The Marketmaker

by Michael Ridpath

  The meeting ended and Jamie and I walked back to his desk.

  Dave’s words were still on my mind. ‘Do you think this guy Beldecos was murdered by a contract killer?’ I asked him.

  Jamie snorted. ‘Of course not. Dave has a vivid imagination. And despite the slicked-back hair and the Italian suits, Miguel is just an old gossip. The poor guy was killed by hotel burglars.’ He shuddered. ‘It could happen to any one of us, that’s the really scary thing. Now, let’s get on with it.’

  I wanted to ask Jamie more about Martin Beldecos but, like Isabel, he seemed reluctant to talk. And I didn’t want to seem too morbid; after all, I hadn’t even known the guy. So I let it drop.

  The trading day began.

  I listened. There was a lot of activity that morning. Activity translated into noise. Not necessarily volume of noise, more diversity. There was the murmur of a dozen different conversations, some in English, some in Spanish, the sharp cries of people telling their colleagues to pick up the phone, the regular crackle of prices from the brokers’ loudspeakers on the trading desk and, of course, the staccato conversation of customers on the phone. But it wasn’t just the humans who made a noise, the machines did. A range of whirs, hums and occasional grinding clanks emanated from the different computers and screens. And underneath it all was the low, almost imperceptible murmur of the great building itself. It took concentration and practice to separate all these sounds, and to tune in and out of the frequencies as you skipped from conversation to conversation.

  Except they weren’t conversations. They were information transactions. As brief as they could be while still being unambiguous.

  ‘Hey, Pedro! Where’d you do Argy pars to discos?’

  ‘Fifty-six and a half on the pars and sixty-seven and three-eighths on the discos.’

  ‘He says he can get a quarter away on the discos.’

  ‘Shit. OK, I’ll give him them at a quarter.’

  ‘You’d do ten by eleven?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You’re done!’

  And so the bonds flew around the little square of desks, and from there to different corners of the globe: Tokyo, Zurich, Bahrain, Edinburgh, New York, Bermuda, Buenos Aires. We even did a trade with the investment bank ten floors below us. Hundreds of millions of dollars flowed in and out of Dekker Ward’s accounts throughout that day. But when it was all totted up it would show that a few hundred thousand more flowed in than flowed out.

  I was beginning to understand what was going on. The skill in investing in these markets lay in assessing and comparing risk. Was Brazil riskier than Mexico? If so, how much riskier? If Mexico yielded 10.25 per cent, should Brazil yield 11.25 per cent? Or 11.50 per cent? Or more? How would this relationship change in the future?

  But it was more complicated than just a country by country comparison. Each borrower had a whole range of bond issues outstanding: Brady bonds that had been born out of old rescheduled bank debt; eurobonds; bonds issued by the state governments, by state banks, by private banks. All these traded in a certain relationship depending on a mixture of rational analysis and the whims of different investors throughout the world, all with their own views and prejudices.

  It would take a while to sort all this out, but I was sure I would get there, and I was excited by the prospect. And Dekker was the right place to be to do it. It was a well-oiled information-gathering machine. Ricardo was right: Dekker knew everybody. When something happened, Dekker always either knew or guessed it first. No wonder it made so much money. I couldn’t wait until I was really part of it, player rather than a spectator.

  My attention was caught by a large man in a light grey double-breasted suit who was standing by Ricardo’s desk, going through some figures with him. I hadn’t seen him before.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked Jamie.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’

  I looked at him more closely. He could be the same age as Ricardo, perhaps a bit younger. But he was bulkier, with a heavier face.

  ‘It’s not his brother, is it?’

  ‘Yep. Eduardo Ross.’

  ‘Does he work at Dekker?’

  ‘He certainly does.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Nobody knows exactly. Except Ricardo. Odd jobs, special projects, stuff Ricardo wouldn’t trust with anyone else. He’s responsible for Dekker Trust in the Caymans, for example.’

  ‘What is this Dekker Trust?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s our sister company in the Cayman Islands. It’s where we put stuff that we don’t want the authorities here to see.’

