

  Kerri stood alone in the Arrivals Lounge at La Guardia Airport, the tip of her nose no more than an inch from a thick plate glass window. She stared anxiously at the spot where she had expected Brian’s airplane to come to rest over thirty minutes earlier. The swirling streamers of beaded snow whipping across the concrete below were evidence that the forecast of strong winds and snow had been accurate. She scanned an angry gray sky, then turned and walked in the direction of a nearby coffee-shop. Another unwanted coffee would help to waste time.

  She was thrilled and relieved when she returned to the same window fifteen minutes later. The familiar Jet’s chartered aircraft was parked at the gantry, its black nose pointed directly at her. Her heart raced in anticipation of being in her husband’s arms again. She hurried to Gate thirty-eight and stood on her toes, eagerly trying to see above the people in front of her, hoping to get a glimpse of Brian’s handsome face. When she saw his black brush-cut, then his imposing athletic figure, she squeezed through the crowd and darted down the hallway.

  Brian, dressed in faded jeans, green sweater and Jets jacket, standing on the tips of his toes, his brown eyes opened wide, smiled when he heard the hoots and whistles of his teammates. He dropped his carry on bag barely in time to accept Kerri into his arms.

  “God, I missed you!” Kerri cried.

  “Me too you,” Brian replied, squeezing Kerri’s buttocks with both hands and lifting her from the floor. “The flight was delayed for an hour in Chicago. They had to de-ice the plane. That’s the bad news… Wanna hear the good news?”

  “I watched the game. You won,” Kerri said, continuing to kiss the love of her life. “And you were fantastic, as usual… I have more good news,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I got a job.”

  Brian’s smile evaporated. He released Kerri and lowered her to the floor. He looked straight into her eyes, struggling to appear interested. “That’s fantastic! Where?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Kerri demanded, tugging Brian’s arm. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”

  Toronto. Saturday, November 11, 1988.

  As a harsh reminder of the approaching winter, a late autumn storm pounded Toronto for four hours and left a seven inch blanket of snow in its wake. The storm had forced Phillip to work deep into overtime. Most of Mike’s gasoline outlets in the city and surrounding area had run out of windshield washer fluid and it was Phillip’s job to re-stock them. To complete his assignment, it was virtually certain he would have to relinquish the freedom of his beloved Saturday night.

  Heavy slush in the streets had slowed traffic to a crawl. Phillip waited impatiently for a traffic light at the intersection of Bayview and Sheppard Avenues. He pounded his fist on the dashboard. “Shit I hate this!” he shouted.

  New York. Friday, November 17, 1988.

  In sharp contrast to the wealth and happiness Visconti envisioned when he reached forty, reality had presented a different picture. Now forty-two years of age, he was unmarried, alone, and extremely unhappy. Gone were the excitement of making brilliant financial maneuvers, making a seven-figure income, and one-night stands with nameless girls. A large part of him wanted to be free of it all, unencumbered by responsibility, to start again at something entirely new. A larger part, however, would not let go. A series of less than spectacular investments had conspired to make him feel as if he had painted himself into a corner. He felt hopelessly trapped
, not only by his inertia, but by his stupidity.

  Almost a year had passed since he dared to falsify his annual report to Mike King. Facing no alternative but to repeat the procedure, he vowed that 1989 would be the year he made his move. It would be bold and decisive. Never again would he find himself in such an untenable position.

  The 1988 playoff hopes of the New York Jets ended substantially sooner than the management, coaching staff and players had expected. With near perfect hindsight, sports writers offered a bewildering list of reasons. None of them however, criticized the performance of Brian Pyper. Instead, they gave him glowing reviews. One writer summarized, “Pyper has clearly established himself as the number one quarterback in the league. It was a shame to waste his talents on the Jets.”

  CHAPTER 29

  New York. Friday, December 23, 1988.

  Kerri and Brian began a long anticipated one week vacation when they boarded a plane scheduled to fly from New York to Seattle. From there, they planned to rent a car and drive to Vancouver, spend Christmas with their parents, take a brief skiing honeymoon at Whistler, then return to Vancouver to attend a New Years Eve party at the Capilano Golf and Country Club.

  When the 747 had climbed to its planned altitude, high above the thick cloud layer covering most of north eastern U.S., Brian turned to Kerri and reached for her hand. “Do you remember when you complained about being so lonely whenever I was away?” he asked.

  Kerri nodded. “Sure. Why?”

  “Guess you never thought our roles would be reversed.”

  “You poor baby,” Kerri said, then smiled and stretched to kiss Brian’s cheek. “Why is it so difficult for me to believe the great Brian Pyper could ever be lonely?”

  Kerri’s sarcasm failed to amuse Brian. “It shouldn’t be any more difficult for you than it was for me,” he countered.

  “It certainly should. We’re talking about two entirely different situations. When you go to work, you don’t come home every night. I do. Besides, you have your friends and teammates in New York. You’re a celebrity. All you have to do is walk out the door and everyone recognizes you. I was a nobody before I got a job. Now I have one and I’m still a nobody.”

  “You’re not a nobody. You’re the love of my life. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. When you walk out the door, I notice.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, but it’s obvious you see the difference.”

  Brian nodded and looked away. “I guess I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I assumed we would live in Vancouver in the off-season. Now that you have that job, we can’t.”

  “Brian, I love Vancouver. I miss being there for a lot of reasons, but I absolutely had to do something in New York. That job saved my sanity.”

  “Is it just a job, or something more?”

  “At first it was just a job, but now it’s more than that. Aside from meeting you, it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. I actually look forward to going to work. Can you understand that?”

  “I understand, but I have difficulty accepting it.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Tell me about your boss. What’s he like?”

