Roy, a Harvard MBA summa cum laude, was hired by the fund as a senior associate a week before Ronnie. As far as he was concerned, Ronnie was a dangerous competitor in the race for partnership. Since their first meeting, Roy had been uncertain whether he hated Ronnie or was simply afraid of him. He wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Two other senior associates, who occupied the adjacent room suffering identical slavery-like conditions, shared exactly the same feelings. All three of them were intimidated by Ronnie but were no less afraid of each other.
“Roy,” Ronnie addressed his neighbor with concealed humor, “do you feel like grabbing lunch together?”
“I have to finish an important research job for David,” answered Roy with a mixture of seriousness and self-importance. “I’m really sorry. I can’t let him down after all the trust he’s placed in me.” And without waiting for Ronnie’s reaction, Roy plunged back into the depths of his computer.
Amazing how he’s able to come up with a new excuse every day, thought Ronnie. One day he’ll run out of excuses and I’ll have to suffer his presence during lunch as well. He glanced at his watch for the fourth time in the last half hour. Why am I drowning in boredom when I have such a challenging and fascinating job?
The past few months were different than anything he’d been accustomed to. In all the places in which he had worked, he’d learned to value teamwork as the most important principle, but in this office a dog-eat-dog attitude prevailed. His dissatisfaction was further fueled by the fact that the partners — who’d fussed over him till the moment he had signed the contract — were now completely ignoring him. As far as they were concerned, he’d become an email address to which assignments could be sent, assignments that were always urgent and crucial to the existence of this or that project. He had never heard a single compliment from them, but more than once they had delivered scathing reprimands because his work was disappointingly overdue, while keeping their imaginary deadlines to themselves. He knew that many of the ideas he had presented were approved and executed, but he’d received no credit for them. In their eyes, he was nothing but “a servant of four masters.”
He took another peek at his watch. It was one thirty-two, a minute had passed since the last time he’d checked. Eight thirty PM, Israel time, he translated to himself. If he knew his workaholic friend Gadi well enough, he would still be in the office in the middle of an endless meeting with one of his demanding customers. Well, that’s his problem, he thought and pressed the speed-dial button.
The reply on the other end of the line came immediately and in Hebrew. “The putz in front of you is already driving you nuts?”
“Gadi, your last name is Abutbul. Moroccan Jews don’t use Yiddish swear words. Say ‘little shit’ or ‘piece of trash,’ but not ‘putz.’ Coming from you, the word sounds too dignified.” Ronnie had his first laugh of the day.
“Tell me, why don’t you leave that fund of yours already?” Gadi became serious. “You’re bored to death there. Every day you’re calling me ten minutes earlier than the day before. With my ‘easy going and understanding’ customers, a month from now I’ll be forced to start looking for a new job.”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question every single day. I love what I’m doing, which is apparently enough to overcome the exasperation of working with all these lifeless people in the fund. But considering the way the senior partners are treating me, there’s a good chance they’ll be the ones making the decision for me.”
“So go and work for another fund. You may earn less, but between you and me, you don’t need the money.”
“Gadi, thanks for your concern. Really. But that’s the way it is with all funds. Unfortunately, where big money is involved, there’s a lot of competition. And when there’s competition, Americans will stop at nothing in order to win.”
“So just come back to Israel,” Gadi gave him the usual reply.
“What’s happening with you?” Ronnie changed the subject, ignoring Roy’s furious glances about being distracted from his sacred work.
“All’s usual, you know. Providing services for insurance companies investigating theft and robbery, helping the police find their way in the depths of the master criminals’ world, and investigating the miserable affairs of the wives of the rich and the famous. I closed two such cases yesterday. My mother would have had to work half a lifetime to earn the amounts they added to my bank account. Those rich people paid without blinking.” The ghosts of childhood pains turned Gadi’s voice hoarse.
Ronnie felt a pang of yearning. He missed the honesty, directness, candor and mutual trust he and Gadi shared.
