The Domino Effect

by Davis Bunn

  “I think it’s time I paid Jason a visit.”

  19

  Eighteen minutes later, Esther was still waiting in Jason’s outer office. She knew the man was not in the building. Jasmine had messaged that much to her ten minutes ago. Esther’s response had been five words long: Locate the five missing traders. Esther wanted to hustle back to her division, but Jason’s secretary had asked her to hang tight.

  The portal closed, though only after the markets ticked in their favor. The bank netted $96.3 million. The electronic ticker tape sped on, swallowing the intel and moving on to the next deal, the next risk.

  Esther’s phone rang. The readout showed a blocked number. She hesitated, then decided to answer. “Larsen.”

  “Ms. Larsen, this is Talmadge Burroughs.”

  She sat up straighter. The name fit the older gentleman who had been at the Sunday gathering, then again with Donald Saunders at her university talk. The power brokers who controlled the Charlotte skyline were a small enough group for Esther to know them all, at least by name and reputation. She had never met him but had seen his photograph numerous times. “Yes, Mr. Burroughs.”

  “I was wondering if I might invite you to lunch.”

  “Unfortunately I’m caught up in something, sir.”

  Burroughs spoke with the soft twang of the eastern marshlands. “How about you meet me for a coffee, then?”

  “Can I ask what this is about?”

  “I got to tell you, Ms. Larsen, your two presentations have really rocked my boat. I shared the data from yesterday’s talk with my people. They say you’re right on target.”

  “Wait . . . the university recorded my talk?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “No, I . . . Never mind.”

  “I’ve been worried about this for some time. We’re looking at some serious issues here, Ms. Larsen. I’m not talking about blue-sky thinking. This is very real, and very tomorrow.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’d like to sit down with you, face-to-face, and see where we’re at. And whether we might take the next step together.”

  “I can get away later this afternoon, sure.”

  “Three o’clock, City Club. Looking forward to it.”

  Esther was using her phone to draw up further intel on Talmadge Burroughs when Jason’s assistant said, “He’s ready for you now.”

  Esther followed the woman into Jason’s empty office and looked around, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  The assistant pointed to a phone on the credenza. “You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  The phone was a dullish red in color and fit inside a wooden box. The receiver’s weight clued her in. Until that moment, Esther had no idea the bank had a scrambler system anywhere on-site. Esther said, “Larsen here.”

  Jason was never one for preamble. “I’ll be away for a couple of days. While I’m gone, we’re putting your best practices to work.”

  Esther sank into Jason’s chair. “You’re retreating from the bank’s current risk structure?”

  “Don’t call it a retreat.” Scramblers worked either by inverting the signal or inserting an additional tone. The process was then reversed by the receiver. Unless the two phones were directly synched in advance of the call, the conversation remained virtually impenetrable. But it also stripped away most emotion, resulting in a metallic drone. Even so, Esther could tell Jason was irritated by her choice of words. “The traders are already up in arms.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “That’s none of your concern. You have twenty-four hours to draw up a new set of boundaries in which our group can operate.”

  “We can do that.” In fact, they already had. Esther kept two of her team on that duty pretty much full time. She waited a moment longer before realizing her boss had already hung up.

  Esther slowly set the receiver back in place, closed the box’s lid. She asked the empty air, “Why this, and why now?”

  20

  The Charlotte City Club occupied the top three floors of the Interstate Building on West Trade. Four years earlier, the real estate group owned by Talmadge Burroughs had emerged successful from a vicious battle with Esther’s bank and acquired the building. The next day Reynolds Thane sent out a blanket order that any executive who maintained their membership was welcome to seek employment elsewhere. Life in the Carolinas was often tainted by such feuds. As far as Esther knew, she was the first CFM executive to enter the club since the acquisition.

  Her concerns over Jason’s instructions made the elevator feel cramped. Logic told her that the bank had finally come to its senses and recognized no short-term gain was worth the risk of taking down the group. Which could very well have happened. But the simple fact was, the investment banking division was in the black for this quarter only because of those two trades.

  As she gave her name to the club’s attractive host, she flashed back to the chummy satisfaction Reynolds Thane and Sir Trevor had shown after the first trade. Reversing course following a second success made no sense.

  She was missing something.

  Talmadge Burroughs was a hick in a five-thousand-dollar suit. He walked with the tentative motions of a man who remained standing only because of his cane. “I’ve never been much of a drinker, Ms. Larsen, but I’d surely appreciate it if we could stand at the bar. I’m recovering from a knee and hip replacement. I went against my doctor’s recommendations and had them both done at the same time. I tell you what, next time I’ll listen to the advice of my betters.”

  Talmadge Burroughs was the son of a tobacco-fertilizer salesman. At sixteen, two and a half weeks after he earned his driver’s license, Talmadge had started a used-car business in Wilson, North Carolina. He mowed a vacant lot owned by his daddy, lined it with brightly colored flags, and displayed his five vehicles behind a hand-painted sign. Burroughs Motors now owned, either in partnership or outright, thirty-nine dealerships throughout the Southeast. They were also majority partners in five NASCAR speedways.

