Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series)

by Neil Behrmann

  I had taken out a string of girls since Sandy had left me; had phoned her in Perth, pleading with her. I sent her long emails swearing that it was she who I loved; even offered to go to Perth, but she wasn't interested. So I decided to move on and find another girl, but so far no-one matched Sandy.

  Jane and I sat between Elaine and Cy. It was his last function with the firm. He and his family were leaving for their new home in Sausalito, across San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge. Leash was across the table with a much younger woman. He had dropped poor Maisie, who had left the firm. It was the first time that I had met Aram's wife, Annushka. She was Russian, with dark eyes and curly black hair. Both were in their late forties, but she looked younger. The new marketing director, who was replacing Cy, was also there.

  Amanda Brockenspruit, who was in her mid thirties, was striking rather than beautiful. She had dyed red hair and a great figure. Amanda was a multilingual career woman from Amsterdam and Leash was over the moon that she had joined LeashTrade.

  The food was standard hotel stuff. After the coffee and liqueurs, the awards ceremony began. The market had soared in the previous year. Hedge funds had done brilliantly and investors had placed multi billions in them.

  Hedge funds that performed the best in the past twelve months were given awards. The editor of AlphaBeta Plus magazine and her panel of judges chose Aquarium as the top commodities and resource macro hedge fund. The citation was 'Outstanding consistent performance'. Aram and I strutted up to the podium and accepted our certificate and bottles of champagne. When we came back to the table, Leash was beaming.

  'Pity you aren't staying with us, Cy. This will help Aquarium go well over a billion,' said Leash.

  Cy shrugged his shoulders. I hadn't seen him for a while. He had gone to California to help Elaine buy a house and find a school for their girls.

  'What are you going to do Cy?' I asked.

  'I've formed a foundation to educate disadvantaged kids,' said Cy.

  'Your charity can invest in our funds,' shouted Leash across the table.

  Cy ignored him: 'We're starting small. Expenses will be low. We want to make sure that almost all the money goes to the kids.'

  'Surely that is what charity is all about,' said Jane snootily.

  'Yes, but many charities have huge expenses. Their executives get large salaries. Lots of money is wasted on expensive events, advertising, mailshots and administration,' said Cy. 'The people who need the money are left with a small proportion of donors' cash.'

  'So you think that this event is a waste of time?' snapped Jane.

  'No. It's a means to an end. Unfortunately many of those charities have high expenses and as I've said the beneficiaries can receive very little,' Cy said. 'Money for African charities, for example. Africa is rife with corruption. There's no guarantee that most of the money won't land in Liechtenstein bank accounts.'

  The awards were finally over and the charity fundraisers started an auction. Sponsors offered a Harley Davidson motorcycle, holidays in the Caribbean, South Africa, Mexico and Australia. Other items on the list were jewellery, paintings, tickets for Chelsea and Arsenal football games and the SuperBowl. The bidding began with each table doing their best to beat the others. Eventually a trumpet blared and the charity organisers announced that more than £5 million had been raised. There was a loud cheer and the hedge fund crowd thumped their tables.

  I glanced at Cy and Elaine. They weren't enjoying themselves.

  When the noise abated a few decibels, Jane turned to Cy: 'Come on! They'll probably raise ten to twenty million. Maybe even more. Even if the children get half of that, it's still a lot of money!'

  'Yes you're right,' replied Cy. 'But look around you and take a guess. How much do you think all the people in this room are worth?'

  'I haven't a clue,' said Jane.

  'Several billion. You still think that they're denting their bank balances?'

  'Yes I do, actually,' said Jane. 'I'm sure that they give to other charities. I've helped organise events. A lot of time and effort goes into them. They do a lot of good.'

  'I'm not disputing that,' argued Cy. 'All I'm saying is that everything is relative. A poor person who's donating twenty pounds can be sacrificing a lot more than a wealthy guy. Others spend hours each day, helping the sick and old. Thankless tasks, for low wages or no money. They don't get their names in the paper. Photos in Hello!

