“What are you doing here?”
“Wasting more of my money on politicians,” Robbie chuckles. “And you? This isn’t Senator Redman’s event.”
“A temporary detour courtesy of my editor. He doesn’t think Redman’s doing anything newsworthy.”
“But this is?” Robbie asks as he smirks and looks around the room.
“More New York-centric, I guess. It’s probably just cheaper for the paper to send me to an event in the city.”
The bartender returns with Maya’s drink and her credit card. She takes a generous sip to avoid thinking about the newest charge on her statement.
Robbie notices her expression as she slides the credit card back into her clutch. “I take it the Star is economical with their budget?”
“Yeah, but they don’t show the same consideration for their employees. Cheers.”
Robbie knocks his glass against Maya’s and leans against the bar to survey the room.
“Why are all of our underpaid reporters wasting away over here at the cash bar when the candidate is on the other side of the room?”
“Oh, the candidate,” Maya says with disdain dripping from her voice, “has made it very clear he isn’t taking any questions tonight. We’re drowning our sorrows that this is the sorry state of our careers.”
“What? Chris lets everybody ask him questions at these things.”
Maya snorts in response. She wonders if Robbie’s mocking her circumstances or if his naivety is greater than she thought.
“I’m serious,” Robbie says as he reaches out and takes Maya’s hand. “Come with me.”
He practically drags her off the stool as she stretches back to grab her drink, not willing to see good money go to waste. Maya’s feet follow Robbie’s path as he leads her through the ballroom, but her mind can’t believe this is happening. The crowd is separating before them as they make a beeline straight for Chris’s table. Maya has never felt this seen at one of these events before, let alone this important. Whatever Robbie has is far more effective than her press badge, especially around this crowd. They’re the same type of people who were closing doors on her after Robbie’s speech Thursday night.
Chris notices them and smiles at Maya while Robbie grabs a couple of chairs to add to the table. His reaction is another foreign experience for Maya; most politicians frown or start scurrying away when she confronts them. Chris turns his torso in his chair so he’s facing the duo as Robbie sets down their chairs.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite hedge fund manager,” Chris announces as Robbie takes his seat.
Maya starts to understand; Chris doesn’t even notice her.
Well, that’s not entirely true. He certainly notices the dress she’s wearing and the cleavage it shows off. But as far as he’s concerned, Maya’s just another pretty woman in a tight dress accompanying one of the rich men in Chris’s social circle. His attention is entirely focused on Robbie as Maya takes the other newly available chair.
“Thank you for your contribution this evening, Robbie,” Chris continues as he pats Robbie’s knee. “The great people of New York will have you to thank for their prosperity over the next several years.”
“Anything I can do to help the great Chris Clark achieve office.”
“Watch out, everyone,” Chris laughs as he holds his hands up. “This man is trying to rob us all blind. Don’t let him know which pocket your wallet’s in.”
Robbie laughs along and plays it up. He starts patting down Chris’s chest like he’s searching for the wallet. Chris keeps his hand up in the air and Robbie uses his thumb and index finger to mime a gun.
Maya’s the only one at the table who isn’t laughing. As far she’s concerned, everyone’s laughter is overly forced. Robbie’s just trying to fit in with the people at the table while Chris is trying to comfort him into another donation. She can tell neither of them is truly enjoying this spectacle. To her relief, the finger gun finally disappears when Robbie goes to take a sip from his bourbon.
“Now, now,” Robbie says after the table’s laughter dies down. “You can’t manage your own money as a politician. Who’s more worthy of managing your family’s trust fund than me?”
“The entire street wants my money. Just because you’re donating to my campaign doesn’t earn you special treatment.”
“I’m not asking for special treatment, I’m just trying to help you think of the optics. It’s no secret that liberals aren’t a fan of your family’s past and it could hamper your political future. Handing your money over to Wall Street’s most charitable man could generate a nice headline or two for you. Far better coverage than trying to manage it yourself while in office. Can you imagine the uproar if you sold stocks after a security briefing or receiving a private report? Nobody cares when I sell or what I know from who. Even the SEC has been leaving me alone lately.”
“Do you ever stop selling, Robbie?”
“Once I hear the answer I’m looking for.”
“No good answers will be coming tonight.”
Maya bites her tongue and does her best to not comment on Chris refusing to answer anyone in the room. She takes another sip from her bourbon to keep her mouth occupied. She can tell that Chris isn’t upset with Robbie; he’s still leaning back in his chair and facing Robbie with open shoulders. It’s a far different and more comfortable pose than he usually assumes during interviews.
“Fine, fine, I’ll take a break.” Robbie smiles and turns to Maya. He gives her a quick wink before rotating his head back in Chris’s direction. “This isn’t why I came over here anyway. My friend here has a question for you, Chris.”
“Does your friend have a name?”
Robbie opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He seems to be second-guessing himself and turns his head back to look at Maya. She recognizes the confusion in his eyes and realizes she’s never told him her name.
“What an excellent question of your own, Chris. Would you care to make a proper introduction?”
“I’m Maya,” she says as she leans forward to extend her hand.
