Sylvia placed her hand on Nick’s cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m all right.” He half smiled, and nodded to show that he was in fact okay, that a marine never cries, that he was hardly deserving of her compassion. “So my father is dead. That’s it, right. That’s the sad part. Obviously, I’m wondering who did it. There’s the regular investigation, but no witnesses, no murder weapon. The police didn’t have a thing to go on. Six months later, case closed. Life goes on. Chalk it up to a random act of violence. The cops will tell you it happens all the time in a big city like Los Angeles.” Suddenly, he pounded his hand on the table. “But goddammit, it doesn’t happen all the time to me.”
Nick slid his chair away from the table and asked if she minded if he stepped outside for a moment. He crossed the living area, then opened the sliding glass door and stepped into the icy night air. A perfect semicircle was carved from the snow so that one could stand on the terrace and look out at the curtain of forest. The night’s cold embrace could not stifle the scent of pine and oak. He breathed deeply and watched as the vapor of his condensing breath cut a swath out of the darkness. He willed himself to think of nothing, to make his mind a blank, to breathe and watch and feel the world around him as if this were all there were.
“It’s beautiful here.”
Nick jumped at the sound of Sylvia’s voice. He hadn’t heard her approaching. “I can’t believe we’re still in the city,” he said.
“Just out the front door and down the street.”
“I feel like I’m in the middle of the mountains.”
“Mmmm,” she agreed. She looped her arms around him and drew herself against his back. “Nick, I’m so sorry.”
He placed his hands over hers and held them tightly against him. “So am I.”
“So that’s why you came here?” she whispered, more answer than question.
“I guess so. Once I found the agendas I didn’t really have a choice. Sometimes I tell myself that there’s no way in the world I’m going to find anything.” He shrugged. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I just know I have to try.”
For a while neither spoke. Gently, he rocked back and forth, enjoying the warmth of her body and the mix of her perfume with the crisp air. He turned to Sylvia and lowered his face toward hers. She touched his cheek and as their lips met, he closed his eyes.
# # #
Inside, Sylvia asked Nick what the next step was.
“I need to see my father’s activity reports for 1978 and 1979.”
“There are eight volumes. Four for each year.”
“So be it,” he said.
She replaced a strand of hair behind her ear and nodded as if summing up a daunting task. “I’ll do my best. I really do want to help. But, Nick, it’s been so long. Who knows what your father might have written in those reports? Please don’t expect too much. You’ll only be disappointed.”
Nick made his way around her living room, stopping to examine a picture here, a knickknack there. “Someone once told me that every man and woman could easily choose how happy they wanted to be. The whole thing boiled down to a simple equation. Happiness, he said, equaled reality divided by expectation. If you don’t hope for much, then reality will almost surely beat your expectations, therefore you’ll be happy. If you expect the world, you’ll always be disappointed. The problem is for folks who always want to be happy, the dreamers who put a big ten on the bottom of that equation.”
“What do you expect, Nick?”
“When I was young, I wanted the ten. We all do, I guess. After my father died and things took a turn for the worse, I would have been happy with a three. Now I’m more optimistic. I want a five, hell, I’ll take a risk, give me a six. If six days out of ten are good, I’ll be all right.”
“I mean, what do you really expect? What do you want to do with your life?”
“Well, obviously I’d like to put my father’s murder behind me. After that I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll stay in Switzerland for a while. Fall in love. Have a family. Mostly, I want to feel like I belong someplace.” A feeling of intimate complacency fell over Nick as he spoke to Sylvia, almost as if he were yielding to a mild opiate. He barely knew her, yet already he was sharing his innermost feelings, dreams he had held for a future with Anna. Dreams for another world, he reminded himself. And another lifetime. “What about you?”
“I change from day to day, from minute to minute. When I was growing up, I wasn’t very happy. I always wanted my mother to come back. I would’ve taken a four. When I first began at the bank, a nine. Anything was possible. Today, with you sitting in my dining room, I still want a nine. I’d rather be a little disappointed than not have wished at all.”
“What doyou really want?”
“That’s easy. To be the first woman on the executive board of USB.”
Nick ended his tour of her living room and fell into the overstuffed couch. “A dreamer, eh?”
Sylvia sat down next to him. “Why else would I help you with these binders? They’re darned heavy to carry around.”
“Poor Sylvia, what will we do with her?” Nick rubbed her back. “Bad back?”
She nodded her head. “Uh-huh.”
He lifted her legs onto his lap and massaged her calves. “And your legs. They must be killing you?” Running his hands along her smooth legs sent a current of desire through his body. He had forgotten the touch of a woman’s body, forgotten seduction’s joyous impatience.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Sylvia pointed to a spot that needed particular attention, and he obliged. “That feels much better.”
“And your feet?” Nick threw off her loafers. “To think they had to carry around such an enormous load.”
“Stop,” Sylvia cried. “That tickles. Stop it now.”
“What, this tickles?” He ran his fingers lightly over her stockinged toes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Please stop.” But her command dissolved into laughter. “I’m begging you.”
Nick paused momentarily, allowing Sylvia to place her feet on the floor. “What will you give me?”
