Rigged

by Ben Mezrich

  It was more than just the odd crack about David’s schooling or his lack of energy experience; the Texan simply didn’t seem to believe that David was there for the long haul and acted as though he knew that, sooner or later, David would decide he’d had enough—and bolt.

  The thought brought David back to the newest story from the Merc floor—about a kid named Andre Donneli. Donneli had been trading heating oil for two years, but recently hit a slump. Then one day just a week ago, he made a particularly bad trade and lost over six hundred thousand dollars. Story was, he had walked right off the trading floor, gotten into his car, and just driven away. Nobody had seen or heard from him since. David had no idea what it would be like to lose six hundred thousand dollars in an afternoon. Hell, with his salary and debts, he was barely going to make it through the Christmas season— and the way Serena was peering into the window of the Gucci store a few feet ahead, he wasn’t even sure he’d make it through the rest of his day off. But no matter what happened, he was determined to stick it out at the Merc. Reston be damned— His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a dull vibrating noise coming from somewhere deep in his overcoat. Serena turned away from the Gucci window long enough to glare at him, but he just shrugged, digging between the buttons of his coat. “Serena . . . ,” he started to explain, but she just rolled her eyes and turned back to the window.

  He pulled the phone free. Though the display told him it was an unlisted number, he had more than a feeling that the call was work-related. The hours he had been keeping had pretty much chased away most of his friends outside of the Merc, along with almost all aspects of his social life. His cell phone had become an extension of that fucking fortress in Lower Manhattan. He expected the call was from either Harriet or one of the traders; the only reason he’d taken the afternoon off in the first place was that Reston was out of the country, speaking alongside Giovanni at some conference in Europe. David had assumed that an entire ocean would protect him, at least for a few hours.

  “David here,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

  To his surprise, it was indeed Reston. Voice partially muffled by the distance, even though he obviously had an international cell phone. Damn that fucking technology, David thought to himself as he took a step away from Serena so she wouldn’t have to hear him grovel—in case he felt the need.

  “David, I’m really in deep shit here.”

  David almost dropped the phone as a pair of Japanese women carrying twice their weight in shopping bags bustled past. He had never heard Reston sound so frazzled before, and it could only be bad news for him.

  “Where are you?” David asked.

  “Amsterdam. I’m here with Giovanni, and I’m giving a keynote speech at some fucking conference at eight a.m. tomorrow morning.”

  David took a deep breath. He was really afraid of where this was heading, especially as Reston’s voice pitched upward an octave on the other end of the line.

  “David, I left all my notes on the airplane. I’ve got nothing. I need you to write a new speech for me.”

  David’s eyes went wide. And on the Sunday before Thanksgiving, his one day off from work.

  “On what subject?” he finally asked.

  “The North Sea crude market. I know, it’s fucking arcane, but that’s what the conference is about. I need ten pages, stat. And don’t forget, it’s six hours ahead here—David, can I count on you?”

  David could hear it in Reston’s words—the Texan didn’t believe that he could. David felt his eyes narrow, his grip on the phone tightening.

  “Nick, I’ll get it done.”

  David hung up the phone and shoved it back into his coat. Then he stood there, buffeted by the continued stream of passersby, cursing to himself. The North Sea crude market? He didn’t know a damn thing about the North Sea, other than it ran along the side of Norway; he certainly didn’t know anything about its energy market. Hell, it would take him a few minutes to find the place on a map.

  But he wasn’t going to let Reston down. He was no Andre Donneli—hell, he didn’t even own a car. He wouldn’t give the skeptical Texan the satisfaction of being right about him. He slowly walked back to the Gucci window, where Serena was pretending not to have watched the entire phone conversation. He stood next to her, silently counting the seconds, when finally she turned to face him.

  “I know.” She sighed. “Go, do what you have to do.”

