by T F Lince
“No, Dex, I’ve just bollocked them for being late this morning so I had better go and finish it off, otherwise it wouldn’t look good. Anyway, I’m enjoying it. Have a good afternoon, Dex. The announcement’s at three-thirty pm and the shares will rocket after that.”
“Deano, up seventeen per cent now, woohoo!”
Dex sounded a bit unstable as he hung up. Dean chuckled to himself.
“Crazy old fucker,” he said out loud.
Any good trainer knows that the afternoon session is known as the graveyard shift. Everyone has had lunch and the last thing they want to do is sit in a hot room and watch loads of PowerPoint slides.
All the students were early, which always happens after the morning. Dean headed straight for the air con and set it to 16 degrees Celsius. He had a bounce in his step. Today was a good day, and even that little runt Oliver was not going to spoil it.
“OK, everyone up in a circle. This is a mathematical game called Fizz Buzz to sharpen your minds. Anyone heard of it?”
Nobody had…or at least, nobody admitted they had.
“OK, here are the rules. We go round in a circle and count upwards from one. Easy, eh? But whenever we get to a number five or multiple of five, instead of saying the number, we say, ‘Buzz.’ So it’s one, two, three, four, buzz, six, seven eight, nine, buzz. Got it?’
“That’s easy, Dean,” said Oliver. Martin gave Oliver a stare as he had been about to ask for the rules again.
“Oh, I forgot to mention fizz, Oliver. We say, ‘Fizz’ whenever we have a seven or a multiple of seven, and the running order also reverses on a fizz so we go the other way. We’ll play for ten minutes as a team. The record is 143, but looking at you lot, I think we’ll be lucky to get to forty-three. I’ll start us off. Moving to my left, one.”
In the first attempt, they got to fizz and Martin, still unsure of the rules, said, “Seven.” This was met with a barrage of discontent from the rest of the circle.
“Martin, it’s fizz, you prick.”
“OK, I don’t think I’ve got all the rules.”
“Seven is fizz,” said Oliver.
Dean did not have to police the game; it policed itself.
“OK, everyone got the rules?” he asked and got a team “Yes”.
After a while they managed to get to seventy-seven, which was always tricky as a fizz-fizz-fizz would catch most people out. To Dean’s delight, it was Oliver who screwed up.
“OK, last go, guys. Concentrate.”
In their last go, the team managed 107 and felt very proud of themselves. If this was the graveyard shift, nobody had told Dean’s trainees.
“Well done, guys, not a bad effort.” Dean asked for a round of applause, and the trainees obliged. It felt good to work as a team, and yes, even Oliver enjoyed that one.
The third rule of training – have fun. You learn more when you’re having fun.
Dean then launched into the afternoon session, talking about risk and reward, followed by the tricky topic of intuition involving a series of real scenarios which were borderline. The trainees chose which way to go: buy, sell or avoid. Dean then explained a live Forex chart on the screen. It was the Canadian Dollar versus Sterling. The Canadian Dollar had been going down now for ages. It had had a small bounce just after the Brexit vote in June 2016, but apart from that, it had had months of going down with feeble resistance lines.
“So stand up if you think this will go down again today.”
Everybody stood up.
“Dean, is this meant to be a trick question? We all know it’s going down.” Oliver led a chorus of laughter.
“OK, let’s see how confident you are. I have just put a thousand pounds into your personal live trading accounts and pinged you the link to the live system.”
The laughing stopped. This was real money; a real test.
“Dexter wouldn’t let us on the live system yet, Dean.” Oliver had lost some of the confidence in his voice.
“It’s not Dexter’s money, it’s mine.”
They all were now taking notice, until Oliver announced, “It’s not much of a risk, though, Dean. It’s obvious from trade on the board it will go down one to two per cent, which it’s done for the last six or seven months. Easy.”
Oliver looked smug.