She expects Chris to shake it, as most of her interviews start, but instead, he lifts her hand higher and lowers his lips to plant a kiss on her knuckles. Again, Maya reminds herself that Chris isn’t viewing her as a reporter, but another pretty lady on a rich friend’s arm.
“And what’s your question?” Chris asks as he releases his grip and leans back in the chair.
Now, it’s Maya’s turn to open her mouth without anything coming out. She sits tongue-tied for a moment, trying to devise a single question out of the thousand things she wants to know from Chris Clark. She’s never had such an impromptu interview with a politician before. She’s not positive if he’ll answer when he hears a real question come from her lips, but she knows she can’t pass up this opportunity.
“Are you a fan, Maya?” Chris asks, trying to make her feel more comfortable.
Finding her nerve, she ignores his question. “Your campaign is criticized for trying to buy this election. On the record, do you have any response to the reports that supporters at your speech yesterday were paid for their attendance?”
“Robbie,” Chris says as his eyes narrow. He sits up straighter in his chair and crosses his legs in front of him, preliminary movements as he begins to assume the interview posture Maya’s more familiar with. “Who exactly is your friend here?”
“Would you prefer to comment on accusations of your campaign offering bribes to union officials for their support?” Maya asks. “Union membership is reportedly feeling pressured to support you despite your opponents never floating any proposals that could lead to job losses. I notice a few union leaders around the room tonight. Were their table purchases part of a quid-pro-quo arrangement?”
“She’s a reporter for the Star,” Robbie says. “I mistook her for working in the style section, especially in that dress, but I think you can tell she’s actually a political journalist. And I’m taking quite a liking to her.”<
br />
“Well, that’s nice for you, but the press is aware that I won’t be answering any questions at this event,” Chris says as he crosses his arms and gives Maya a look of contempt that makes her feel subhuman. “Breaking that rule is highly inappropriate and I expect better from the Star. She really shouldn’t even be sitting here.”
“Come on, Chris. I bought a table so I could get to know you better. Don’t you want voters to get to know the real you?”
“Not particularly. I just want them to vote for me.”
“The people deserve to know who they’re supporting,” Robbie presses. “It’s key to a well-functioning democracy. That’s hardly possible without the press. Maya is your connection to the people.”
“I forgot how much you try to be a man of the people. Are you sure you work on Wall Street?”
“That’s what the letterhead tells me.”
“How nice for you,” Chris says as he stands up from his seat and buttons his suit jacket. “If you’ll all excuse me, my advisors are motioning for me to start working the room. Have fun mingling, everyone.”
Robbie stands to meet Chris’s gaze and offers a friendly smile. “You still haven’t answered either of her questions.”
“Oh, forgive me. A momentary oversight on my part.” Chris returns the friendly smile and pats Robbie’s shoulder as if they’re old friends joking around.
Then, he turns and walks away from the table without another word.
“I told you he doesn’t answer questions,” Maya says as they watch him walk away. She notices the dirty looks the rest of the guests at the table are shooting her for chasing the candidate away, and she jumps to her feet to join Robbie.
“You sound experienced with the ‘I told you so’ and have far too much joy in your voice for someone who was just ignored.”
“I wouldn’t be a reporter if I weren’t used to this,” Maya winks.
“Anyway, I promised you could ask him anything; I never guaranteed an answer.” Robbie smiles, “that’s out of my control.”
“So, is Chris the one risking a donation now?”
“We’ll see how the winds of political fortune blow. They have more sway over my checkbook than anyone’s manners do.”
“My editor expects me to return from this drab event with some sort of story. He thinks the winds are blowing here tonight. I disagree, but could I quote you in a column about Chris dodging questions from the press and ignoring donor pleas to be more relatable?”
“Unfortunately, Chris represents an important business relationship for me. I’d love to help you find a story, but I can’t be starring in anything that’s insulting to Chris.”
Maya shrugs. It’s the answer she was expecting. Stepping away from the table in the direction of the bar, she reaches for Robbie’s hand so that he’ll follow her.
“In that case, care to accompany me to the bar for another drink? We can join the rest of my brethren trying to concoct a story from thin air.”
“From my habitat back to yours?”
“Maybe you’ll be a more agreeable source after a few more drinks.” Maya winks as her fingers close around Robbie’s and gently pulls him forward.
Robbie smiles as it’s her turn to lead him back through the party. He doesn’t try to reach back for his glass of bourbon, happy to replace it once they arrive at the bar.
They both notice that the crowd doesn’t part quite as easily with Maya leading the way.
Chapter Four
Robbie picks his teacup up from the saucer and does his best to avoid grimacing. He’s never been a fan; it’s just hot bland brown water as far as he’s concerned.
Forcing a smile so his British guests don’t take any offense, Robbie puts the teacup back down and snatches a cookie from the center of the table. He scarfs it down to get the taste of tea out of his mouth.