  Before he could say anything in response, she grabbed the collar of his overcoat with one hand and pulled him in close. But instead of going for a kiss, she dug into his inside pocket with her free hand and deftly retrieved his wallet.

  “But I’m taking your credit card. The longer you take, the more I’m going to spend.”

  David grinned at her. Then he went in for that kiss—and took off at full speed down Fifth Avenue.

  Chapter 17

  As David’s index finger plunged toward his laptop’s keyboard, he felt a rush of adrenaline that was completely out of place in the back corner of a Midtown Starbucks. Of course, the Starbucks itself was at least partially to blame. The Goth chick behind the counter—the one with too much eye shadow and a pierced bottom lip—should certainly have cut him off after his third latte. Instead, she had happily cooked up a fourth—and he was really flying now, every nerve in his body going off in a wondrous symphony of caffeine-fueled bliss. Not only was he hopped up on the finest coffee to ever come out of Seattle; he had just finished what he believed to be the best presentation he had ever written. And at the moment he did not believe there were any words in the English language more beautiful or poetic than the two that now appeared on the computer screen in front of him:

  Message Sent

  He leaned back from the laptop and stretched his arms above his head. He could hardly believe that he’d done it: fourteen pages, ten accompanying visual slides, and hell, enough information about North Sea crude to get Reston elected to Norway’s Board of Trade. It was an amazing accomplishment considering that six hours ago David could not have told Reston what Norway’s capital was, or even if Norway had any oil exports at all. Turns out it did; in fact, Norway was sitting on more than half of the entire European continent’s oil reserves. Most of Norway’s economy consisted of oil exportation—but that would soon change. North Sea exports were decreasing at a rapid rate, creating an opportunity for gradual replacement of the crude contract—probably with a different form of crude exported from the Middle East.

  And on top of that, Norway’s capital was Oslo.

  David smiled, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. The lighting in the Starbucks was abysmal; when David had first chosen the little table in the back corner of the crowded coffee shop, there had been plenty of sunlight streaming in through the glass picture windows at the front of the building. But the sun had vanished hours ago, along with most of the other customers. Anyone foolish enough to crave Starbucks after nine at night was either trading Japanese futures or researching Norwegian crude—in short, desperate for free Internet access and the strength to stay up all night if need be.

  But the project Reston had assigned David had come together much faster than he had expected, and now he wasn’t going to have to stay up all night after all. Really, it had been like an assignment one would get at Harvard Business School—only at HBS David had been forced to deal with overachieving “study partners,” because at business school there really was no “I” in “Team.” In the real world, David had discovered, teams were all “I”—and little else. Reston didn’t want them to work together on the speech—he wanted David to deliver it, lock, stock, and smoking PowerPoint slides.

  David shut his laptop with a flourish and rose from his seat. There were muscle spasms going off in both of his calves, and his heart felt like it was trying to tango up his esophagus—but he’d delivered all right, and with plenty of time to spare. Nine p. m . in New York, which meant that it was three in the morning in Amsterdam. Reston was probably still sleeping off whatever volume of scotch
he’d managed to consume since they’d last spoken. Despite the time, David doubted he himself would have the luxury of any sleep, considering how much caffeine was in his system, but at least Serena would get to see him for a few more hours before another week at the Merc began—and the invisible man returned.

  To David’s surprise, even a near-lethal dose of caffeine had been no match for the collected exhaustion of a month of seventyhour weeks. In fact, he’d only lasted a few minutes longer than Serena, falling into a deep sleep while her head was still resting on his chest, sometime around midnight. A sleep so deep, he’d have probably slept right through the incessant braying of his cell phone had Serena not yanked the pillow out from under his head to cover her own ears against the sound.

  “Will you please do something about that?” she said as she curled herself into a ball on the bed next to him. He blinked rapidly, trying to scare the sleep from his eyes. Then he pulled himself to a sitting position. His cell phone stopped for a second—then started up again, its polyphonic wail cutting through the dark bedroom. David searched for the digital clock on the small table by his bed. Four a.m. Not even his mother would call him at 4:00 a.m. unless it was an emergency—and that was saying something.