  Talmadge leaned against a leather-topped barstool while a female bartender in a starched tuxedo shirt served them coffee. “Why did you decide to go public with this, Ms. Larsen?”

  “Please, call me Esther.”

  “I imagine your bank won’t be all that happy when they hear about your talk. Which they will.”

  Esther sipped her coffee and did not reply.

  “It’s one thing for you to share your concerns after church in the home of a friend. It’s another thing entirely for you to put your hard-earned wisdom on display before a gathering of Charlotte’s high-and-mighty.”

  Esther asked, “Why is that a concern of yours?”

  Talmadge Burroughs had a farmer’s big-knuckled hands. He encircled the rim of his cup and sipped noisily. “I asked first.”

  Esther was fully aware that he owed her an explanation for why they were here at all. He no doubt realized that also. Even so, she found herself saying, “Sunday afternoon, a friend asked me the very same thing. I’ve been wrestling with it ever since.”

  “I’d love to hear what you’ve come up with.”

  “I think my friend should be the first to hear my response.”

  “So make the call.” Talmadge gestured with his cup toward an empty back room. “I’ll wait for you right here.”

  Craig answered with, “I’m heading into an exam.”

  “I need three minutes,” Esther replied.

  “Now?”

  “This very instant,” she said. “Please.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just need . . .” She took a long breath. “Being a loner has meant I can indulge a self-centered perspective. Part of answering your question is to accept that I’m doing this for others. This isn’t about punishing the wrongdoers, or exposing them, or profiting in any way. None of that measures up to the pressure I feel to warn others. I want . . .”

  “To work for the greater good,” Craig said.


  “Yes.” Talking with someone who understood her carried an exquisite release. “That’s it exactly. But . . .”

  “It scares you.”

  “So much,” she whispered.

  “It should. You’re taking on the concerns of a million families. More. But, Esther, you know what I’m going to say.”

  “I’m not alone.”

  “Exactly.” The smile was there in his voice. “Can I go now?”

  “Yes. I hope you ace your exam.”

  “Piece of cake. We’re still on for tonight, right?”

  Esther returned to the club’s bar feeling that her feet merely traced over the polished hardwood floors and the Isfahan carpets. Now she knew she had been right. Craig helped her to see the way forward. Her first attempt to speak the words needed to have been with him.

  She seated herself on a stool around the bar’s corner from Talmadge and gave it to him straight. Calmly, succinctly, one hundred seconds start to finish. When she was done, Talmadge asked a waiter for fresh coffee. “You sure you don’t want anything else?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “When you spoke at Patricia and Donald’s home on Sunday, you shared an idea what to do about all this.”

  “It seems so insignificant in the face of a potential economic collapse,” Esther replied.

  “Small as a mustard seed.” He waited while the waiter replaced the coffee service, then said, “Has your thinking expanded since then?”

  This explanation took a little longer, just under four minutes. When she was done, Talmadge poured himself another cup of coffee. “I asked people I trust about you. I wanted a heads-up on who I was meeting. Know what they told me?”

  “That I’m intelligent. Good at my job. A dedicated loner.”

  “And honest to a fault. So I’m gonna respond in kind, Esther. There’s only so much a loner can accomplish. No matter how smart. No matter how right.”

  It all came down to that, she knew. “I ask again. Why are we here?”

  “Trust,” he replied. “Trust and shared motives.”

  “You want to help people?”

  “Oh, I admit I’d like nothing better than to stick it to the bankers who are busy getting us back in the mess we barely crawled out of last time. But, yes, I’m here because I’m worried about our economy. My country, my people, my way of life. I love it all. I want to see it survive.”

  “So you want to help me.”

  “You find that strange?”

  “To be honest,” she said, “I don’t see a lot of business conducted out of the goodness of people’s hearts.”

  “This ain’t about business.” His genteel polish cracked slightly. “This is about something a lot more important than making another dollar.”

  Her statement had touched a nerve. She found herself liking him more because of it. “I believe you.”

  “You know what I thought was the most amazing thing about your talk yesterday?”

  She sensed the answer hanging there between them. “Nobody said they thought I was talking foolishness.”

  He shook his head. “I doubt many folks could watch you write up those fancy equations and call you a fool.”

  Esther rephrased, “There weren’t any objections.”

  “There you go. Not one single contrary voice from that audience. And those people, they are plugged in. You hear what I’m saying?”

  “They’re worried too.”

  “They’re scared. Even if they don’t know exactly why, they sense something ain’t right with our financial system. Down deep in their collective gut.” He had planted a fist below his rib cage. “They know something is seriously wrong, and they don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Late at night when I scan the markets, I feel the same way,” she confessed. “But I’m also concerned that my plan is too little too late.”

  “We’ll just see about that.” He thumped his fist on the bar, sealing the deal. “Will you take some advice from an old man?”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t wait for the hammer to fall. Quit. Resign. Give your notice today. Working at that bank is just slowing you down.”

