As the team make their way in for the morning, coming into the wide expanse of the trading room, and see me, there are plenty of surprised faces. Mike comes up to me, beaming, enfolding me in a hug. “Ronnie! What the hell are you doing here?”

Across the room, Tom calls out “Consider her an…external consultant on a short-term contract.” He’s bending over a computer terminal, typing as fast as he can.

“Oh, yeah? How short-term?”

“About two hours. The other thing about this contract is it’s, uh, ad-hoc.”

“Whaddya mean ad-hoc?”

“I mean nobody knows about it.”

Mike has a conspiratorial smile. “Ah. We’re breaking the rules. I like it.”

Tom straightens up, turns around and raises his arms. “Gather round, everybody.” He gestures at the desks, and starts to explain.

“This morning, before you came to work, I placed a number of buy orders to be triggered exactly when the market opens and the ‘Macaulay’ bond starts trading. I did this without your knowing, and for everyone’s own good, I can’t tell you exactly what’s going to happen now. I repeat; I am acting on my own, aided by someone—” he indicates me, “who isn’t even an employee any more. From here on, I ask only that you trust me. When this is over, you will say that you were following instructions from your superior, and that’s all.”

Billy steps forward. “Boss, what the hell are you up to? Tokyo is opening in ten minutes, and that’s when the chaos is going to start. You can see it’s already happening with the pre-orders and the dark pools.”

He gestures to the computer screens, already flickering with activity. “As soon as people can start selling, we’re going to be screwed. The more they sell, the more the price drops. The more the price drops, the more people sell. Every time the price drops, we lose money. We’re trapped in a whirlpool, and there’s no way out.”

“Billy, bear with me.”

“But, boss—”

“Just wait. The first round of orders is already set. Once that’s happened, I’ll let you know what to do.”

So now we wait. I watch the minutes counting down on the big clock attached to the ceiling, and glance nervously at the huge screens at the front. The rest of the team is milling around, glancing at their computers, talking quietly. I don’t know what they’re thinking right now, but I suspect it’s probably about their future employment. Billy and Mike sit at a table, legs crossed, looking from me to Tom, and back again.

Five minutes to market open.

“Ronnie, help us out here.” Billy speaks, unable to sit quietly any more. “Surely you can tell us what he’s up to.”

I wave my hand. “Sorry, Bill. Not even supposed to be here, remember? It’ll be okay, though.” I try to sound more confident than I feel.

Two minutes to market open.

Tom is stretched out in a chair, doodling on a piece of paper. He looks over at me and blows me a kiss. I want to hit him, but I restrain the urge.

One minute to market open.

Tom stands up and stretches, as if he has nothing in the world to worry about, as if his career, and my future, and the existence of the company, weren’t on the line in the next sixty seconds. With one hand, Mike scrunches up a piece of paper into a ball; with the other, he’s drumming his fingers on the table, again and again. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Ten seconds to market open.

Tom looks over at the screens, and then back towards the waiting group, smiling faintly. “Everyone okay?” The hiss that rises from fifteen throats at this point makes even him step back.

“Boss, so help me God, if you don’t tell us what’s going on, I am not responsible for my actions.” Billy mutters under his breath.

“Very soon, Bill. Very soon.” The light in Tom’s eyes is bright now, and he flexes both hands, ready to move suddenly.

Ding. Market open.

* * *

The screens light up, and the first round of orders from Walters Capital for the Macaulay Bond goes out into the market as the team, and the whole world, watch.

BUY.

BUY.

BUY.

BUY.

Fifteen sets of eyes are locked on Tom and I. Dumbfounded, Mike finally finds his voice.

“Boss, what the hell are you doing? You’re buying more of the Macaulay bonds, putting us deeper in debt, when you know everyone else is going to sell?”

Tom nods. “Exactly. Just watch.”

Incredulous, Mike turns back toward the screen, watching the line marking the price plummet lower and lower. As every moment passes, we’re more in the red, losing thousands every minute.

More buy orders.

“Are we trying to blow up the firm at double-speed here?” Mike demands, his face red. “Because it seems to me that was going to happen fine without all of us being here, and I could have been home in bed—”

Tom stands up again, and points at the screen. “Have faith, Mike. Just this once.”

The price keeps dropping. Red. Red. Red. More red. We’re a million in the red now, two million, the numbers ticking past like the fare in a taxi meter.

More buy orders.

Then something strange happens.

The red stops getting deeper and darker, and starts to shade back to pink. The line stops plummeting, and starts to flatten out.