  He grimaced as he slipped out from under the comforter and padded across the cold hardwood floor. He found his jeans by the closet door and clumsily searched the pockets for his phone.

  “What is wrong with these people?” Serena mumbled as David finally yanked the phone free. “Don’t they ever sleep?”

  David grunted a response. “Yeah, in caves. Hanging from the ceiling. I promise to keep this short.”

  He angrily pressed the receive button and jammed the phone against his ear.

  “Yes?” he said, refusing to try to find more appropriate words at four in the morning. This time he wasn’t surprised to hear Reston’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “David, it’s Nick. I’m on an airplane, on my way back to New York. Giovanni’s with me, and we’ve got about five minutes before takeoff.”

  David fought the urge to chuck the phone against the wall.

  “That’s great, Nick. Be sure to enjoy the in-flight movie.”

  “Shut up, kid. Listen, I’m going to ask you a question, and I’ll know right away if you’re lying.”

  David sighed. He didn’t know what game Reston was up to now, but he had no choice but to play along.

  “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “Did you copy that speech from somewhere?”

  This time David really did come inches away from chucking the phone.

  “Fuck you, Nick.”

  “Seriously, kid. I’m asking you a question.”

  David clenched his teeth and lowered his voice. “No, I did not copy that speech.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When Reston finally came back on, his tone had changed in a way that David had never heard before.

  “I’ve been underestimating you, kid.”

  David could tell that, for once, Reston was entirely sincere. Despite the hour, despite his anger at having been awakened by the phone call, David felt a thrill move through him. He realized, with a start, that it was the most meaningful compliment he’d received since leaving business school.

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” Reston continued, in that same respectful tone, “keep your schedule free. We have something important to discuss.”

  With that, the phone went dead. David placed it carefully on the nearby dresser and padded back across the hardwood floor to his bed. He didn’t get under the comforter; instead he sat on the edge, thinking about the phone call. Then he smiled.

  Finally, he had broken through Reston’s skepticism. He couldn’t be sure, but from the Texan’s tone, he had a pretty good feeling that from now on things were going to be different.

  It wasn’t until the next afternoon that David realized just how different. In fact, the next afternoon David discovered that his life was about to change—in ways he could never have imagined.

  Chapter 18

  David should have seen the bombshell coming the minute Harriet led him into the vacant office on the fifteenth floor, then quickly took her leave, mumbling something under her breath about coffee and doughnuts and a going-away party. Instead, David simply stood there like an idiot, in the middle of the empty fifteen-by-fifteen space, staring at the bare walls and the pair of floor-to-ceiling windows, wondering why the hell Reston had wanted to meet in an empty room rather than in his own office, which was right next door.

  When Reston finally arrived, David never had a chance to ask that question—because right behind Reston was Giovanni, and right behind Giovanni were two men in overalls carrying an oversized wooden desk.

  “Somebody moving in here?” David asked as Giovanni checked out the view and Reston directed the two men toward a corner.

  “Yeah,” Giovanni answered. “You.”

  David stared at him. Giovanni pointed through the glass, toward a spot off to the left.

  “Hey, you can see the Brooklyn Bridge. Might even be better than your view, Nicky.”

  David cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Giovanni, I think I misunderstood—”

  “David,” Reston interrupted, as the two moving men finished with the desk and headed out of the room, “shut up and listen.”

  He shut the door behind the men, then crossed his arms against his chest. Giovanni turned away from the window and aimed his handsome smile at David.

  “I told you that this place is changing—well, turns out it’s changing a bit faster than even I predicted. David, tomorrow I’m giving my notice. I’ve chosen not to run for reelection as chairman of the board. I’m leaving the Merc.”

