Dave Hart Omnibus II

by David Charters

  James picked it up. It was on a new joint letterhead – Mordheimer and Barton – and bore the seal of the new Joint Chief Executives, Sir Oliver Barton and Charles Fitzgerald Mordheimer II. James glanced quickly through the text, taking it in and trying desperately not to react. F. Herbert leant forward across the desk so that his face was inches from James’.

  ‘Now let’s cut the crap. I’ve been appointed sole head of corporate finance in Europe. I’m the one they’ve chosen. I’M THE BOSS!’ he roared.

  James pushed his chair back from the table, creating some distance between the two men.

  ‘So what do you intend to do with the department?’ he asked quietly.

  F. Herbert laughed and wandered back to the window. He nodded towards one of the ice-skaters. ‘Nice ass. You’ll miss the view, Jimbo.’ He turned back towards James. ‘For starters, I’ll clean up this mess you’ve created. Give this place some structure. Have teams organised by industry sector – we’ll invest in hiring in top talent from other firms. Get rid of all the smaller clients you’ve been wasting time on for years – they don’t pay enough and they tie up people. Then we’re having a big spring clean.’ He looked meaningfully at James. ‘Get rid of the dead wood. Introduce a hurdle rate of fees generated for all directors – anyone who pulls in less than five million bucks a year gets fired!’ He sat on the edge of James’ desk, gloating, staring down at the smaller man. ‘How does it sound so far, Jimbo?’

  James leant forward and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Terrible.’

  F. Herbert laughed, walked round the desk and slapped James on the back.

  ‘Jimbo, this is only the start.’ He was beaming, really getting into his stride. ‘One of the key issues is compensation. This whole process has been really unsettling for my people. I’m having to structure some special compensation for my core team – you know the kind of thing, guaranteed bonuses, lock-ins, some kind of stock option golden handcuff arrangement. Just for the key players in the department, of course.’

  ‘What about my people?’ asked James.

  ‘Who? Your people? Hey, Jim, let’s be real about this. Until I decide whether or not I want them as my people, there’s no point locking them in, is there?’ F. Herbert laughed, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Jimbo, welcome to the new beginning. All the Brit merchant banks will go this way. They just can’t cut it any more. You know, somebody once said that London would be a great city to host the Olympic Games – but don’t expect to see any Brits get medals. Well, that’s how it is with the City of London.’ He laughed and reached inside his jacket to take out a large cigar. Oh no, not in my office – please! James pushed his chair back from the desk, got up and walked over to the window. F. Herbert seized the opportunity and sat down in James’ chair, pushing it back further so that he could put his feet on the desk while he lit his cigar.

  From the window, James stared down at the ice-rink.

  ‘You know, I will miss this view, more than I can say.’

  F. Herbert shrugged, taking his first puffs on the cigar. ‘Life’s a bitch, Jimbo. We can’t all be winners.’

  ‘You’re right.’ James reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter. He tossed it onto the desk. ‘Read it – you can see who it’s from.’

  For the first time F. Herbert looked unsettled. He scanned it once, then twice, and then once more as his jaw dropped open. He stubbed his cigar out in the wastepaper bin.

  ‘Hey… buddy, I had no idea,’ he laughed, uncertainly, a look of fear passing across his face, ‘but congratulations! This is a big job. And New York, too, I mean, well, hey, this is great news!’ He stood, suddenly pale, and walked around the desk, holding his outstretched hand towards James.

  James ignored it. He walked over to his desk and retrieved the letter.

  ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it? It isn’t what I wanted at all, but apparently both our Chief Executives feel that the combined corporate finance franchise needs more of a client focus.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think of what I do as having a client focus. I just regard it as common sense. If you look after your clients, they’ll look after you.’

  ‘Hey, damned right, buddy – I’m with you!’ F. Herbert slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s not sole head, of course,’ he paused, looking the other man in the eye. ‘It’s joint global head, alongside a colleague of yours from Mordheimers, a man called Lewis Jackson. Apparently he hasn’t always seen eye to eye with you in the past. They think I might be able to smooth things out a bit.’