Mike stares at the screen. “What’s going on?” We watch as other orders come into the market, from other firms.

BUY.

BUY.

Tom coughs politely. “Mike, you’ve worked in finance for ten years. I think by now you can tell what’s going on. Other people are buying.”

The smile on his face is the smile of a man who knows the punchline to all the jokes in the whole world.

“But why the hell would they do that? Why wouldn’t they just sit and watch us drown, if they know…” He tails off, and looks down for a moment. When he looks up, there’s a light in his eyes. “Because. Because they’re watching us. Because they think we know something they don’t.”

* * *

Tom snaps his fingers. “Got it in one, my friend. Now we go fix this thing.” He raises his voice. “Everyone, I want you to get to your terminals now. I want you to buy as much as you can, as fast as you can. Don’t try and hide it; make it as public as possible. I want you to leave a trail a mile wide, a trail you can see from space. The whole world is watching us, so let’s give them a show.” He claps his hands. “Now!”

Slowly at first, then with increasing vigor, people wheel themselves to their desks, and the room comes to life, fingers on keyboards. Phones ring, and the screens light up.

“Call people. Tweet, Facebook, Instagram, do whatever the hell you can.” Tom’s voice rises above the clatter of keys and the noise of conversation. “Let everyone know that we’re going to buy everything there is to sell.”

Eyes on the screen, I watch the line, and the orders flowing onto the screens.

“Jesus, Tom.” Billy wipes his brow with the back of his hand. “You want to stop the market dropping by buying everything there is? That’s like trying to escape an oncoming train by running straight at it.”

Tom laughs, deep and rich and long. “It sure is, Billy. I’ve spent my life trying to predict what people will do, and here we are, trying to change it. In the end, the thing that matters most to people is belief. I was asleep to that, but then I met someone.” He takes a breath, and looks at me. “Someone wonderful. Someone who woke me up.”

Billy’s eyes are saucers, and he looks from Tom to me, then back again. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Tom cuts him off.

“Come on! While you’re all sleepin’, the saints are a-weepin’. Faster!” Tom claps his hands again, the ringmaster in the circus.

The orders come in, and the phones ring, and slowly, gradually, the world goes slightly nuts around us. At first, it’s the price stabilizing; the drop slows from a torrent, to a trickle, and then it flattens off.

We hold our breath and watch. Then, very gradually, the line starts to rise.

The price is going back up.

Clapping and cheering breaks out across the room, and Tom puts up a hand. “Don’t stop. We’re still millions in debt, and there’s only one way out. Keep going!”

His phone rings; he looks at it and laughs aloud, then shows the screen to the room.

Rick Parsons, Global Finance

“Good morning, Rick. Yes, I do know what I’m doing. Say, you guys aren’t wanting to sell, are you? Because if you are, we’d love to— Hello? Hello? Rick?” Tom clutches the phone to his chest theatrically. “Oh dear. It sounds like some players in the market aren’t happy with what’s happened here.”

Mike waves an arm. “Tom, I’ve got Lightfoot Partners calling. Don’t know how they got my number. Do I answer?”

“Oh, the energy boys? What’s the current price for the contract?”

“Four-forty.”

“Right. Before they say one single word, offer to buy from them at four-fifty. Everything they have. Go!”

Mike bends over his phone, muttering into it. Minutes later, he looks up, grinning. “You wouldn’t believe it. They wouldn’t sell. They wouldn’t sell. Thirty minutes ago, they were selling as fast as they could, trying to bury us, and now they’re telling me they won’t do a thing until we tell them what we know.”

Tom spreads his arms, expansively. “Tell them if they call again, Michael, that everything we know is in the market. I’m sure they’ll love to hear that.”

* * *

We keep watching, and people keep phoning.

Bear Stearns.

Merrill Lynch.

Firms I’ve never even heard of, all trying to find out what we know. Facebook messages, Twitter, LinkedIn, everything.

“Tom, there’s an interview request.”

“Tell ‘em we’re busy.”

When the hashtag #whatdoestomknow starts trending, there’s a whoop from the crowd, and he acknowledges it with a wave of his arms.

The price keeps climbing, climbing steadily, until that moment when someone shouts ‘We’re back in the black!’

More cheering and clapping. Tom holds up his arms, then turns back to the crowd.

“Okay, now we start selling. We might not be underwater any more, but we’re still holding a hell of a lot of assets, and this stunt has made the whole world jumpy. Sell things off slowly and carefully, nice and easy.”