  The announcement was like a gunshot to David’s chest. He exhaled, leaning back against a stark white wall. Giovanni was the whole reason he had come to the energy exchange. And now, barely a month later, Giovanni was leaving? Why? It didn’t make sense. Giovanni seemed to love his job—and he certainly loved the Merc. He was the most loyal and proud leader one could want. Why would he leave?

  Or was it entirely his choice? Could he have been pushed out by Gallo and the old-school traders, with whom he seemed so much at odds? David glanced at Reston, trying to read the Texan’s face. He could see a mixture of emotions there: sadness, apprehension—but also anticipation. Exhilaration.

  Maybe David was thinking about this all wrong. Maybe Giovanni really did want to leave—for good reasons. David thought back to the conversation he had had with Reston that evening in the hallway. Reston had said that Giovanni couldn’t enact real changes at the Merc—because he had too much to lose. Well, maybe Giovanni was leaving to give Reston a chance to fight those battles head on.

  “I don’t know what to say,” David exhaled, looking from one man to the other, from his idol to his boss. “Mr. Giovanni— why?”

  David hadn’t meant for the question to come out like that—or even at all. But it was such a shock, he hadn’t been able to censor himself.

  Giovanni simply laughed.

  “Too many reasons. Or maybe not enough reasons. It doesn’t matter—my decision is made.”

  Obviously, Giovanni wasn’t going to tell David any more than that. Hell, maybe Giovanni simply didn’t want to be there anymore. He was incredibly wealthy, after all. He owned a number of companies and could spend his life in any city in the world. He could even go after one of the New York sports franchises if he so desired.

  The fact was, he was going.

  And who did that leave in charge?

  Giovanni stepped away from the window, crossed the room, and put his arm around Reston’s wide shoulders.

  “We’re bringing in a new chairman in a few months, but for the moment, unofficially, you’re looking at the new head of the New York Mercantile Exchange.”

  Christ. When Reston had first floated the idea a month ago— that he could one day be running the place—David had been naive enough to think
it might be possible. But over the past few weeks he’d realized how insane an idea like that really was. Reston was in his midthirties. He was an outsider, a Texan with Irish blood. To go up against Gallo and his ilk, without Giovanni there to back him up—it seemed insane. Reston was going to get eaten alive.

  David stifled those thoughts for the moment and held out his hand.

  “Congratulations, Nick.”

  Reston grinned as he shook David’s hand. Then Giovanni dropped an even bigger bombshell.

  “And as my final act as chairman, tomorrow I’m making you vice president of strategy. This is your office, and from now on you’re Nicky’s right-hand man.”

  David opened his mouth, then closed it again. Vice president of strategy. He was twenty-five years old. He’d been at the Merc for less than a month. He’d shown some sparks of ingenuity, sure; he’d befriended the younger traders, had some success with many of Reston’s projects, and had written a damn good speech on Norwegian crude. But there had to be dozens of other people who were more qualified. This seemed impossible. Ridiculous. This was happening too fast.

  He realized there had to be a deeper reason why Giovanni would make him a vice president of the exchange. Once before he had felt like a pawn in a game between Gallo and Giovanni. Maybe he really was a pawn—and now Giovanni was striking back at Gallo and his kind by putting one of his kids in an office on the fifteenth floor. The truth was, David hadn’t yet really proved himself. He hadn’t yet had that chance. No doubt, this move would create a shit-storm downstairs; sure, some of the traders liked David, but would they accept him as a figure of any sort of authority?

  “I’m stunned,” David finally managed. Truthfully, he was way more than stunned. He was a range of emotions that ran from terrified all the way to skeptical. He knew he was being given this promotion for reasons other than his own performance—and that scared him. He also knew he would be put in a precarious position with the board and the traders—which made him even more nervous. But still, it wasn’t something he was going to turn down, that was for sure. How many twenty-five-year-olds got the chance to be vice president of anything? Even if it was just a title, he was going to try to enjoy the moment.