“So, when are you coming for a visit in Israel?” Gadi didn’t let go. “You know, your parents really miss you. Good thing your sister stayed here…me too,” Gadi addressed a sore spot.
“I don’t see myself coming back anytime soon, and please don’t bring this up every conversation we have. I feel shitty enough about it as it is,” Ronnie mumbled in a melancholy voice.
“Ashkenazi Jews should say ‘like dreck,’ not ‘shitty.’ How’d you put it? Coming from you, the word sounds too…dignified.”
“Gadi, I love you,” Ronnie said and laughed, “but I gotta go before the putz has a stroke.”
“Let him have one. Yalla, bye. Hang in there. And remember, when you’re promoted to partner, the putz will work for you, then you’ll be able to abuse him as much as you like.” Gadi hung up without waiting for a reply.
Ronnie picked up his coat from the coatrack and left without saying a word. He was aware that it would have been much more decent to have the conversation with Gadi outside the room so as not to interrupt Roy’s work, but there was no way in the world he would’ve given up one of his only pleasures in the office.
Three months earlier, he had discovered a small Middle Eastern restaurant that sold falafel and shawarma. It reminded him of the wonderful falafel he used to eat in the small stand that had opened a short time before his last visit to the kibbutz where he was raised. When he entered the dim, crowded restaurant, he was happy to see that his favorite corner table, right next to the phone booth, was available. He mouthed the words “the usual” as he motioned to the Lebanese counterman and pointed his finger toward his customary table. The man smiled and nodded his approval. Ronnie sat down and, as usual, turned his back to the other diners, detaching himself from the commotion. He turned on his iPad and became engrossed in reading the latest news from Israel.
“Our Hezbollah is giving you problems?” asked the Lebanese, while placing a plate of shawarma, finely diced Arab salad, humus and a bottle of Coke Zero on the table.
“Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps they’re resting. But if I were a gambling man, I would say they won’t stay quiet for long,” answered Ronnie and gave the Lebanese man a friendly clap on the shoulder.
“Unfortunately, brother, you’re right. With them, it’s always a matter of time before they go off their rockers and start looking for someone to kill.” The counterman smiled bitterly and went back to serving a new wave of hungry customers.
Life is always surprising, thought Ronnie. I have a better relationship with a Lebanese stranger than with any of my coworkers. Behind his back, the phone booth door opened then immediately closed. I didn’t know people even used them anymore! Ronnie thought nothing more of it and became caught up in the sports section.
“Put ten thousand on Lucky Runner in the fourth, ten thousand on Black Beauty in the eighth and twenty thousand on Royal Lightning in the last race,” an instruction was heard from within the booth. The speaker lowered his voice, but each whisper could be heard through the wooden walls. After a brief respite the man added in an entreating tone, “You’ll get everything you’re owed by the end of the week. You know I’m never late with my payments.”
The unintended invasion of another person’s privacy embarrassed Ronnie, but what had made the situation even more embarrassing was the feeling he recognized the man’s voice. The phone booth d
oor opened and the man stepped outside. Ronnie instinctively turned his head back and found himself staring at Henry, who froze as they made eye contact. Ronnie was the first to regain his composure and sent Henry a reassuring smile, doing his best not to betray, even with a hint, that he had heard the conversation. Henry came to his senses, flashed a theatrical smile back at Ronnie, and left the restaurant without saying a word. Perhaps this fund is not so boring after all, thought Ronnie, troubled. If the second most powerful man in the fund is a gambler who can hardly pay his debts, what did it say about the way in which the partners were managing their investors’ money?
Chapter 2
New York, August 4, 2013, 7:45 AM
Liah roamed about JFK’s arrival terminal and waited for the Swissair passengers to emerge from behind the opaque sliding doors. Even though she was only five foot four, fifteen years of ballet lessons had imbued her with an upright, gliding gait, as if her feet were hardly touching the floor. It gave her an air of dignified mystery, further augmented by her high cheekbones and dark eyes. A slight, almost imperceptible, squint in one of those eyes gave them a dreamy, perhaps even seductive, look.