Jalen’s grinning at him, but Robbie doesn’t return the expression when he notices. It was Jalen’s silly idea to have a traditional English afternoon tea served during their investor presentation. An idea Robbie disagrees with. Why would someone want their traditional foods from home when they’re traveling to New York? Let them experience new tastes, something American. Unfortunately, the rest of the fund didn’t find the humor in his idea to fill the conference room with greasy cheeseburgers and french fries.
Jalen continues making his presentation, not letting Robbie’s sour facial expression throw him off. He’s heard the lecture from Robbie more than enough times to know the importance of this meeting and is flattered Robbie is trusting him to lead it. As Robbie always says, if the fund isn’t growing, it’s dying.
He won’t be letting it die on his watch, not after everything Robbie’s done for him.
Fact is, Jalen knows he doesn’t belong here. Not on Wall Street, not in this exclusive meeting, and certainly not leading it. Every day when he wakes up and buttons up his suit, Jalen’s grateful for knowing Robbie. He never could have guessed that befriending that short, shy, slightly chunky kid in ninth grade could have led to this life of luxury in New York City.
While Robbie was attending Wharton and day-trading on the side, Jalen was working to not flunk out of an English program at Temple with a minor in Business Management. They lived together for their entire time in Philadelphia, a time when Jalen was probably a little too preoccupied with partying and dependent on Robbie’s investing hobbies to pay the rent.
As soon as graduation hit, they journeyed to New York together, again as roommates. While Robbie worked his magic and wormed his way into a job on Wall Street, Jalen bought a bike and worked the days as a courier. When Robbie offered him a job as his assistant, Jalen jumped at the chance to sit in an office with air conditioning all day.
He never expected the meteoric rise Robbie was commencing, and every day he’s thankful to be part of it.
He’s probably the only one in the room without an MBA. Jalen does his best not to let it bother him, trying to wear it as a badge of honor that a less traditional route brought him to the same place as the rest of these nerds, but he knows it could never have happened without Robbie. So, no, his loyalty to Robbie and this fund can never be questioned. He’ll do anything it takes and is determined to convince these British aristocrats to invest their fortune with them. He knows it will impress the rest of the fund and, hopefully, the Street. It would be nice to put the rumors and gossip to rest and start earning some respect as the number two at a leading hedge fund.
“So, gentlemen, that’s why Merry Men Financial Management offers the best returns for your capital on the street,” Jalen says as he reaches the final slide in his presentation. “But we also offer one perk you won’t hear from any of the other firms.”
“And what’s that?”
“Look, you’re already British nobility with fancy titles and impressive wealth. But today’s generation, they don’t care who you are, they care more about what you do. Investing with our fund will help your image and keep you out of trouble.”
“How so?”
“Our fund doesn’t make any financial contributions to any company that goes against our ethics or morals. Since our inception, we’ve followed a strict mission statement that dictates our principles. While we make loads of money and would be happy to share the profits with you, we do it in a way that’s sustainable for both the planet and your conscience. Unlike some of the other firms I’m sure you’re visiting with, you don’t have to worry about any of our investments throwing you into hot water. I can assure you, there’ll be no protesters outside your estates because of us.”
Jalen takes a breath to let the pitch sink in and walks back over to his chair at the end of the table. “Plus, as I’m sure you’re already well aware, our founder is one of the world’s leading philanthropists. A partnership with him instantly increases the respect you’ll receive. The world’s about more than simple titles. Let Merry Men show everyone where your values lie.”
Jalen sits down in his chair and raises his hands out besi
de him. He’s trying to motion to the world, letting the men around the table know people are watching them. It’s how his plan dictates the meeting should end, with a simple question and answer session to smooth over any wrinkles.
“So, you’re pitching us as the leading socially responsible investing firm?”
“Not quite,” Jalen says as he sits up straight in the chair and waves his arms down.
Their reaction isn’t as positive as he expected so he jumps into an ad-lib speech to calm their concerns before any damage control is needed.
“We don’t avoid buying stock in any company, no matter how deplorable. But we do it through our high-frequency trading department. We don’t want to own any of these companies for longer than a single minute, and each day when we go home that department’s not the owner of any stock. I run our private equity division which does veer away from certain industries, but our top priority remains making a profit. If we can lobby our companies to increase the diversity on their boards or be more selective with their suppliers and partners, all the better. Gentlemen, make no mistake, our fund is all about making money. What I’m trying to hint at is the reputation of our firm and our founder. Robert Locke doesn’t like to toot his own horn, but he’ll improve your reputation by association. He consistently ranks as the most respected and likable fund manager and donates practically all of his personal fortune to numerous charities. He’s doing more to combat poverty than our government does.”
“That’s not saying much.”
“No, it isn’t,” Robbie interrupts, standing up from his seat to help Jalen close the meeting. “Jalen’s right, I don’t like to brag about myself, so I won’t. You gentlemen already have copies of our financials to review for yourselves and confirm our industry-leading performance. As for any benefits besides profitable investments, I trust my reputation to speak for me. I know you gentlemen are in New York for the rest of the week. All I want is for you to ask around town about me and talk to your advisors. Let everyone else tell you about my reputation, my past actions will do more to convince you of the benefits of association than any words I can utter.”
Robbie's Scheme Page 3