  F. Herbert was white. James briefly wondered if the other man was about to faint.

  ‘Hey, you know what business is like, old buddy. Lewis and I are just fine – like you and me, really – we’re so close, people can’t see daylight between us. Joined at the hip!’

  James suddenly felt extremely weary.

  ‘Well – perhaps I’ve been misinformed. More seriously, I will want to discuss your plans in Europe in some detail before I complete my move to the United States.’

  ‘Hey, sure thing, old buddy – and just forget the things I was saying just now. Sometimes I get a bit carried away. It’s because I care so much!’

  James nodded. ‘Thank you, Herbert, that will be all.’

  F. Herbert swallowed, looked uncertainly around him, nodded at James and turned to leave. ‘Well, congratulations again, old buddy.’

  As the door closed James was staring out of the window. Yes, she does have a nice arse. I’ll miss all this. He walked back to his desk and flicked the intercom.

  ‘Valerie?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Barker-Smith?’

  ‘Valerie, I need to talk to someone from Personnel. I need to know how we fire people in this brave new firm of ours!’

  Equal Opportunities

  ‘I’M GAY.’

  She looked at him with barely concealed scepticism. He was the third one today.

  ‘No you’re not. I saw you in action at last year’s Christmas party. And I’ve heard what you get up to at the European bond traders’ off-site. You’re bullshitting me.’

  He stared at the richly carpeted floor of her office.

  ‘I’m sorry but it’s true. I’ve… had an experience. With a man. It only happened recently. I’m sorry, but I find it really hard to talk about this. You’re the only one I’ve told.’

  Matt was three years younger than her, still only an executive director at thirty-four, and, in terms of sales targets, an average producer. She gazed out through the glass walls of her office at the trading floor, noting the gaps at many of the sales desks where she had already wielded her axe. The stock market was down thirty per cent from its peak, the bond market was all over the place, and there was a cold wind blowing through the City of London.

  ‘Matt, you’re a bullshitter and I don’t believe a word you’ve said. Are you going to put this in writing?’

  He nodded, still avoiding her glance.

  Damn. ‘You must be really desperate. All right, get out of here.’

  She watched him as he headed back across the trading floor to his workstation, his shoulders hunched, a haunted, hunted look about him. She could scarcely prevent her lip curling. One day.

  She opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a list of names. She ran her eye down it until she found Matt’s name, then took a pencil and crossed it out. Damn. She shrugged. Oh well. She leant forward across her desk and tapped a code into the speakerphone.

  ‘Charles Hart, to my office, please.’

  Her voice boomed across the trading floor. A hundred yards away on the sterling-bond desk, Charlie Hart looked up with a start, irritated to be interrupted at the busiest time of the morning. He looked across to Matt, sitting a few yards away, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

  ‘I wonder what she wants – probably more job cuts coming.’ He glanced around at his team. ‘Fasten your seatbelts everyone.’

  When he entered her office, he was spoiling for a fight, fuming with rig
hteous indignation.

  ‘This had better not be what I think it is.’

  She sighed wearily. ‘You know the score. We’re reducing headcount by a third. Right across the floor. All departments have to take the strain. Even sterling-bond trading.’

  He leant forward aggressively.

  ‘We’re one of the most profitable teams on the floor. I’ve built this group up over five years. We’ve got more market share than any other firm on the Street.’

  ‘Makes no difference. Nobody walks on water. We all have to take the strain. Sterling-bond trading has to do its share too.’

  ‘There’s no way we can avoid this?’

  She shook her head emphatically.

  ‘Shit.’ He stared sullenly at the ceiling, his arms folded across his chest, an angry frown on his face.

  ‘Look, I know it’s not easy. It never is. But there is no alternative. Management have decided.’

