by Davis Bunn
“The algo traders will go wild,” Suzie said. “The dollar will drop like a stone.”
“Allies within the financial community are bound to have been tipped off,” Esther went on. “They will begin dumping dollars in large volumes. The computer-based algorithms will hit their panic level. They will instantly sell every dollar-based stock, bond, and derivative. Within seconds the markets will be flooded with sell orders. Every dollar-weighted asset will drop to near-zero valuations.”
As she spoke, the US markets began tumbling. The ribbon of indices ran red as a tide of blood.
It was Jasmine who called out, “We have to stop this!”
“Absolutely correct. Five things must happen before China’s central bank goes public.” Esther turned to the cameras again. “Everyone with any clout or connection, either to the Fed or the SEC or Washington, I urge you to drop everything and call your contacts and tell them to do this now.
“Step one: All markets around the globe must be ordered to halt trading. All foreign exchange trades must be shut down for the entire weekend. All electronic trades must be halted. Immediately. There has never been a time when urgent action by our government has been more important than today.”
Suzie turned slowly in her chair and stared gravely at the same camera as Esther. The monitor showed the newscaster as slightly off-center, a position despised by most anchors since it suggested they were no longer in control of the set or the discussion. But Suzie McManning’s gaze was locked tight as she began to nod, in time to Esther’s words. In Esther’s mind, Suzie’s features were a mirror image of her own.
“Step two: The US government must declare that it will serve as purchaser of any and all dollar-based assets, including our nation’s currency.”
Gradually everyone in the studio began shifting positions. Esther saw it happening on the monitor. She heard the approaching footsteps. She observed how more and more faces came on-screen. All of them sharing the same grave intent. All of them, in unison, silently imploring the nation to pay attention, to act. While there was still time.
“Step three: All US financial institutions that are not taking part in this debacle must immediately start buying dollar-based assets. Even if this means a temporary decline in profits, it is the only way we will have a market on Monday.”
Craig moved in behind Esther, his arms around his two daughters. She had not even noticed their entering the studio. But it was highly fitting for them to be here now. Because it was for all generations that the nation had to act.
“Step four: The Federal Reserve must immediately raise both the short-term interest rate and the overnight interbank rate to twenty-five percent, spurring investors around the globe to buy dollars.
“And finally, the US government must make a personal plea to all its foreign allies, requesting they too buy all outstanding dollar-based assets. Because their own economies will not survive unless they act, and act now.”
60
Within twenty minutes, the White House switchboard was so swamped that the operators stopped answering. The server systems handling both houses of Congress crashed. Ditto for the SEC and the Treasury.
The voicemails of every congressman and senator, and every member of the Federal Reserve Bank, filled up and stopped accepting messages. All within twenty minutes of Esther Larsen’s message.
Eight minutes before China’s central bank was scheduled to make their announcement, the president’s press attaché went on C-SPAN and declared that five executive orders had been issued.
The Treasury Department would serve as purchaser of any and all dollar-related assets that had fallen in value to a level classed as distressed.
All US trading floors were closed. The attaché assured the nation that business would resume as normal on Monday.
All global electronic trading in every class of dollar-based financial instrument and US stock was halted. The executive order would remain in effect for sixty-three hours, from that moment until nine o’clock Monday morning, eastern US time. Any foreign trader who broke with this order would be barred from trading on all US markets. Permanently.
The Fed had already instituted lifting of short-term dollar interest rates to thirty percent, effective immediately. The weekend interbank rate—the rate at which banks loaned to one another in order to maintain their overnight cash balances at legal liquidity—was set at the same position.
Finally, the president officially called upon all banks that had accepted the government’s bailout funds to use “any and all measures” to assist the Treasury in acquiring distressed assets and stabilizing the markets.
Three minutes later, the station director called a break. Esther was checking the markets, preparing another roundup, when a grinning Jasmine walked up and said, “Somebody on the station phone would like to have a word.”
Esther responded as she’d been doing all day, which was to delegate everything possible. “Handle it.”
Jasmine set the phone down fast as she would a live coal. “Un-unh, honey, this is one call you gotta take.”
Esther saw the station director step up next to Jasmine, sharing the tall lady’s grin. She lifted the receiver. “This is Esther Larsen.”
A woman’s voice said, “Hold, please, for the president.”
61
The crisis was over fifty-five minutes later.
Esther recapped the global positions and described the amazing view of markets around the world, buoyed by both the Fed’s response and six of America’s allies—Great Britain, Germany, France, Italy, Australia, and Japan. She listened as Suzie followed with a summary of incoming news briefs. Esther was too numb to be tired. But she could see the day’s strain now in Suzie’s face. No amount of professionalism could mask the fact that they had been working the story for twelve hours and counting.
Suzie set down the sheet containing the final news brief, turned to Esther, and offered her that canted smile of hers. It was Esther’s only warning of the unexpected question to come. “If you had the opportunity to address the American nation at this point, a last word at the close of a very dangerous period, what would you say?”
For once, Esther found the question very welcome. Especially since she had been thinking about it all day. She looked straight into the camera and said, “A great deal has been said about our nation being exceptional. This is mostly directed at international diplomacy and military involvement. But in my opinion, for this to truly happen, we must start with a revamp of our financial system.
“America is built on business. Our banks are the engine. They must be brought into order.
“America’s industrial might can only thrive when our financial system is built on long-term principles of stability and trust. Both of these principles have been shoved aside, replaced by a quarterly balance sheet and outrageous bonuses. All this must end. Now. Today. To survive, we must change for the better.
“Being exceptional means leading by example. We have served countless times as freedom’s defender. Nowadays the banks claim we cannot be the first to enact laws that reestablish financial order. It would mean losing our global competitiveness. This present crisis is the only response we need to give. To do nothing means our eventual destruction.