  She had all the reasons in her mind before he finished speaking, starting with Nathan and her need for the income. But somehow all she could say was, “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that, only make it quick. And think about this too.” He leaned in close enough for her to smell the coffee and mint on his breath. “Yes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He leaned back against the barstool. “I think there’s more at work here than what you’ve come up with so far. You need to clear your head of the bank’s business to find it. There’s something important, just waiting for you to set it in motion. You’re the one to do it. I thought that yesterday at the college, and I’m certain of it now.”

  “I have no idea what you’re . . .” Esther jerked back, not from her words but from a sudden thought, a flash of lightning across her internal horizon.

  Talmadge saw the change and grinned. “See there? It’s already started.”

  “Sir, you really do have a nasty smile.”

  “I’ve been a used-car salesman for fifty-one years. It’s part of my job description.” He rapped on the bar a second time. “So here it is. Yes. You put it together, I’ll agree in advance to back you.”

  Esther blinked. “Whatever I need?”

  “You let me know what it is and I’ll put boots on the ground. Matter of fact, I’ll start making calls just as soon as we’re done here. We don’t have much time, do we?”

  “I don’t think so. No.”

  “There you go then.” He levered himself off the stool, winced, and waved away her offer of support. “You best get to work. Quit. Today. You’ve outgrown that bank, and the clock ain’t on our side.”

  21

  When Craig’s daughters emerged from the car, Esther felt as though she were stepping back in her own personal time machine.

  The younger daughter, Abigail, wore a softly bruised look, confused and yearning for a different world.

  Samantha looked angry.

  Just as Esther had at that age.

  The pinched mouth, the tight forward lean to her shoulders, the gaze that touched nothing for very long. Esther smiled through the burning behind her eyes and welcomed them inside.

  “Got any games?” Samantha asked in a loud voice. The music blasting from her earbuds was audible from where Esther stood.

  Craig rolled his eyes. But before he could reprimand his daughter, Esther said, “Sure thing.”

  Samantha pulled one bud from her ear. “I don’t mean, like, checkers.”

  “I know what you mean,” Esther said. “Come with me, please.”

  She led them up the central staircase and into her office. Abigail spoke for the first time. “What is that?”

  “It’s called a data array. I’m watching the Far East stock markets. Their trading day starts soon.” Esther pointed to each screen in turn. “Tokyo, Shanghai, Melbourne, Singapore, Hong Kong.”

  She had positioned the screens to be able to see them from the doorway. Her west-facing bay windows were now illuminated by a brilliant sunset. The desk was built from interlocked segments of redwood burl, supported by four hand-carved pillars. Its polished surface reflected the constantly shifting array.

  Despite herself, Samantha was drawn forward. “That’s not a game. That’s work.”

  “Right.” Esther walked over and clicked the mouse. “This is a game.”

  The central screen went blank. The other four thirty-inch screens shifted instantly, all displaying the logo for World of Wizards.

  Abigail’s eyes went wide. “Whoa.”

  Craig said, “Their mother will probably not be pleased.”

  Esther said to the girls, “I’ve set you up with two access portals. I used your actual names, but you can change that once you log on. The password for both is ‘funtime.’ Samantha, you’re on the two monitors to th
e left. Abigail, I’ll need to bring in another chair from the bedroom.”

  “I’ll get it.” As Craig turned away, he said, “Their mother is going to freak out.”

  “Not if she doesn’t know,” Samantha said, and poked her sister.

  “Ow.”

  “Just making sure you heard.” Another poke. “Tattletale.”

  Esther said, “You’re linked via fiber-optic cable, the fastest access Charlotte has to offer. I signed you both up for unlimited game time.”

  Craig reentered the room with the chair. “Major, major freak.”

  Esther went on, “Anything further that you might wish to purchase will require serious negotiations and probably result in a firm denial by the resident webmaster.”

  Abigail said, “Huh?”

  Samantha turned to her sister. “If we want any add-ons, we have to pay for them ourselves.”

  “Bluetooth headsets are there by the monitors,” Esther said. “They’re yours to take with you, or keep here if you like.”

  Samantha looked directly at Esther for the first time. “We can come back?”

  “Sure, if you want to. You’re welcome anytime. If I need to work, I’ll set you up with one of my laptops.”

  “One of them?” Abigail frowned. “How many do you have?”

  “I actually don’t know. I get a new one every time there’s a major uptick in processing speed.”

  The two sisters looked at each other. Samantha explained, “She’s a speed freak.”

  “Absolutely.” Esther pointed to the blank central screen. “If that middle monitor flashes back to the data stream, you need to come find me.”

  Samantha asked, “How come?”

  For some reason, his daughter asking that caused Craig to smile. Esther replied, “It means we’re facing a financial crisis, a global meltdown, that sort of thing.”

  Samantha nodded. “Cool.”

  Craig followed her from the room. As they entered the upstairs hallway, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. When she turned around, he stepped in close. Esther had time for a single thought, that his eyes looked luminous.