In a dream, I watch as we start to sell off we’ve just bought. Tom’s in constant motion, walking from person to person, gesturing, clapping shoulders, pointing at screens.

Finally, the price stabilizes, and Tom holds up his arms again. “Okay, let’s back it off. We’re okay now. Billy, where are we?”

Billy taps at his computer, and scribbles on a piece of paper. “Boss, we are pretty much back where we started. Maybe a little ahead. Maybe a little behind.”

Tom exhales. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have never been so happy to do a morning’s work and not make any money out of it.” He turns to me, smiling. “Impressive work for your first project, Ronnie Haas.” I grab him around the waist, and kiss him in front of everybody, promoting a fresh round of cheers.

“You and me, Ronnie Haas. You and me. Now and forever. What do you say?”

Yes, please. I smile. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

* * *

There’s a hush behind us, and I see people’s eyes flick to the doorway. Tom turns around.

“Morning, Bob.”

“Morning, Tom.” Bob Walters, the founder of the firm, stands in the doorway. He’s not a tall man, but from the way he walks in, it’s pretty clear who owns the place. “Busy morning, Tom?”

Tom shrugs. “Pretty hectic, Bob.”

“It’s been a…surprising morning for me, Tom. I woke up expecting to watch my firm lose two hundred million dollars over my breakfast, and then to call those bastards at Global and beg them for mercy. Instead, I watch you and your team going berserk, and the rest of the market, inexplicably, seeming to follow you.”

“It’s a funny game, Bob.”

“Tom, what the hell just happened here? I want the truth.”

“Of course.” Tom walks forward, standing in front of the team. “The truth is, Bob, I went rogue. I came in early and set up a series of orders on the computers without my team’s knowledge. I then instructed them to carry out my orders without informing them of what I was doing.”

He smiles wryly. “I’m completely out of control. I will tender my resignation immediately, and I should be publicly held responsible for this debacle which has led to Walters Capital making a profit of more-or-less zero dollars on this deal.”

Bob Walters looks around the room, eyes scanning the upturned faces. He settles on me. “What about her?”

Tom holds out both hands. “Bob, she’s not even here. She’s not an employee, and you know there’s no way non-employees can get onto the trading floor without anyone knowing.”

The old man nods, slowly. “So, you’re telling me that this entire scheme was dreamed up by you, and someone who isn’t here, and the two of you—”

“One of me.”

“Alright, one of you—are responsible for this deal making absolutely nothing?”

“Correct.”

“And you’re going to resign.”

“Absolutely. In exchange for an agreement not to prosecute, of course.”

“Of course.” Bob furrows his brow. “You’re aware, aren’t you, that the board will be furious?”

Tom’s smile is broad and sunny. “I expect so, Bob. I expect so.”

“You’re also aware that neither you, nor the lady who isn’t here—” he indicates me, “will ever be able to work in this industry again?”

“That’s an unfortunate but necessary consequence of what’s happened, Bob.”

There’s a long silence. The small man paces up and back, between the rows of computers. Finally, he looks up.

“Very well. I’ll make a statement to the press—who have been beating down my door, by the way—denying any knowledge that this was going to happen, and holding you personally responsible for everything that’s happened here.”

“Sounds good to me, Bob.”

He turns and walks away, toward the doors, phone in hand. When he gets to them, he looks back.

“Tom, it seems to me that you’re not only responsible for this firm failing to make any money in this deal, you’re also responsible for saving it.”

“Could be, Bob. That could be. You should discuss that with my successors.” Tom gestures to Mike and Billy, watching open-mouthed. “I suggest these guys here.”

Bob Walters’ gaze flicks over to them, and back to Tom. “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

The door closes behind him. Hands in his pockets, Tom strolls over to me. He’s trying to act casual, but the look in his eyes says different.

“Well, sweetheart, what shall we do with ourselves now? Any plans for the weekend?”

I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him again, long and full. “Only with you.” Behind us, Mike and Billy chuckle.

Tom grins. “With me, huh? What would you say to visiting Paris? It so happens I won some money recently, and these guys—” he indicates behind him, “were telling me I should take my girl away on a trip. What do you say? Besides, it looks like we both seem to be out of a job.”

I take his face in my hands. “My job, Tom Macaulay, is keeping you out of trouble. And I think it’s going to be a full-time occupation.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Waitaminnit. You keeping me out of trouble? This was your doing right from the start, remember?”

Behind us, conversation in the room starts up again, as the business of the day gradually picks up, and things return to normal. I take Tom by the hand and wink at Mike and Billy. “I think we’re going to need to discuss this in private.”

* * *