Liah met Ronnie when he was a guest lecturer at Columbia University’s medical school, where she was a student. Six months later, she moved into his Manhattan apartment, where they’d been for the past two and a half years. Ronnie had been attracted by her unique appearance but was quickly enraptured by the charms of her quick wits. He often told her he’d never met such an intelligent, yet unassuming person. Even when he discussed subjects related to his own profession, she surprised him with her exceptional insights and her ability to simplify complex situations and define them in a single clear sentence.
The door opened with a whistle of compressed air. Two businessmen emerged, mummified in suits and ties. Ronnie was right behind them, dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, his eyes scouting the terminal, seeking her.
Liah ran forward, jumped on him, and covered his face with kisses. Ronnie kept on advancing toward the exit, while she was still hanging from his neck. When they were outside, he whispered to her, “Cut it out, the whole world’s watching us.”
“I don’t care! I’m so happy you’re back from reserve duty.”
Ronnie’s body stiffened. His stay in Israel had made him forget what had happened the day he’d left New York. Humidity hung in the air, he recalled, and left its mark on the multitudes that crowded the street. The day had not yet begun, and everyone already appeared to be on edge as he headed toward Seventh Avenue. After five minutes of walking, he stopped next to a coffee cart with a long and sweaty line in front of it. He waited for his turn. A bagel was the last thing he wanted. He was interested in seeing if the fiftyish-looking man who was reading a newspaper on the other end of the sidewalk was actually following him.
The man folded his newspaper and continued on his way up the street. Ronnie’s eyes followed him through his sunglasses. The man stopped in front of a display window in which the coffee cart line was reflected. A moment later, he took out a cell phone, made a brief call, and walked on without looking back.
Ronnie collected the bagel he had ordered and turned on his heel. He almost didn’t notice the girl pacing in front of him. It was only the slight expression of interest that crossed her face as he passed by that betrayed her and let him know she was continuing the surveillance of the tail he’d spotted.
The ones who followed him didn’t seem professional enough to belong to a three-letter law enforcement agency. Still, Ronnie wondered if the United States government was aware of the affairs he was involved with. A feeling of guilt momentarily washed over him. Was it something about his behavior that had brought this about? He took a bite of the tasteless bagel, and then tossed it into the nearest trash can. He strode toward the nearest Starbucks, on 27th Street, while turning off his cell phone. He walked inside, glanced back and discovered his follower remained at the other end of the street, watching the entrance door. Ronnie walked slowly into the heart of the coffee shop, and once he was certain he was concealed by the people around him, quickly went out a side door. He found himself on Sixth Avenue and immediately jumped into a taxi idling at the traffic light. When it drove past 27th Street, he saw his tail still standing and looking at the door he’d entered.
“Are you even listening to me?” he heard Liah’s voice scolding him.
“Yes.” All at once, he was back at the JFK arrival terminal, back to Liah who, for the past few minutes, just wouldn’t stop talking. “You said you weren’t really worried about me.” That was all he could remember. “That’s not showing a great deal of love,” he added.
“It shows something else: that I knew exactly where you were.”
He became tense. “How?” he asked, attempting to maintain a level tone.
“Remember my friend Ruthie? The one I’ve been chatting with on Facebook every day?”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Yesterday, she looked at some of the photos I posted from our weekend in Maine. Her mother happened to see them and said she knows you from her restaurant. Ruthie said it couldn’t be, and that anyway, you live in the US. But her mother insisted you’d been eating at her restaurant for a week. She added that she may be old, but she still has an eye for good-looking guys.”
“Well, so what does it all mean?” asked Ronnie impatiently.
“The Ness Ziona Institute for Biological Research personnel regularly take their meals at her place. That’s what it means.” She laughed and continued, “And if that’s where you’re doing your reserve duty, then I’m not worried.”
It’s always the little details that bring you down, thought Ronnie as they entered the car.