  ‘That sounds a bit dodgy.’

  Jamie laughed. ‘It’s not, really. We have many clients who are quite shy. They’re not criminals or anything, Ricardo’s very careful not to deal with anyone who smells of organized crime or corruption. But they might be involved in legitimate offshore trading, tax avoidance, foreign-currency activities and so on. They expect us to maintain absolute confidence in their activities, and Dekker Trust allows us to do that.’

  ‘I see,’ I said doubtfully. ‘And is this operation owned by Dekker Ward?’

  ‘No,’ said Jamie. ‘Or at least not a hundred per cent. Chalmet, the Swiss bank, owns a big chunk, I think Dekker Ward does own some, and the rest is owned by the employee trusts.’

  ‘Employee trusts?’

  ‘Didn’t Ricardo tell you about them?’

  I shook my head. Jamie paused for a second and then lowered his voice. ‘That’s how you get to make real money here. Ricardo lets some of the employees invest part of their bonus in these trusts. They’re run out of the Cayman Islands, or at least that’s where they’re booked. The management decisions are actually taken by Ricardo. Their returns are spectacular. I mean, a hundred per cent a year isn’t uncommon.’

  ‘Whew! How does he do that?’

  ‘With what he knows? It’s easy. He uses every trick in the book. Leverage, options, warrants, you name it.’

  ‘Is it legal?’

  ‘Of course it is. But it’s better if it’s done offshore. Discreetly. We wouldn’t like the regulators looking for holes, even though there aren’t any.’

  ‘And how big are these funds?’

  ‘That, my friend, is the biggest secret of them all.’ Jamie lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘But I reckon they have to be more than five hundred million dollars.’

  It took a moment to sink in. ‘And that’s all owned by people in this room.’

  Jamie smiled. ‘Most of it. Obviously our guys in Miami and the Cayman Islands have some of it. But I would guess at least half of it is Ricardo’s.’

  I suddenly realized that I was surrounded by one of the richest groups of men and women in the world.

  God. If I stuck around, I would get some of that too.

  ‘Eduardo administers this?’ I asked.

  ‘Ricardo needs someone he trusts to do that kind of thing. And he trusts Eduardo more than any of us. Oh, yes, and he’s also responsible for checking out new employees.’

  ‘What do you mean checking out new employees?’

  ‘Oh, you know, looking for drugs, bad debts, gambling habits, homosexuality, socialist leanings, mental instability, criminal record.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘No. It’s true.’

  I was shocked. ‘So he checked me out?’

  ‘Must have. Or, at least, he will have got a firm of investigators to do it.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me?’

  Jamie winced, and then gave me one of his broadest, most winning smiles. ‘Because I knew if I told you you wouldn’t apply for the job. Besides, I’ve told you now.’

  ‘You jerk,’ I said. Jamie laughed, but I didn’t think it was funny. I felt as though my privacy had been invaded, as though someone had stolen part of my life, or at least borrowed it for a bit. Someone I didn’t know.

  ‘Oh, come on, Nick,’ Jamie said, realizing he had misjudged my reaction. ‘We’ve all been through it. And you’re probably
the cleanest guy in the room.’

  ‘Apart from the mortgage,’ I muttered.

  ‘Which you were sensible enough to tell Ricardo about at your interview. What are you worried about? He’s not going to tell anyone else.’

  I still wasn’t happy.

  ‘Look out, here he comes,’ Jamie hissed.

  Eduardo strolled over to Jamie’s desk. The other salesmen acknowledged him with smiles and greetings. Even I could tell their friendliness was false.

  He held out his hand to me, a smile on his full lips. ‘Nick Elliot? I’m Eduardo Ross. Good to have you on the team.’ His voice was as deep as Ricardo’s, but his accent was a mixture of North and South American, with the emphasis on the South.

  I stood up and shook his hand awkwardly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Jamie, do you mind if I borrow him for a moment?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jamie replied, flashing his smile at Eduardo. Eduardo flashed one just as wide back.

  ‘Good. Come to my office.’