  “He’s wonderful. He’s considerate and incredibly patient. I still can’t believe he picked me to work for him.”

  “Is he happily married?”

  “He certainly is. Why?”

  “I don’t want any competition.”

  “Oh, God!” Kerri swore, annoyed by Brian’s infantile jealousy. “You don’t have any and you know it.”

  “I think you’re underrating yourself. I’ve seen how men look at you.”

  “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Miles is all business. He hired me because he saw I was genuinely interested in the commodities business, and prepared to commit myself to learn it.”

  Brian smirked. “Maybe when I’m retired from football you can keep me in the style to which I’ve always wanted to be accustomed.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  CHAPTER 30

  New York. Thursday, February 23, 1989.

  Visconti paced back and forth in front of his desk, his telephone receiver pressed tightly to his ear. His lips were compressed as he waited for Miles Dennis to answer his telephone. His trigger finger and wallet were at the ready.

  “What’s happening Louis?” Dennis asked.

  “Crude just went north of twenty. It’s time to roll the dice.”

  Dennis recalled the advice he had given Visconti in October of the previous year. He had implored him to wait until crude rose above twenty dollars a barrel. “I thought you had forgotten all about that insane plan. I hope you’re not telling me you’re still interested in a big short?”

  “Damn right I am! I want to do it now, and don’t give me any reasons why I shouldn’t.”

  “Give me one hour. Then come to my office.”

  “I’ll be there,” Visconti promised.

  Forty-five minutes later, Visconti entered the office of Iacardi & Sons. Inside the reception area, he smiled and waved at the camera mounted on the wall.

  Dennis saw Visconti on the video monitor in his office and buzzed Kerri. “That’s Louis Visconti, Kerri. Would you show him in? Be nice to him. He’s about to be a very important client.”

  Kerri, conservatively dressed in a gray knee-length skirt and pink silk blouse, hurried to the reception area. “Good morning, Mister Visconti,” she said, then exposed her irresistible smile. “Mister Dennis has asked me to show you in.”

  Visconti, instantly captivated by Kerri’s stunning beauty, stared shamelessly at her young body. “You could show me anywhere,” he said with a wink and a lecherous smirk. “What’s your name?”

  “Kerri,” she replied, her smile gone. “Would you follow me, please?”

  “With pleasure,” Visconti said, then followed Kerri to Dennis’s office, never once taking his eyes from her perfect body.

  As they entered Dennis’s cramped and cluttered office, Dennis stood and extended his hand to Visconti. “Hi, Louis. How are you?”

  “Fine and ready to roll,” Visconti declared, his gray eyes unblinking.

  “Good… I trust you’ve met Kerri?”

  Visconti turned to face Kerri with another lecherous smirk. “I certainly have. You have excellent taste, Miles.”

  Dennis frowned as he watched Kerri turn and head for the door. “Don’t go Kerri. Stay for this meeting. You’ll find it interesting.” He turned to Visconti. “You mind?”

  Visconti shook his head. “Hell no,” he said, continuing to stare at Kerri. “I’d be disappointed if she left.”

  Kerri wheeled her chair into the office and closed the door, thrilled to be asked to attend.

  “Louis, I made some calls,” Dennis said. “I had to scope the crude market. I wanted…”

  Visconti interrupted. “Miles, please. I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t matter what you or anyone else says. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Dennis raised his hands in surrender. “That isn’t what I was going to say. I was merely…”

  Visconti interrupted again. “You couldn’t find a bull anywhere. Right?”

  Dennis nodded. “The consensus is that O.P.E.C.’s production ceilings will hold for the winter. But by spring or summer the complex is expected to get extremely weak.”

  “I hope you’re not telling me to keep my hands in my pockets again,” Visconti protested.

  “No. I was merely attempting to advise you to go out four or five months. In fact, you should probably do both.”

  “Why do I need to get fancy? Either I get in or I don’t.”

  “Timing, Louis. It’s everything. At this point you have every reason to believe the price of crude is going south, and it most likely will. But you don’t know exactly when. If you anticipate and believe in price weakness by the spring or summer, you should take those positions. If you spread your contracts over several months, you reduce the risk of being forced to liquidate
your entire position in one particular month.”

  “How the hell could that happen?” Obsessed with tunnel vision, Visconti could see the price of crude oil going in only one direction.

  “How many contracts do you have in mind?”

  “At least thirty thousand,” Visconti announced. No delay. No apparent emotion.

  Kerri completed a mental calculation and was stunned to realize Visconti had proposed a commitment of over six hundred million dollars.

  Dennis leaned backward and placed his feet on his desk, his eyes riveted on Visconti’s. “Suppose you shorted all thirty thousand in the July contract month. And suppose instead of going down, as you fully expected, the price went up and kept on rising until July. In addition to being forced to put up the cash required to cover margin calls, your entire position would be closed out in that month. That would be a disaster, Louis… If, on the other hand, you had allocated ten thousand contracts to each of July, August and September, only a third of your position would be liquidated in July. You would still have a chance of making money on the remaining two thirds.”

  “Okay. Let’s do August and September,” Visconti said.

  “Fifteen thousand each?”

  Visconti nodded.

  “You have a price in mind?”

  “At the market. Anywhere above twenty dollars.”

  Dennis raised his eyebrows. “You want a trailing stop-loss?”

  Visconti shook his head, annoyed by Dennis’s relentless attention to detail. This was his big chance, his opportunity to vindicate himself, to free himself from the self-imposed vice he had created as a result of his mismanagement of the King’s trust. He had tunnel vision, and almost nothing to lose. “Let’s just forget the bells and whistles and get it on. I have absolutely no intention of liquidating until the price hits single digits.”

  Dennis shrugged his shoulders and turned both palms face up. “I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of not warning you.”