“Well let’s make it interesting. You place your bet with the thousand that’s in your account, my little money virgins, and you can take the trade-off whenever you like in the next twenty-four hours. Whoever wins gets ten thousand pounds from my bonus.”
The trainees had already clicked the link and logged in.
“OK, it’s 2.50pm now. You have until 2.50pm tomorrow. Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen.”
Dean split their screens so they were all visible via the projector. They all bet down, down, down. It was surely just a matter of stopping the trade on the most downward spike for a cool £10,000.
After all the screens had turned red, accepting the downward bet, Dean bet the other way. Everyone could see his screen standing out blue.
“Dean, are you an idiot? Guys, he’s screwed. Do we really care who wins? Let’s share the 10k out – think it’s called a win-win situation.”
Oliver made a joke of this statement by laughing, but he still looked around, gauging the response from the others in the room.
Dean looked at his watch. It was 2.59 and fifteen seconds.
“OK, boys and girls, you still have lots to learn.” He enlarged his and Oliver’s screens side by side. “What happens at three pm, Oliver?”
“Err, you lose ten grand?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what happens at three pm, Oliver. It’s eight am in Canada, and they are a bit pissed off that their dollar is so low. All of a sudden, they have some control. Why?”
“Their exchange opens,” said Laura, who had been very quiet all day.
“That’s right, Laura. They have been fighting this for months, and it’s a futile fight, but watch. It’s three pm.”
The trading candle, which was already thirty pips down since they had placed their bets, stabilised before fighting back and starting to edge the other way. Before long, it had gone past where it had started from when the trades were placed. Everyone but Dean was losing £1 a pip, their profit turning into a loss. Up and up the Canadian Dollar soared against the Pound. Everyone was amazed, apart from Oliver.
Dean took off his trade.
“But you said we had until tomorrow at 2.50pm.”
“You have, Oliver. Good luck with that. You’ll make eleven hundred pounds at best.”
Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he apologised to the class.
“Sorry, guys, I have to take this. Dex, what’s up?”
Dexter sounded in a jovial mood.
“Nothing is up, Deano. Do you want to pop up and watch the announcement?”
“OK, be there in a tick.” Dean dropped the phone on the desk as he locked his laptop.
“OK, guys, hope you enjoyed that. We’ll take twenty-five minutes as you have all been so good.”
Dean shot off to Dexter’s office to check on how his monster trade was looking. All the trainees left the classroom for a coffee apart from Oliver. He was making some notes; although he did not think much of Dean, he still knew he could learn from him. Dean was at the top, exactly where Oliver wanted to be, and it would be foolish not to accept a free ride from a master trader.
As Oliver was leaving for a coffee, he noticed Dean’s iPhone vibrating next to his laptop on the presenting table. It was Stewart B, whoever he was. Oliver looked around to see the room was empty before he answered it.
“Dean Harrison’s phone.”
“Hi, is Dean there? It’s important.”
Oliver thought about this for a second.
“No, I’m sorry, he’s busy at the moment. I’m his personal assistant, though – I can get a message to him.”
Stewart B was panting and wheezing like he had been running.
“Take this
down, son, and tell him immediately. The Chinese leader has scuppered the Killen Steel deal as the Chinese want to monopolise the steel industry worldwide and he’s got the PM over a barrel…oh, it doesn’t matter. Just tell Dean to pull out of Killen Steel, now!” Stewart’s voice was shaking. “The news conference is getting put back at least thirty minutes. I have seen the Prime Minister’s new speech.” Stewart took a breath. “Have you got that, kid? Say it back to me; it’s important.”
Oliver had a smile creeping over his face. “That’s Killen Steel, the deal is off and he should pull out now. Is that right, Stewart?”
Stewart’s voice had calmed down slightly.
“Yes, tell him now, son. Don’t fuck about.”
“I will do, Stewart. I’ll run up and see him straight away.”