  With a panicky glance towards Jamie, I followed Eduardo into an office in one corner of the trading room. The windows were smoky from the outside, which was why I hadn’t noticed him before. On the inside, there was a clear view of the trading floor. I could easily see Jamie picking up the phone to coax his customers to buy a few more bonds.

  It was a large office, and opulent. There were a couple of cream leather sofas, the walls were panelled in a polished blonde wood, and on one of them hung a photograph of the red Ferrari I had spotted in the underground garage, adorned by its tanned and muscled owner and two raven-haired beauties. Eduardo seated himself behind a huge desk that seemed untroubled by the usual clutter of day-to-day work. Over his shoulder I caught a breathtaking view to the west of the City of London. I realized that I hadn’t checked yet to see whether I could see the School of Russian Studies. Too absorbed in what was going on, I supposed.

  Eduardo followed my eyes, and grinned. ‘Not a bad view, eh? You know, you can see Windsor Castle on a good day.’

  ‘Spectacular,’ I agreed.

  ‘Take a seat.’ Eduardo opened a humidor in front of him, and offered me a cigar. I shook my head, and he picked out a large one, and carefully placed it in his thick, sensual lips. He rolled the cigar around for several seconds before lighting it. The effect verged on the obscene. He watched me watching him with amusement.

  There was a knock at the door, and a very young, very pretty girl with fine blonde hair came in. She looked as though she belonged in a school classroom rather than Eduardo’s office. ‘The position report, Mr Ross,’ she said, and dashed over to his desk to put it on one corner.

  ‘Ah, thank you, Penny,’ he replied, taking the report himself. And as she was leaving, ‘You English produce such exquisite virgins, don’t you think, Nick? It’s a shame they become spoiled as they get older.’

  Involuntarily I glanced at the girl, who blushed bright red and made for the door at as fast a walk as she could manage.

  Eduardo chuckled. ‘Excuse me. I just think she looks so delicious when she blushes.’ He tossed the report in the bin.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘Ricardo has told me a lot about you, Nick,’ he went on, in a friendly tone. ‘He’s excited to have you here. You’re already making a good impression. We like to train up our own people, and he thinks you are exactly the right raw material.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Praise is always welcome when you’ve just started a new job.

  ‘We’re very sensitive to our new employees’ needs,’ he continued. ‘We like to make them feel at home early on. And we don’t like them distracted. Now, I understand from Ricardo that you have quite a large mortgage obligation. Well, we would like to ease that burden for you.’

  My pulse quickened. This was one financial issue I had long been interested in.

  ‘We thought we could perhaps take over the mortgage from your building society, and charge a lower rate of interest, say three per cent? Until, of course, you can afford to pay it down. Which shouldn’t be more than a couple of years if you do as well here as we expect you will.’ He smiled at me, and took a puff of the cigar. The heavy tobacco rolled towards me. Like Ricardo, he too had charisma, but it was of a different sort. His large face, heavily creased brow, and thick black hair brushed neatly back, gave him a kind of powerful handsomeness, that held me in awe. This was not the sort of man you met on an average day at the School of Russian Studies.

  For an instant, I felt a surge of relief. Those mortgage payments had been the bane of my life for so long. And now the problem would go away, just like that.

  But it was only an instant. Although I was coming to terms with Dekker and its ways, some instinct told me to be careful. I had come willingly to work for Ricardo. Somehow I felt Eduardo was trying to buy me.

  Without thinking it through, I said, ‘No, thank you. It’s kind of you to offer, but I should be able to support my mortgage quite easily now on my own.’

  Eduardo’s gaze darkened for a moment. He puffed at his cigar. Finally he smiled again.

  ‘There are no strings attached,’ he said. ‘Plenty of City firms give their employees subsidized mortgages. Take it. There’s no harm.’

  He had a point. But I just didn’t like the feel of it. And I had my pride and I was stubborn. ‘I’m sure you’re right. But I’ll manage. And, as you say, I hope I’ll be able to pay it down over the next few years.’

  Eduardo shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. But if there’s anything else we can do to help you out, anything at all, please come and ask. OK?’