“We must return to the forefront of moral leadership and end the current insanity. Banks must be forced to resume the practices that made our nation the greatest industrial force in the history of mankind. They must resume their role as merchants of trust.”
Esther simply stopped. She wished she could say more. She yearned to do more. But the words were enough. Either they worked or . . .
From the shadows beyond the cameras, the station director said, “And we’re off the air.”
62
SATURDAY
The story dominated the entire front page of the Wall Street Journal’s weekend edition. Front and center was Esther’s photograph. Below was the headline, Local Analyst Rescues US Markets. This was followed by the subtitle, Esther Larsen d
ictates US national policy and halts a global economic meltdown.
The right-hand column contained an unconfirmed report that the president had personally phoned the Chinese leader, who had intercepted the central bank’s announcement just seconds before they were to go public. The official press bureau of China would say nothing except that one member of the central bank’s ruling committee had been arrested on charges of corruption.
To the left of Esther’s photograph was the story of the markets’ wild ride. Below this was the report of a frozen international bank merger involving the seventh largest bank in the US, Carolina First Mercantile.
The bottom of the front page was given over to the news that a federal warrant had been issued for CFM’s chief executive, Reynolds Thane, who was missing. The story also included a terse announcement that the head of the British conglomerate, Sir Trevor Stanstead, was assisting Her Majesty’s government with its inquiries.
The bottom of the page included a brief notice that the financial authorities of Luxembourg, Switzerland, Singapore, Hong Kong, and Liechtenstein had leveled charges against the First International Bank of Hamilton, Bermuda. The bank was reportedly liable for $97 billion in unresolved short positions against the dollar.
Esther’s trading team worked intensely through most of Sunday. All of them were exhausted, and yet all found the means to keep going. Trading was frozen for the weekend, which meant that in order to protect their investors, they needed to have their orders in place when the markets reopened.
At the close of business on Monday, investors in Esther Larsen’s hedge fund realized a seventy-nine percent gain.
The dollar and the US markets closed up.
63
THREE WEEKS LATER
Esther scarcely recognized her own kitchen. It was not the number of people, though there had never been so many friends in her home.
It was the joy.
The sense of impending threat that had accompanied her through the days of crisis and tumult remained with her still. It was not by any means a constant companion. Now and then, however, she would stop, draw back, and listen. There in the background she could hear the faint hiss of warning. She knew her moment in the spotlight had not ended. And yet even now there was an abiding sense that everything had changed.
Esther Larsen was no longer alone.
She walked over to the two girls spreading a cake with dark chocolate icing. “The idea is to put the icing on the cake, not in your mouth.”
“Abigail’s the piggy,” Samantha said.
“Then why is your mouth ringed in chocolate?”
“She did it.” Samantha’s smiles came a bit more frequently now. “That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.”
“Abigail, don’t poke your sister with that spoon.”
“She asked for it.”
“I’m sure she did. Many times. Samantha, tell your sister you’re sorry.”
“No.”
“Now tell her you love her more than chocolate.”
“Yuck.”
“There. You see?” She hugged both girls. “All better. Has anyone seen your dad?”
Abigail waved the spoon at the den. “He’s in watching basketball.”
Esther entered just as the TV viewers let out a unified groan. All except Lacy, who was rooting for the Pistons because, as she put it, somebody had to. Donald and Craig shared her sofa with Hewitt, a rawboned giant who had once played forward for Davidson. Esther settled her hand on Craig’s shoulder. “Your daughters are misbehaving.”
“Sorry, I’m off duty this afternoon.”
“They’re eating way too much chocolate.”
“Wait. Let me check my pulse.” Craig shook his head. “Nope. Couldn’t care less.”
“They’ll get sick all over your car.”
“You can drive them home.” Craig turned to Hewitt, whose first name Esther now knew was Julian. “Do you believe that throw?”
Hewitt was the only one who did not appear totally engrossed in the game. “I missed it.”
“You should have my husband check you out,” Patricia said. “He knows all about the brain, except how to remember to take out the garbage.”
Donald replied without taking his eyes off the screen. “I skipped that lecture.”
The day was springtime fresh. The sliding doors to Esther’s patio were open, as was the front door. A breeze laden with the fragrance of magnolia blossoms traced its way among the gathering. Esther reveled in the ability to ignore the whisper of future tension and give herself over to the simple delight of hosting friends.
Then she heard a car door slam. She walked down the front hall, spotted the new arrival, and called back, “Turn off the television. Hewitt, honey, it’s time. Here comes your fiancée.”
Afterword
“The Federal Reserve’s newest bank president, a Republican who served as a top Treasury Department official during the financial crisis, called for policy makers to consider breaking up big banks to prevent future government bailouts.”
Wall Street Journal, Wednesday, February 17, 2016
About the Author
Davis Bunn is an award-winning novelist and Writer-in-Residence at Regent’s Park College, University of Oxford. His books, published in twenty languages, have sold over seven million copies worldwide. After completing degrees in international economics and finance in the United States and England, Davis became a business executive working in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. He draws on this international experience in crafting his stories. Davis has won four Christy Awards for excellence in historical and suspense fiction and was inducted into the Christy Hall of Fame. He and his wife, Isabella, divide their time between the English countryside and the coast of Florida. To learn more, visit DavisBunnBooks.com.
Books by Davis Bunn
The Domino Effect
The Patmos Deception
Strait of Hormuz
Rare Earth
Lion of Babylon
Gold of Kings
The Black Madonna
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Turning
The Book of Hours
Tidings of Comfort and Joy
Book of Dreams
Hidden in Dreams
Unlimited
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife
The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place
The Birthright
The Sacred Shore
The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
* with Janette Oke
davisbunn.com/contact.htm
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