  'Come off it Cy. It's the amount of money that counts,' shouted Leash across the table. 'Are you seriously saying that a hundred bucks counts for as much as a million? I'm sick and tired of people who envy and preach to the rich. The British media in particular are always having a go at us, cynical about these events. It's nothing less than bigotry. Prejudice against the wealthy. People here are doing good. That's all that counts. If they're enjoying themselves, good on them.'

  'Are you a priest or a hedge fund manager, Cy?' laughed Linda, Leash's girlfriend. 'You mean, rabbi,' I joked.

  'Rabbi? He doesn't have a beard,' said Jane puzzled.

  'Promise you, Jane, he's the real thing,' I said in an attempt to lighten the conversation.

  'I agree with you Leash. This event will help the poor,' said Cy. 'How could I possibly think that it's a show, a big ego trip, a public relations exercise for hedgies?'

  'I knew we were on the same wave length!' exclaimed Jane eagerly, failing to detect the sarcasm. Cy and I smiled at each other.

  'You should have stayed with Sandy,' said Cy, shaking his head.

  'I blew it Cy,' and I told him the whole sorry story.

  'Why don't you go to Perth and propose to her.'

  'Doubt if she'll trust me now.'

  Aram had slipped away, when we were talking about charities. I noticed that he went to a table at the far end of the room. He was joking around with someone who had his back to me. Aram waved to me. I walked over to the table and the man he was facing, turned around. It was Yevgeny Faramazov. Pearl Fleecer was at the same table. I knew that Faramazov was involved in mining, oil and other Russian raw materials businesses. What was he doing at a hedge fund event? I shook hands with Faramazov and Pearl jumped up and kissed me on both cheeks. She looked a lot better. Hopefully she had sorted herself out.

  Faramazov introduced the others on the table. They looked like gangsters and I soon realised who they were. Managers of Borodino and Veruschka, the Russian hedge funds! Suddenly the room started spinning. I couldn't focus properly and almost lost my balance. They pulled up a chair for me and I sat down to re-orientate myself as soon as possible.

  'I'm OK, just slipped,' I lied as I sipped some water and did my best to relax. 'What's your view on the markets?'

  They were smart and very knowledgeable about oil and gas and the mining industry. The boom would continue for at least another year, they said.

  I wanted to get away as soon as possible and swiftly took the opportunity when the band began playing: 'I better go and dance with my girlfriend.'

  When I was about to leave Faramazov's table, someone tapped me on my shoulder.

  'You're sitting in my chair, Mr Miner,' said the voice.

  I turned around. It was Hal Humford. I thought of asking him whether he was happy with his investments in our fund. Instead he turned away from me and began talking to Faramazov.

  'Why didn't you tell me that you knew those guys?' I asked Aram, when Jane and I returned to our table during a band break.

  'How was I to know that you were interested?' replied Aram. 'Yevgeny has been a client of mine for years. He doesn't want everyone to know what he's doing.'

  'Is he in the hedge fund business?'

  'Yevgeny has his fingers in all sorts of pies: mining, energy, banking, funds, anything that makes money.'

  'You seemed to be speaking Russian to them?'

  'Yes, when I was at school in Estonia, we had to learn Russian.'

  'And Hal Humford of Banque Discretione? Why's he with them?'

  'He's a banker. Yevgeny knows a lot of ban
kers.'

  I was a little concerned. Discretione was a big investor in Aquarium and Humford was friendly with Faramazov. Jane grabbed my hand and pulled me on to the dance floor. We danced until two thirty in the morning and then fell into bed.

  * * *

  I was so busy during the next two months that I lost track of time. Pearl went into rehab and I lost contact with her. Jane took me to some celebrity functions and introduced me to some of her friends, but our relationship was fairly superficial.

  The energy boom continued and oil and natural gas soared far beyond the wildest expectations of dealers and analysts. Aram was in charge of Aquarium's trading, with a little input from me. I had meetings with him twice a week, when we discussed what we would do in the market. At the end of each month, I co-signed the monthly returns showing how the fund had performed. Everything was going well. We were making big money.