Oliver looked at Dean’s phone. Dean had been digging at him all day, and this was his opportunity for payback. He deleted Stewart’s calls from the list and placed the phone back on the desk.
“Good luck, Dean, you fucking prick.”
Chapter 8 – What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
Dexter’s office made Dean’s look like a broom cupboard. There weren’t as many plasma boards, but all the broadsheets were spread out on the coffee table and framed posters of the company’s highlights were all over the walls. The view was the best one in the building, looking straight down Old Father Thames.
“The TV press conference has been delayed due to the Prime Minister being occupied with the Chinese leader.” Dexter looked red-faced and excited. He hadn’t got to where he was today without an element of greed; there were enough bad days in trading to make the good ones count double.
Dexter had already poured Dean a glass of whisky. Killen Steel shares were up 40% on the day, and everyone was wishing they had bought early. They were just waiting for the PM to confirm the deal before they went all in.
“I’d better not, Dexter.” Dean turned down the whisky. “It’s been a good day, though, and don’t worry, it’s a cert. You might see it go down a bit as people get twitchy, but it will go up two to three hundred per cent when the announcement is made, and then we’re out.”
Dean delivered this with confidence – what could possibly go wrong?
Back in the training room, Oliver walked over to Dean.
“Got you a latte, Dean. Two sugars, is that right? And thanks for today. I have learned an awful lot.”
“Thanks, Oliver, I’m glad you’re having fun. OK, we’re on the home stretch, boys and girls. Let’s look at trends followed by lines of support and resistance. I know what you’re thinking – the fun just keeps coming.” He looked around the room. “Hey, I admit it, this one is a bit boring, but it’s really important, so switch on.”
Dean launched into the late afternoon stint like he always did, and before long he had the trainees eating out of the palm of his hand.
Four o’clock came, and Dexter stood at the door of the training room.
“A round of applause for our leader, Dexter Falconer.”
Dean led the applause and the rest joined in.
“Dean, can I have a quick word?” Dexter said nervously.
“No problem, Mr Falconer.” In front of the trainees, it was always Mr Falconer. “Take five, everyone.”
Dean headed into a breakout room with Dexter. Oliver took the opportunity to punch ‘Killen Steel’ into the trading software and check its shares. The graph showed that they had shot up miles today, but were now nearly back to where they had started. Although Oliver did not know the full picture, he was smart enough to know that if Dean had a trade on and didn’t know what Stewart had told him, that was bad.
Oliver connected to Sky News online. The Prime Minister was just about to make an announcement about a steel plant in Redcar. He put in his headphones.
In the breakout room, Dexter sat uneasily on the table. “Dean, you’re lucky. I trust you and have known you a long time, but I will have a lot of explaining to do if this goes tits up.”
Dean reassured Dexter. “Dexter, have faith. I have an insider, he’s even seen the PM’s speech.”
Dexter calmed down a bit.
“But it’s almost back to where it started, Dean, back at where we bought in…”
Dean looked at his phone. There were no missed calls or unread messages.
“Dexter, I give you my word. Am I ever wrong?”
Dexter looked at Dean and his face lit up. “No,” he replied. “And there are four hundred million reasons for you not to start being wrong now.”
“Well, there you go, then, Dexter.”
The PM looked more concerned than usual, probably because he was about to deliver a speech that he had not planned to give. This morning he had been going to tell the world that he was saving a northern town’s industry and the thousands of jobs that went with it. Now all the PM had had to say how the Chinese were pledging 2 billion investment to coalitions and industry collaborations which would ensure the UK moved forward as a stronger, healthier nation by partnering with one of the fastest growing global markets. No mention of the failing steel plant in the north east.
Dean was still reassuring Dexter in the breakout room. They were laughing as the Prime Minister dropped his bombshell.
The first question came from a member of the northern press.
“Prime Minister, what is happening with the Redcar Steel Plant? We were expecting an announcement today.”