Chapter 3
New York, October 14, 2013, 9:30 AM
Monday had begun just like any other Monday. The weekly staff meeting was brief and devoid of any upheavals, the mountains of sushi, ordered by Evelyn, David’s personal assistant, were devoured to the last piece. But, during the final discussions, the partners, especially David and Henry, seemed preoccupied and restless.
“OK. We’re done for today,” David said, closing out the meeting. “Ronnie, stay with us in the room please.”
Ronnie went back to his chair, following with his eyes the junior staff members leaving the room.
“Close the door behind you, please,” Henry asked the last one to leave, who obeyed while sending Ronnie a worried look. A midday one-on-one conversation with all the partners was highly unusual and would normally herald ill tidings. Ronnie recalled Roy, who had been summoned to such a conversation just two weeks before, following which he’d been fired. An hour after the conversation had finished, all that remained of his old officemate were two marker pens and a yellow notepad. As far as Ronnie knew, even though they’d never told him, the partners were satisfied with his work. Even so, he wasn’t able to get over the feeling he’d soon be watching his own funeral procession.
“We’ll be right with you,” Henry said offhandedly, as he and his fellow partners examined a two-page document David had just handed them, demonstratively ignoring Ronnie’s discomfort. But if they thought they were pressuring him, they were wrong. The wait actually allowed Ronnie to relax. I might as well keep a level head, they’ll soon tell me why they wanted me to stay, he thought and sprawled comfortably in his chair, took a deep breath, and waited. If they only knew about all the times I’ve had to wait two, sometimes even three sleepless days to perform a single action that might have cost me my life…
“It won’t be another minute, Ronnie,” it was David’s turn to mumble without raising his head from the document, “we just need to finalize a few minor details related to another issue.” Ronnie kept quiet. He assumed David was not really awaiting his approval.
Ten minutes later, it appeared the senior partners had reached a decision. All the paperwork was gathered and piled up next to David. David lifted the bundle again and lightly tapped it against the gleaming s
urface of the table. The papers were soon organized into a single cube-like shape. When his mind was finally at ease with the order he’d instilled in the paperwork, David raised his head and looked at Ronnie. “Thank you for your patience, and please excuse us for the wait. We wanted to speak with you at the end of last week, but since you were away on a business trip, we thought it appropriate to await your return so we could have a face-to-face conversation.”
David grew silent, aware that Ronnie remembered the fate of his former roommate. Curiosity took hold, but Ronnie was able to maintain a neutral expression. David waited another moment, exchanging glances with his partners, then carried on, “It’s been almost a year since you joined us, and we thought you deserve to know our opinion about you and your performance in the fund. Perhaps we’ve been a little miserly with our compliments, but I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you if I tell you most of what we have to say is very positive. Your analytical skills are exceptional, and your ability to recognize new market trends has often provided us a significant advantage over competing funds. Your handling of crisis situations has been excellent as well. Nevertheless, we still have two major question marks about you; the first one is whether you’ll be capable of working with complete independence, without a senior partner by your side.” David was silent again, awaiting a response, even though the question had been phrased as though it’d been directed to the partners.
Ronnie slowly shifted his gaze from one partner to another, trying to conjecture the hidden meaning of what had just been said, but more than that, to guess the words that hadn’t been. “For the past year, I’ve shared my opinions with my partners, not because I’m unable to reach decisions on my own or incapable of innovative thinking. I’ve done it because that’s what the term ‘partnership’ means to me. When I was hired, David was very proud of the due diligence you conducted on me. I’m sure you discovered that as a CEO, I led quite a few groundbreaking processes and reached quite a few difficult decisions on my own. It’s much easier to reach such decisions on your own than to convince and harness an entire organization to follow your lead. As a CEO, I had no choice and needed to act that way. Here, I felt I had a different choice to make and therefore shared all my thoughts with you. If I had to start over, I’d still take the same approach.” Ronnie grew silent and waited.
Green Kills Page 2