  The roadshows with Cy had given me experience in marketing. So Leash told me to help Amanda Brockenspruit. We not only sold Aquarium to investors, but other LeashTrade funds as well. I found Amanda quite sexy. One evening in Paris, I made an advance. She enjoyed the attention, but wasn't interested. Amanda later told me that she lived in Camden Town with her partner Carol, an accountant.

  A superb saleswoman, Amanda was almost as good as Cy. She got on with everyone, was full of fun and had a great sense of humour. The Aquarium fund now had more than $1 billion of investors' cash. Leash's entire fund management business managed more than $5 billion, compared with about $500 million, five years previously. The firm was making more than $100 million a year on annual management charges alone and another $200 million in performance fees. We were becoming seriously rich. I had learnt Leash's lesson. It takes as much time to manage a big amount of money, as a small sum, but the rewards are far greater. That was why he kept on driving us to push Aquarium and the other funds.

  Trader Jack was the guy with the golden touch. The image attracted investors and girls. I wanted to contact old friends like the Slimcops and Gill Derby, but whenever I was about to phone or write a letter, something else came up. Stan and Leila would have been very pleased that I had given up coke and weed. I was into healthy eating and went to the gym.

  * * *

  October came and natural gas, which was as low as $2.50 a British Thermal Unit soon after 9/11, suddenly surged to almost $15. It gyrated, falling back to $11 and then recovered to $12. Crude oil, as low as $20 a barrel in the bear market, soared past $100 and moved swiftly to almost $150, before tumbling back to $120. Gold broke through $1,000 an ounce before retreating. Silver, platinum, copper, aluminium, zinc, nickel, wheat, sugar, cocoa and coffee also fluctuated wildly, rising when the US dollar sank and falling when it rallied. Energy and mining shares followed suit, playing a major role in causing global stock markets to rise and fall. Our attention was focused on the most exciting of all the markets, notably energy. Gas was fluctuating at prices 300 to 400 per cent above the levels it had been when we first entered the market. Aram traded in and out the market, piling up the gains. Whenever gas fell, it seemed to be supported by big buying.

  Aram, Amanda and I had several meetings on whether we should take most of our money off the table. Aram, our energy expert, thought that there would be a final burst. The price would soar past the magical $15 round number and race to $20 or more, he predicted. Oil could reach $180 a barrel; possibly top $200! A gold price of $2,000 was also possible, he said. That would be the time to sell and bank serious money. Aram emphasised that in the past year we had had only two poor months. The percentage declines in those months were small, while profits of the other ten months were outstanding.

  One day, early December, Amanda took me out for a drink. She was worried.

  'Banque Discretione, our biggest investor, is taking profits,' she said. 'At the end of November they redeemed $200 million and have given us notice to take out their remaining $200 million at the end of December.'

  'Have you spoken to Hal Humford, the chief investment officer?'

  'He told me that it was the clients' decision. Discretione is still bullish on energy and commodities.'

  'We'll have to sell some positions to pay them their money. I'll speak to Aram,' I said.

  I also promised Amanda that I would contact Humford before I left for my Christmas holiday in Cape Town. Hopefully I could discourage him from withdrawing more money. Unfortunately I couldn't get hold of Humford. His London and Zurich offices said that he had gone skiing in Aspen, Colorado. He had given instructions that no one should contact him.

  Despite Amanda's worries, Aram was relaxed. He told her that in January we would have a big presentation at a Florida hedge fund conference. Aram believed that oil and gas would reach new heights within weeks. Money would then pour into our fund. My charts indicated that it was very possible. My gold and coffee experiences showed that in the final phases of bull markets, prices rocketed. The crowd was following Aquarium. We and our investors would make pots of money.

  * * *

  A few days before the Christmas rush, I relaxed in my British Airways First Class seat, on my way to Cape Town. Maybe I would meet someone there. I shouldn't have messed up with Sandy. I kept thinking of Maffie, the gospel choir and her flowing white robe. Just over two years had passed, but it seemed much longer. I really missed Maffie. She was my best friend. I had to find her.