The PM moved uneasily in his chair and fumbled for some notes on his lectern.
“Unfortunately, although every attempt has been made and every avenue explored, it has been impossible to agree a rescue package for the plant. I assure you, though, that all the support necessary will be given to the workers to re-skill them. This government will pledge two million pounds as an initial payment to help the Teesside area.”
There were follow-up questions followed by follow-up questions. The cat was well and truly out of the bag and everyone knew it, apart from Dexter and Dean.
Oliver looked up at Killen Steel. The shares were visibly bottoming out; he could see the bearish red candle burning the wax away in front of his eyes. Oliver did not know how much Dean had on the trade, but if Dexter was involved, every extra minute they spent in that office was another nail in Dean Harrison’s coffin.
Dexter headed back upstairs. Before Dean could finish off the afternoon’s training, he was summoned to Dexter’s office, and this time the older man was in no mood for joking. The shares had dropped 75%, costing Falconer International getting on for a cool billion pounds. Dean Harrison was not quite Nick Leeson, but he’d had the same effect. It didn’t matter how good he was when he’d fucked up.
Dexter told security to give Dean ten minutes to grab a few things from his office. Dean took his Ryder Cup whisky, a picture of Sarah and Jodie and a box full of bits and pieces before being escorted off the premises. On his way out, he saw Oliver standing on the ground floor with Martin.
“Good luck, Dean,” said Oliver. “Oh, I meant to give you a message from Stewart B, whoever he is. I must have forgotten.”
Martin stared at Oliver.
“Have you got something to do with this, Ollie?”
Oliver smiled at Dean and said, “No, Martin, Dean fucked up all on his own. Didn’t you, Dean?”
Dean went for Oliver, only for security to manhandle him to the floor before kicking him out onto the street. His boxes landed next to him, the picture of Sarah and Jodie smashing on the pavement. This was much the same as his life right now – he was destroyed. How did he lose control? How had it all gone so wrong?
Dean picked himself up, dusted himself down and headed for the nearest bar to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle.
A few bars, a few drinks and a good few hours later, Dean seemed to have shared his story with every barman who would listen – which was not hard as all good barmen listen. Then he headed off home. He wanted to call Sarah more than ever, but he could not bear to tell someone who really mattered to
him what had happened. She would think about the house, the cars and the lifestyle they led. The truth was, though, if he had made the call, Sarah would have been more concerned about him.
Dean took the easy option and put his phone back into his pocket. Putting the boxes from work in the spare room with the broken picture of Sarah and Jodie perched on the top, Dean sank his head into his hands and tried to make sense of the last few days.
He looked up at the boards and saw Killen Steel still on a downward spiral. He just hoped someone had pulled out of the deal before it could do even more damage than it already had to Falconer’s. The company and especially Dexter didn’t seem to care about him, they had proved that, but he still felt responsible and had lots of friends at Falconer’s. He even felt for poor old Dexter – what would Dean himself have done if the boot had been on the other foot?
Dean watched the red and blue trading candles bouncing up and down in front of his eyes on the screens. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he did not care what the markets were going to do; he didn’t even know what he was going to do. He was in an uncontrollable mess.
His eyes did their best to fight off the inevitable before he collapsed in a heap on the sofa.
The next morning, Dean woke up on the sofa and there was no trading on the boards, no broadband, no phone. His subscription must have been cancelled. It seemed that his life had been cancelled as well as far as Falconer International Trading was concerned.
He assumed his company credit cards would have gone the same way. At least he had his car and his flat which were not on the company books, although he would have to work out how to pay for them now. Dean had not had to think about how he paid for anything in the last ten years. Things had taken care of themselves when he had money.
He thought about going to see Dexter and offering to work on a trial for a month or so without salary to pay back whatever had been lost, but looking at how deep Killen Steel had dropped, he knew he would not be welcome. He may even have taken Falconer’s under unless someone had pulled the plug on that deal.