She smiled coyly. “How about I try and elevate your top number?”
“I don’t know. That’s pretty serious stuff. How high do you think you can get it? An eight?”
“Definitely higher.” Sylvia gently bit Nick’s lower lip, then caressed his neck.
“A nine?”
She straddled him. Slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt until it hung open before him. “Higher.”
“Higher than a nine? Nothing’s perfect.”
Sylvia unsnapped her brassiere and gently rubbed each breast in turn across his open mouth. “Take that back.”
Nick closed his eyes and nodded his head. He had decided to go for the ten.
CHAPTER
32
Nick arrived at the office the next morning, eager to begin work on a document that would be sent to institutional shareholders—naturally, under the Chairman’s name—detailing steps the bank would take to cut costs, increase efficiency, and better operating margins. All were measures designed to improve financial performance over the next five years. He set to work drafting an outline, but after only a few minutes he discovered it impossible to concentrate. Images of Sylvia flooded his mind. He saw the curve of her waist. He felt her firm belly. He ran his hands over her endless legs. Without speaking, she made him smile; without moving, she made him wince; without breathing, she made him pant.
Abruptly, Nick rolled his chair away from the desk. He rubbed his hands slowly on his thighs, requiring some physical assurance that it was him having these thoughts—the same man who only two months before had left behind a woman who loved him and whom, he was afraid to admit, he might still love. You’re a cad, he thought, jumping at the first woman who comes your way. You betrayed her. No, a calmer voice objected, Anna belongs to your past. She’s safer there.
At half past nine, Rita Sutter tucked her head into his office.
“Good mo
rning, Mr. Neumann. You arrived early this morning.”
Nick looked up from his work, surprised. He hadn’t seen her outside Kaiser’s suite of offices once in the four days he’d been on the Fourth Floor. “Not much choice, if I want to keep up with the Chairman.”
“He brings out the best in us all,” she said, venturing a foot inside. She was wearing a navy blue dress, a strand of pearls, and a white cardigan, and carrying a sheaf of papers. She managed to look chic, mature, and a little bit sexy all at the same time. “I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you on your promotion. You must be very excited.”
Nick sat back in his chair, confused by her solicitous approach. She was hardly the kind to engage in idle chitchat. Her primary responsibility was the ordering of the Chairman’s day, and she performed her task with a mastery worthy of a seasoned military staff officer. Nothing reached Kaiser without her prior knowledge and approval. No phone calls, no letters, and certainly no visitors. (Sterling Thorne being the exception.) No matter how hectic the day became, she kept Kaiser focused and on schedule, all the while retaining a composed, unflappable air. Nick wondered what she wanted.
“It’s an honor to be here,” he agreed. “Though I wish the current circumstances were a little different.”
“I’m sure Herr Kaiser will manage just fine. He won’t let go of the bank without a fight.”
“I don’t imagine he will.”
Rita Sutter came closer to the desk. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell you how much you look like your father.”
“Not at all.” He had been curious to learn how well she had known him but hadn’t yet found the right moment to ask. “Did you work together?”
“Why yes, of course. I started at the bank a year after he did. In those days we were a small group, about a hundred of us. He was a good man.”
“About time someone confessed to liking him,” he said under his breath, then stood and motioned to the chair opposite his desk. “Please have a seat—that is, if you have a few minutes free.”
Rita Sutter sat down on the edge of the chair, fingering her pearls. Her tentative stance suggested a brief visit. “Did you know that we all came from the same neighborhood, Herr Kaiser, your father, and myself?”
“You lived on Eibenstrasse too?”
“Manessestrasse. Around the corner. But Herr Kaiser lived in the same building as your father. They were never close as children. Your father was a much better athlete. Wolfgang kept to his books. He was still quite shy in those days.”
“The Chairman, shy?” Nick imagined a small boy with a limp arm dangling uselessly at his side, no thousand-dollar suits to camouflage it. Then his thoughts turned to his father, and he fought to locate some memory of him as an athlete. Sure his dad had played golf, but he had never once thrown a baseball or kicked a soccer ball with Nick.
“We don’t talk about the past very often here,” she said. “I felt, though, I had to tell you how much I admired your father. He had a very positive influence on my life. He was a strong believer. To him anything was possible. Sometimes I ask myself if I wouldn’t be working for Alex instead of Wolfgang, if your father were still . . .” She let her words drift off, then smiling suddenly, brought her attention to Nick. “He was the one who pushed me into getting my degree at HSG—the Hochschule St. Gallen. I’ll always be grateful to him for that. Though I don’t think he would have liked how I used it.”
Nick was impressed. HSG was Switzerland’s most respected business school. “You practically run the bank,” he said, meaning it. “That’s pretty good, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Nicholas. I haven’t seen Rudolf Ott fetching the Chairman coffee and biscuits.” She stood up and patted her skirt into place.
Nick circled the desk, accompanying her to the door. He had wanted to work the conversation around to his father’s duties at the bank. Now it seemed there wouldn’t be time. “Can I ask you something about my father?” he said awkwardly, hating to broach this subject out of the blue. “Did you ever hear of him doing anything that might have harmed the bank? Something that might have hurt USB’s reputation?”