  For a moment he felt like resisting, but then recognised the inevitable and decided to plunge in headlong. ‘OK. Well, try Sally for starters. I guess if anyone’s become excess baggage, it’s her. I like her, but she’s got the worst sick record on the team, and some of her clients don’t even take her calls anymore. I don’t know what’s been happening in her life lately, but she’s lost the plot. We’ll miss her personality, but production-wise she’s not cutting it the way she used to.’

  She shook her head. ‘Can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why not?’

  ‘She’s pregnant. Told me this morning. She’d sue. We’d be all over the papers.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake. She’s not pregnant. She must have got wind of this and she’s told you a pack of lies so you don’t fire her. You wait – as soon as the coast’s clear, it’ll turn out to be another of her phantom pregnancies. She’s done this before, you know.’

  ‘I know. But she’s put it in writing. My hands are tied.’

  ‘Well, what about Sid? He’s a good lad, but lately he’s barely covering his costs. Too many late nights and long lunches. If you need to lose a bum from a seat, he’s got to be a prize candidate…’

  ‘Nope.’ She relaxed back into her chair, adamant. ‘Sid’s Jewish. Can’t do a thing with him.’

  ‘So what? Sid’s the first one to crack Jewish jokes – he knows all the best ones. Even his mates call him Sid the Yid.’

  ‘Makes no difference. He’s put in writing his concerns about potentially anti-Semitic remarks which he alleges were made at the last off-site by senior management.’

  He looked incredulous. ‘He’s what? Sid? You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Nothing doing, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Well, than Angie has to go. She’s not bad, but not great either. A middle-of-the-road producer and someone I’d hoped to build up over time. We’ll miss her, but not that much.’

  For the first time, she looked uncomfortable, and avoided his glance as she fiddled with pencils on her desk.

  ‘No… Angie’s off limits too.’

  ‘Why? Don’t tell me she’s pregnant too.’

  ‘No, she’s… well, let’s just say she’s made a complaint to Human Resources.’

  ‘A complaint to HR? Why did she go to HR? She never mentioned it to me. And anyway, you’re her line manager. Why didn’t she come to you?’

  She squirmed awkwardly in her chair.

  ‘It’s me she’s complained about. Sexual harassment.’

  He stared at her, disbelief written across her face. ‘You – what? The lying little cow. I mean, you’re not even… well, you know. You’re not, are you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not,’ she snapped. ‘But I can hardly fire her now, can I?’

  ‘But she’s not… you know, either, is she?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. Though half the department are saying they are. I’ve had three this morning.’

  ‘Don’t tell me that little runt Matt Sharpe is saying he’s gay? I saw him in here just now. He’s another one we could survive without if we had to get rid of someone.’

  She nodded wearily. ‘He’s putting it in writing this morning.’

  ‘The lying little bastard. Well, if we can’t fire Matt, Rajiv has to go. He’s a good lad, with lots of potential, and it kills me to do it, but we could get by without him.’

  ‘Rajiv? Are you kidding? This firm “celebrates diversity”. It’s our policy – you can read it on the website and in the corporate brochure. We could never fire Rajiv. He’s a lifer.’

  He stared out at the desk, mentally working his way around it, counting off heads, trying to see who he had missed.

  ‘Well, that’s it, then. Sammy Li’s Chinese, and anyway he’s a top producer, Ruth’s got a gammy leg, so she’s out of the question – female and disabled, though I wouldn’t want to lose her anyway: she delivers big time. And Mandy’s black, so she’s another who covers two boxes. So I guess we’ve covered everybody. They’re all either gay, Jewish, pregnant, from an ethnic minority or they’re suing the firm.’ He looked at her and grinned. ‘I guess we’re exempt after all.’

  ‘Not quite.’ She was staring at the floor.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s you.’

  ‘Me? Hold on – I put the team together. I run it – it’s my team.’

  ‘I know. And this really pisses me off. Do you think I want to let you go?’

