Editing and storyline suggestions are by Aaroneous. Thanks to him, I am able to complete a sentence or two without error. His help is greatly appreciated.
Vine, Wine & Dine.
Things haven't always been shitty in my life.
Until just recently, they had in fact been great! Yeah, I was one of the assholes who made far too much money for the schooling I had. I did nothing productive or even helpful, unless you count lining the pockets of the already wealthy as being worthwhile.
But in the end, it was the job I did best, and right up until about 13 months ago I had a life many men would be of envious of. I am in my prime at almost 42 -years-old. I'm in great physical health, single, divorced, no children, and plenty of expendable cash at my fingertips. I have travelled much of the world. Slept with my share of pretty girls. Own a large condo in the Financial District. I was even chauffeured around town, letting my Range Rover sit in a parking spot that I paid $1500 a month for.
But on September 13
th
, it all came to a grinding halt.
September 13
th
was the day when my working world stopped revolving.
*****
The expected hush fell over the core of the outer office when they stepped off the elevator. It wasn't the first time this crew, or a crew very similar to them, had shown up at our offices, and it surely wouldn't be the last. The only thing making it different this time was I knew they were headed toward my office.
My office. The best office on the floor. The one with the best view. The one given to the top producer in the company. The one always claimed by the best. The one all other brokers envied. The one so envied, people would do almost anything to get it, including lie about me and try to cheat me out of it. The one I would probably never see or step foot in again after today.
Their squad had numbers. There were seven of them in total. The Magnificent Seven. Six guys and one lady. They always brought a token lady to be the "bad cop".
No introductions were handed out because no one needed to be told who they were. We all knew. Hell, the cleaning staff knew who they were.
There were always giveaways to let you know. Not the "Hello my name is..." kind. Rather, the cheap suits, the bargain bin Walmart ties, accompanied by the worse Shoe Depot loafers. They were all business, right down to their matching, shitty, vinyl briefcases.
Their mission was to knock us down a peg. Teach us to not make profit off the poor practices of our country and its many corporations. And they always claimed to have been tipped off by an internal source.
The internal source part I could believe because, like I said, success sometimes breeds contempt in our business. Your peers and partners begin to question and challenge the way you do things. They'll question your ethics, especially if they follow the same guidelines and business plan you do. It's even worse if they don't have as profitable a year as you do or match your success. The problem is, those who are jealous usually spend less than half the time in the office you do, but they never take that fact into account. The only ones in the building who don't question or complain about how well you are doing are the expensive suits that are making large returns off your efforts. The Uber rich pricks who hide in offices so big they have their own zip codes.
Word had spread around about calls having been made. They complained about the razor's edge I was walking. Yes, there are loopholes, and I may at times use those 'loopholes' to mine and my client's advantage but, truth be told, I had done absolutely nothing wrong, so I wasn't worried.
The Banking Commission watchdogs spent over five hours in my office and in the boardroom. I was questioned, more like interrogated. They searched my files, my computer, my phone, my briefcase, my jacket, my wallet, and they found nothing. The bastards even ate sandwiches provided by the company where I worked. The company making huge earnings off of me. I questioned which side they were on.
In the end, they found exactly what I knew they would: squat, zip, zilch, nada. They kept quizzing and badgering me until they had had enough.
My answers never changed. It was hard to get caught if you provided the same answers over and over. And when the answers you give are the truth, you'll never get caught in a lie.
The accusation was "insider trading". They had not found any hard proof. But it didn't matter, they could and did seize "some" of my assets and my "trading accounts". My trading license was also under suspension until my name was cleared. Hah! To me, my license suspension was the biggest joke of the day, because once something like this happens, your name is never cleared. It stays stuck in the mud, and your time on Wall St. is up. The only promising thing was, I wasn't under house arrest.
Words and whispers spread around the office. I sat in the Senior V.P. of Strategy's office while I waited for a verdict. Everyone knew I would be off payroll by the end of the day, so it was in his office that I committed the only crime I had while working for the company. Yeah, maybe days, or maybe just hours, but sometime after I was gone, and when the waters calmed, poor Ward Seabrook would notice his precious 1977 signed New York Yankees World Series Championship ball was missing.
So, on the morning of the 13
th
, under the ever-watchful eye of company security, I walked the walk of shame. With a box of personal effects in hand, I held my head high and was escorted out. My colleagues promised they would do everything in their power to right this wrong. But I knew as soon as I hit the street, they wouldn't waste their time or a single dime on clearing me.
So, standing curbside on Wall St. at 41 years -of -age, I realized I was unemployed, divorced, and a potential felon. I was every woman's dream guy.
*****
Non-working life proved to be a bit boring, so I changed my routine. A morning jog through the Battery did nothing to cheer me up. It had been over 60 days since my "suspension" of duties and trading abilities. Not being able to work did nothing for my mood. I was getting more and more agitated by the day.
I jogged the streets and sidewalks directly in front of my building and continued around the block until I was at the front door of my condo complex. There was no need to be shy, because not a single person acknowledged me. Those who knew me, acted like I had a horribly contagious disease. One able to infect all of NYC if they asked me how I was doing.
Juan stared at me from behind the concierge desk, but there wasn't a hint of a smile on his face as the hinges on my mailbox squeaked open. This guy, this Juan, is the same prick I gave Nets tickets to on multiple occasions, and always gave a hefty Christmas bonus. This year, he could suck my...
"Morning, Juan" I said as I passed his desk. Yep, nothing. Fuck him and the asshole Nets.
Sorting through the envelopes, I made three piles. Read now, read later, and junk. I made a latte and said the hell with it. I read everything, including the Little Caesars advertisement.
When I was done, I made a call and was surprised when someone on the other end answered. Turned out my lawyer was away on vacation for the holidays. Well, lucky him.
Out of instinct, I hit the play button on my answering machine and took a long pull on my latte.
"Christopher, stop avoiding me. I've called you three days in a row. Fly west for the holidays. You and Bill can watch some football, get all pissed up, and talk about the good old days when both of you actually worked. It'll help you to put all the bad things out of your head for a bit. Plus, I have an interesting proposal for you. Very lucrative if you ask me." My sister-in-law, Erin had called me three days in a row, but there was no way in hell I was going to California for Thanksgiving.