Rita Sutter stopped abruptly. “Who told you that? No, don’t tell me. I can imagine.” She turned so her body brushed against Nick and looked him in the eye. “Your father never did anything to tarnish this bank’s good name. He was an honorable man.”
“Thanks, I had just heard that—”
“Shhh.” She brought a finger up to her lips. “Don’t believe everything you hear on this floor. Oh, and about that letter you’re drafting for the Chairman, he asked that you keep the proposed staff cuts to a minimum. Here are his ideas.”
She handed him the sheaf of papers and left the office. He glanced down at the topmost sheet. It was entirely in her writing.
# # #
An hour later, Nick arrived at a final draft of the Chairman’s letter—including Rita Sutter’s suggestions on how to minimize any proposed staff cuts. He was rereading the document, deciding if it was satisfactory, when the phone rang.
“Neumann speaking.”
“What, no secretary, young Nick? One would expect better for the king’s equerry.”
Nick threw down his pencil and tipped back his chair. A broad smile creased his face.“I work for an emperor.You, my friend, work for a lowly king.”
“Touche.”
“Hello, Peter. How are things on the other side?”
“The other side?” Sprecher chuckled. “Of what? The Maginot Line? Damned busy, actually. A sight too much activity for these weary bones. And you, no fear of heights? My, my, the Fourth Floor. All this time I thought you were a worker bee.”
Nick missed his colleague’s lazy patter and his dry sense of humor. “I’ll tell you about it over a beer. You’ll have no trouble affording one now.”
“Agreed. Keller Stubli at seven o’clock.”
Nick scanned the pile of work on his desk. “Make it eight, and I’ll see you there. Now, what can I do for you?”
“You mean you can’t guess?” Sprecher sounded genuinely surprised. “I’m looking to buy a packet of your bank’s shares. Wouldn’t happen to have a couple thousand lying around your desk?”
Nick played along with his friend’s joke. “Sorry to disappoint you, Peter, but we’re fresh out. Saving for a rainy day, you might say. As a matter of fact, we’re shorting Adler shares.”
“Give me a few weeks and I’ll be happy to personally cover them for you. I’ve been looking for the means to buy a new Ferrari.”
“Good luck but . . .”
“Can you hold one second?” Sprecher interrupted. “I have another call.”
Before Nick could answer, Peter cut the line. Nick picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. He wondered what Sylvia was up to right now. No doubt fretting over her all-important employee retention rate. Or better yet, dreaming about her trip to the States after the general assembly.
A faint squawk and Sprecher returned. “Sorry, Nick, an emergency. Always is, eh?”
“Since when are you on the trading desk? I thought you were hired to help start a private banking department.”
“Things change quickly around this place. You might say I’m following the Neumann plan. I’ve been jacked upstairs onto Konig’s acquisition team.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Nick. “So you’re not joking. You’re a point man on the USB deal? Scouring the market for our shares.”
“Don’t take it personally. Konig thought I might know where I could dig some up. You might say he’s making the best use of the tools at his disposal. As a matter of fact, we hustled a few thousand shares from your own boys yesterday.”
“So I heard,” said Nick. “I wouldn’t count on it happening again.”
The story was that several United Swiss Bank portfolio managers more eager to lock in a double-digit return on their clients’ investments than see to the security of the bank had sold shares of USB, which were trading at an all-time high. Word of their behavior
quickly reached the Fourth Floor, enraging the Chairman. Kaiser stormed their offices, personally firing each on the spot.
Sprecher adopted a serious tone. “Listen, chum, some of our guys want to talk to you. . . privately.”He let the last word hang in the air. “They’d like to suggest some sort of an arrangement.”
“What for?” Suddenly, Nick recalled the Chairman’s warning that Sprecher would be quick to exploit their friendship. At the time, he’d found the idea ridiculous.
“Must I be so obtuse? Guess.”
“No,” said Nick, his disbelief turning to fury. “You tell me.”
“What I asked you about earlier. Blocks of shares. Preferably, big blocks. We want to put this deal on ice before the general assembly. You know who’s holding the largest stakes. Tell us their names and we’ll make it worth your while.”
Nick could feel the nape of his neck flush. First Schweitzer pawing about his desk for the list of shareholders, and now Sprecher. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Then I’ll say this once, Peter, andplease, don’t take it the wrong way. Go fuck yourself.”
“Easy, Nick. Easy.”
“How low do you think I’d stoop?” Nick asked.
“There is no honor in loyalty,” said Sprecher earnestly, as if disabusing a child of a foolish notion. “Not anymore. At least not to corporations. I’m in this game for a paycheck and a pension. You should be too.”
“You worked at this bank for twelve years. Why are you so eager to see her go down?”
“It is not a question of one bank dying so the other can live. This will be a merger in the truest sense: United Swiss Bank’s strength in private banking combined with the Adler Bank’s proven trading skills. Together, we can control the entire Swiss market.”
Numbered Account Page 28