  ‘You’re kidding. Tell me this is a wind-up.’

  ‘Nope. It’s serious.’ She pulled out a folder from a drawer – his personnel folder. ‘I mean, just look at you – there’s no reason not to fire you. You have no medical conditions, you’re not suing the firm about anything, you’re happily married with two normal, healthy kids. Talk about well-balanced – how many managing directors in the City are happily married and still love their wives? A guy like you can survive anything. And look at what you always put against religion – C of E. That’s the one religion we can always fire. I’m sorry but you’re perfect.’

  His jaw dropped as he searched for a response. ‘You… you mean you’re firing me?’

  ‘Sure. We’ll reallocate your clients among the rest of the team – revenues will dip, but I think they’ll recover.’

  ‘You – you mean you’re firing me because I’m a normal, average guy and I love my wife? What if my marriage was on the rocks? What if I was heading for divorce?’

  ‘That might be different.’ She smiled. ‘But you’re not. Look on the bright side.’

  ‘What bright side?’

  ‘You’ll get another job dead easily.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  She tapped his personnel folder. ‘You have the perfect profile. You’re uncontroversially sackable. No expensive legal baggage. No unexploded bombs waiting to go off. In a flexible employment market, guys like you provide the flexibility. Now, do you want to tell your team or shall I?’

  Redundant

  ‘NEIL, TO BE honest with you, your performance lately has been… what can I say – unimpressive, frankly weak. And it’s not a recent thing. You don’t cut it anymore.’

  He gulped and stared across the desk at her, trying to think of a reply. He was spared by a discreet beeping from one of the screens by her desk. She leant across to a keyboard and tapped in some numbers.

  ‘Shit.’ She picked up a phone and hit a speed-dial button. ‘Ray? What the fuck’s going on with these Laidlaw accumulation warrants? Have you seen the volatility numbers on these mothers? We’re short at the wrong level and we are bleeding.’ She nodded at whatever was said at the other end and stared into the screen, as if willing the numbers to change. Still listening, she hit the intercom and snarled into it, ‘Samantha, get me the analysis summary on Laidlaw – now.’

  He could almost sense the scurrying and frantic activity in the outer office as Samantha did her best not to be the fifth ex-research assistant this year. Stay calm, breathe deeply, try to relax. He struggled to remember the words of hi
s therapist, whom he had been seeing privately to help manage this fraught situation – a situation that was slowly, inevitably coming to dominate his every waking hour.

  Yes, she was demanding. But that was the point. Emma ran the most successful hedge fund this side of the Atlantic. She was an investment guru, whose advice was sought by politicians and captains of industry alike. When she spoke, she could move markets – so much so that some said it gave her the ultimate insider’s edge. She drove herself and everyone around her one hundred and ten per cent all the time. She hardly slept, was constantly on the move, always restless, never content to sit back and enjoy the fruits of her phenomenal success. He was still captivated by her even now – not only was she a billionaire many times over, but she was beautiful as well, with red hair that tumbled down over her shoulders and striking green eyes.

  Those eyes flickered in his direction again, as she remembered he was there. ‘Neil – you know what I want. Performance – that’s the only thing that counts. In fact, not just performance, but outperformance. No matter how well I do each year, the following year I aim to do better. I need people I can count on. People who share that ambition. Whereas you –’ she stopped as someone started speaking at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Yeah I’m here – now what’s happening and what are we doing? Yeah, yeah…’ She nodded, focusing again on the screen. ‘So cut the position. Some you win, some you lose. This one’s a loser – and Ray, remind me never, ever to short Laidlaw again.’ She slammed the phone down. ‘Damn, that was expensive.’ The screen beside her was flashing red as a new set of numbers replaced the earlier ones. She sighed and sat back in her chair, inwardly seething at the substantial loss that she had just taken. Her eyes focused once again on him. For a moment he wondered if he might be off the hook, as she was clearly distracted and almost seemed uncertain why he was there.