  Another warm smile.

  I was just leaving when he called out to me. ‘Oh, Nick?’

  I stopped at the door and turned to him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘ Isabel Pereira sent me the fax you received for Martin Beldecos yesterday.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You know what happened, I take it?’

  I nodded.

  He grimaced. ‘It was a terrible thing. Terrible. But if you do receive any more messages for Martin, give them directly to me, won’t you? And please don’t mention them to anyone else in the firm. Martin was working for me on something that was very sensitive. Do you understand?’

  It was a request, and on the surface it was a request made with charm and politeness. But lying just below the surface, unsaid, and undefined, was a threat.

  ‘I understand,’ I said, and left.

  Jamie was waiting. ‘What was all that about?’

  I told him of Eduardo’s offer to take over my mortgage, and my response.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why did you say no?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just didn’t like the feel of it. And once I had said no, I didn’t want Eduardo to change my mind. Do you think I’m crazy?’

  Jamie hesitated. ‘Maybe not. Eduardo’s right, there would be no strings attached. But if you work here you end up being dependent on them, one way or another.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, the bonuses and employee trusts are the most obvious example. But if you’re in trouble Ricardo will help you out with money or contacts or whatever. You owed him five thousand pounds before you’d even started, remember?’

  ‘You’re right. But somehow it seemed different coming from Ricardo than Eduardo.’

  ‘Maybe. They’re very different people. But they are brothers. You owe one, you owe the other.’

  ‘Are they close?’

  ‘ You bet. Most Latinos are pretty close to their family. But it’s more than that with them.’ Jamie lowered his voice again. I got the impression he enjoyed this conspiratorial gossip. ‘There are some pretty dodgy rumours about Eduardo.’

  I leaned forward, eager to encourage him. ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Yeah. Apparently he killed someone once. Pushed him over a balcony. It was when he was a student in Caracas. They’d had an argument over some girl. Ricardo hushed it up, and Eduardo walked free.’

  I shuddered. ‘I can imagine him killin
g someone.’

  ‘I know what you mean. And he leads a pretty fast life. Girls, drugs. That kind of thing. You know there was even a rumour that he was screwing Isabel.’

  ‘Eduardo?’ I glanced over to Isabel’s desk. I could just see the top of her head, bowed, a telephone pressed against her ear. ‘I’d have thought she’d have more taste.’

  Jamie shrugged. ‘I suppose Eduardo’s attractive to a certain sort of woman. I did warn you about her.’

  ‘You did.’ I was disappointed. I wouldn’t have believed that of Isabel, but since I didn’t actually know her, had barely ever spoken to her, I realized I had no grounds to be surprised. A nascent fantasy dashed. Oh, well.

  ‘Eduardo has his uses, though,’ Jamie continued. ‘He’s intelligent. Cunning. And he can get things done.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Things. He can make important people change their minds about things. He can influence people.’

  ‘What, you mean bribery?’

  ‘I’m not sure that it’s as straightforward as that,’ said Jamie. ‘Ricardo’s squeaky clean on bribery. In our market, either you’re incorruptible or you bribe everyone. These days, it’s better to have a reputation for being incorruptible. Less risk. But Eduardo has his methods, and Ricardo is probably happy not knowing exactly what they are.’

  I resolved to have as little to do with Eduardo as possible.

  I stayed late again that evening. I was engrossed in my reading: research reports and back copies of IFR, the bond market gossip sheet. Beside me was a pile of materials to read for the SFA exam, which I would have to pass before I could sell any bonds myself.

  Eventually the room began to empty. Jamie said goodbye at eight thirty to go back to Kate. Isabel drifted off at nine, leaving a trace of musk in the air around my desk that quickened my pulse. By ten thirty, Ricardo was the only one left. He put down his phone, and strolled over to my desk. I looked up from my research, and smiled at him nervously.

  He still looked as fresh and cool as he had at the morning meeting, although at some time during the day his top button had come undone, and his shirt cuffs had been rolled up once. He lit a cigarette. ‘Coffee?’