“Same as yesterday. Rock-steady at 6.175.”
“So we’re looking at a six-hundred-million-dollar margin call at closing if this sticks. What do we have in the till?”
“After the fifty we wired to Zarek yesterday?”
“After that.”
“Comstock Astor has another thirty free. The rest is in equities.”
“Only thirty? Who allowed me to commit forty percent of the fund to one position?”
“That would be you, sir.”
Astor stood. “Loans from banks are out. No one is going to give us a cent until we get our head above water. That leaves two options.”
“Reventlow?”
“Or someone else smart enough to realize that our bet is correct and that sometime in the next seventy-two hours, when our man is elected to the Standing Committee, the yuan will start to lose value like air from a punctured tire and they will stand to make a heap of money.”
“That investor would also have to be smart enough to believe that you, a New Yorker whose entire personal knowledge of China comes from a six-month visit when you were twenty years old, knows more about the economic policies to be enacted than a ranking government official who just got off the tube promising that his country would continue to allow its currency to appreciate versus the dollar.”
“Precisely.”
Shank ran a hand over his mouth, a poor bid to conceal his skepticism. “What’s the second option?”
“You know what it is.”
Shank’s eyes had never been darker. “The Hindenburg.”
“Liquidate the fund. Sell off everything we have in Comstock Astor. Pay the margin call.”
“Shutter the firm.”
Astor nodded. “Who entrusts their money to a man who just lost two billion dollars?”
“I’m not coming up with too many names.” Shank sniffed and pointed at the rectangular package. “How much?”
“Not enough.”
“Anything else?”
“The house in the Hamptons. Cabin in Aspen. Cattle ranch in Wyoming.”
“I’ll buy the Ferrari from you.”
“Thanks, Marv. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Even if it added up to four hundred million—which it doesn’t—we couldn’t get the cash anywhere near in time. You know the rules. Twenty-four hours to pay up after the margin call is issued.”
“You can get ’em to stretch it?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it would be all over the Street like wildfire.”
“So we’re looking at option one.”
Astor saw a light go on at the far end of the trading floor. He stepped out of his office in time to see a small, ratlike figure scurry down the corridor.
“What is it?” asked Shank.
“Ivan. I need to speak to him.” Astor came back into the office. “Oh, and Marv. Set up a meeting with the China team at eight.”
“Those guys usually don’t get in till later.”
“Eight. I have to leave right after.”
Shank shrank back, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Not again. I told you to keep out of it.”
“It’s not your call.”
“You’re damn right it’s my call. You have no business deserting the office today. And for what? To go on some wild-goose chase. Get real. If you don’t contact Alex and tell her about this, I’m going to.”
Astor had a fistful of Shank’s shirt and tie before he knew it. “You’re not going to contact anyone. Do you understand?”
Shank blinked madly, his hands raised, unsure of what had just happened, what his best friend was doing. “What the hell?”
Astor released him. He was surprised at his action, but he did not regret it. “Hey, Marv…”
“Yeah?”
“Mind your own business.”
41
“Ivan. I need you for a second.”
“Everything all right? None of the platforms are off?” Dr. Ivan Davidoff jumped from his desk and began scanning the array of monitors and screens that made up his office.
“Everything’s fine,” said Astor. “Relax. Unless of course, you’ve come up with a way to make the numbers only go up.”
Ivan looked at him nervously, as if the thought had crossed his mind. “No…not yet.”
Ivan was thin and pale with a three-day stubble, a shaved head, and dark eyes that looked as if he’d just gotten 30,000 volts. He had a PhD from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in upstate New York and had spent three or four years out west at Apple doing cutting-edge stuff he still refused to talk about. It was the stress that had done him in. Ivan wasn’t built for fifteen-hour days and the relentless, deadline-driven world of Silicon Valley. He was built to design and oversee the sophisticated trading platforms that powered Comstock’s daily business and to work in a quiet, orderly environment that he could control.