  Mount Nelson, Cape Town's historic hotel, was a short walk from Table Mountain and I went halfway up to see the wonderful view. Ivor Ensworth was pleased to hear from me when I phoned him after the walk and he invited me to a Christmas barbeque. Ivor lived in a white washed bungalow with a small garden. It was in Rondebosch, a scenic suburb near the memorial of Cecil John Rhodes, who founded De Beers, the giant diamond company. It was almost four years since we were in Edinburgh. Ivor was now over eighty and looked frail. It was a small party. William, Ivor's tall tanned son, was busy 'braaiing' meat and chicken on the barbeque. His wife, Gail, was helping him.

  'Tom, Tess! Jack's here,' yelled Ivor.

  What a change! I had remembered them as children. Now they were teenagers, almost as old as I was when I first met them. They greeted me much more formally than I had expected and we shook hands.

  A middle-aged man, about six foot two, with short grey hair and a ruddy face, rang the bell and entered. He was wearing a khaki shirt and shorts, as if he had just returned from the bush.

  'Hello Fred. Great to see you. I've got a surprise,' shouted Ivor, calling me. 'Meet young Jack Miner.'

  'Bill Miner's son? Well I never. Glad to meet you, Jack. I'm Fred Carrender. Your Dad was a great friend of mine. He saved my life.'

  'I know, Mr Carrender. You've changed mine.'

  'Call me Fred. Ivor told me how you've done. Remarkable! Maybe I should touch you for a loan!'

  We laughed and sat down to eat. Fred regaled us with stories about him and Bill.

  'I had no idea that my Dad was so wild,' I said cheerfully.

  'Quite a ladies' man, your Dad. He even came prospecting with me once. I'm afraid we didn't find any gold and diamonds, but I made him jump when I found a dead scorpion and left it close to his pillow.'

  I helped Gail clear the table. An old servant was washing the dishes. Gail looked embarrassed.

  'I'm afraid my parents-in-law still live in the past. Apartheid's finished but the master-servant relationship remains,' she whispered.

  'Jack, this is Thandi.'

  I shook Thandi's hand, after she'd dried it.

  'Thandi has worked for Ivor for thirty years,' said Gail. 'She's part of the family. You've looked after Ivor, since Helen died. Right Thandi?'

  'We've both grown old together,' laughed Thandi.

  'Have you heard of Themba Shaka Mafuta?' I asked. 'She's a family lawyer for the black community. She lives in a place called Knysna. Is it far from Cape Town?'

  'You know Miss Mafuta?' shouted Thandi excitedly. 'She's very active in Khayelitsha township. Helps women when their husbands an
d boyfriends beat them up; when they do bad things to children. Miss Mafuta takes them to court.'

  'Is she in Cape Town now?'

  'I don't know, but I'm friendly with a woman who she's helping. When I see her I can pass on your message.'

  'Please! I'll write a note. I must see her. She's a very good friend.'

  'Have you visited Stan and Leila Slimcop?' asked Ivor.

  'No. Could you tell me where they're staying?'

  'In Fish Hoek, about an hour from here.'

  'Have you apologised to them, Jack?'

  'You know what I did?'

  'Yes. You hurt them badly. Leila's getting worse. Stan's having a tough time, poor guy. He's now employing a carer.'

  'I went to their home a year ago to apologise. A woman, who was looking after the house, said that she would tell them that I was sorry. I also wrote to them. They still haven't responded. Makes me feel really bad.'

  'They've heard nothing.'

  'You had better write another letter of apology to Stan now,' Ivor insisted. 'Phone him in a few days’ time.'

  Afterwards, Gail took a photograph of all of us and put it in the envelope with the letter.

  * * *

  It was the first week of the New Year and she walked into the hotel foyer in a smart grey suit. Not the Maffie I knew. She was now fairly slim and had short, curly hair, African style. I rushed to hug her, but she withdrew. Instead she shook my hand in a cold, businesslike way. We ambled to a table on the patio and ordered some soft drinks and a light lunch.