Public gyms in the finance district of any city always have the same problem; the clientele. It’s fine if you’re there just to let off steam, or to pose in front of the mirror, but it’s hard to get away from work and clear your head when you have groups of your own staff, or, worse, someone else’s staff in close proximity to you. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to warn my own staff about talking about work in the gym where anyone could be listening, and more than a few times, I’ve overheard things I really shouldn’t have in the locker room. In fact, ‘locker room talk’ takes on a whole new meaning when it’s about derivative financial instruments. Ergh.

In the meantime, though, I have a bigger problem; the bar on my chest is resolutely refusing to move despite my silent entreaties. Maybe I’ve been distracted thinking about work, but halfway through my set, I’ve hit a wall—or it’s more like the wall is about to hit me. There is always the option of the ‘roll of shame’, the process by which you lower the bar gently to your chest and roll it down your stomach to escape. It hurts, and it’s embarrassing, but it’s better than cracking a rib. I stop for a moment and consider my options.

At that moment, in the corner of my eye, I see a couple of figures enter the broad expanse of the weights area, talking and laughing. It’s Rick and Henry from our rivals Global Finance, wearing their corporate workout tank tops.

Great. Just the people I’m really wanting to talk to while I’m struggling with this bar. They look over, and summoning a surge of willpower, I push the bar off my chest, and get it almost-smoothly back onto the rack.

“Tommy, old buddy!” Rick’s faux-cheery hello is a sound I have grown to cordially loathe over the last six months. “How’s it going with the workout there?”

I sit up and mop my brow. “Hey, Rick. Hey, Henry.” Not in the mood today, guys. Rick is one of those guys who manages to sound like he’s being condescending even when he really doesn’t mean to—at least I think he doesn’t mean to. Global have been nipping at our heels for the last two months, and every one of their press releases seems to have a veiled reference to ‘market manipulators’ or ‘financial sorcerors’. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were trying to paint us as the bad guys in some kind of ‘Wolf of Wall Street’-esque drama. Dickheads.

“Quite a trick you and your boys pulled off this week, buddy.” Rick sits down on the bench next to me and slaps me on the back. “We were all cheering for you when we saw it on the news.” Yeah, sure you were.

“Course, we could see it all going down in real-time on our screens. The minute we saw those orders come out, we all said ‘that’s Tom’s handiwork there’. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it ourselves.”

I try to look as unfriendly as possible without actually being rude. “I don’t know why you didn’t either, Rick.” As much as these guys are being two-faced, it’s unwise to burn your bridges in finance. You never know when you’re going to end up sitting on the same side of a table with someone, or sitting opposite them, and in either case it’s a damn sight easier if they think you’re a straight-up guy who hasn’t got some kind of vendetta against them.

“Mind if I work in with you, buddy?” Rick’s cheeriness begins to grate after approximately thirty seconds of his company, but some rules in the gym need to be observed.

I nod and stand up, forcing myself to be convivial. “Sure man, go for it. I need to rest anyway.” Rick busies himself with looking at the plates, and completely by chance loads twenty more pounds than I was lifting onto the bar.

“Want me to spot you?” I don’t much like the guy, but safety is safety, and I don’t want to see him crack a rib.

“Naw, man, it’s fine.” Uh-huh. He lies down, squares up to the bar, and begins lifting, talking as he does so. Show-off. “Thing is, Tommy, we’ve been working on some pretty similar algorithms ourselves, and you getting into the market before us ended up costing us a bundle. If we’d gotten there before you, maybe you’d be the one having to throw away all that work instead—oof—of us.”

I shrug. “Quite possible, Rick. That work’s never wasted, though; you never know when it’ll come in useful.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, and I’d rather be getting on with my workout.

“That’s mighty—oof—conciliatory of you, Tommy.” Stop calling me Tommy, dickhead. My name is Tom. “I still haven’t given up on getting you to join us one of these days. You could bring your whole team and come and work for me. How about—oof—it?”

Like hell I’d come and work for you. I carefully arrange my features into an expression of thoughtful consideration. “Thanks, Rick, but I’m happy where I am. We’ve got a whole lot of exciting stuff happening, and I wouldn’t want to miss out on it.”

“Well—oof—didn’t hurt to try.” The bar clangs back onto the rack, and Rick sits up, wiping the sweat off him. Some of it lands on me, and I look at it for a minute. “I sure think you boys are doing great work over there, but I ask myself, I say ‘what does Tom Macaulay really want? Does he want to be a winner?’ I think he does.” He looks straight at me, all gleaming teeth and buzzcut.

I fight down an urge to laugh.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, Tommy, but we’ve just taken on a lot more funding, and we’re gunning for Walters. We’re gonna take ‘em down, and I would like to give you and your team an opportunity to leave the ship before it sinks. Whaddya say?”

Like hell you shouldn’t be telling me. You’re trying to frighten me and my team into leaving, because you can’t beat us any other way.

“Again, Rick, I’m flattered, but I find myself in a position where I’m unable to accept your offer.” I should stop there, but I don’t. “Besides, from where I’m sitting, my ship looks pretty seaworthy. If I spot any holes, though, you’ll be the first to know.”

This time, Rick’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I sure will, Tommy-boy. I sure will.” He stands up. “Well, don’t say I didn’t give you the chance. Enjoy the rest of your workout.”

I smile fixedly until he turns away and heads away across the gym floor. While I’m warming down, I think about what Rick was saying. What are they up to over there?

“Tom! Heads up, bro!” Billy Flynn is on the bike next to me, huffing and puffing. Billy’s a big guy, 6’5” if he’s an inch, with thighs like tree-trunks, and seeing him ride an exercycle is like one of those clown bicycles in the circus. I can’t help smiling.

“Billy, what the hell are you doing on the bike? Shouldn’t you be picking up a log, or flipping a tire, or arm-wrestling a T-Rex, or some sort of thing like that?”

“Cardio, my friend. Cardio. My wife says I need to up my energy output, or no more lasagna will be forthcoming on Saturday nights. I hate—uggh—this Goddamned bike—makes me feel like a hamster in a wheel—but I ain’t missing out on my Saturday night lasagna for nothing.”

“Saturday night lasagna, huh? Living the high life.” He shakes his head.

“Seriously, do not knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. You should come over for dinner. Maria keeps asking when you’re coming back, and the kids would love to see you again. You could,” here he waggles his enormous eyebrows conspiratorially, “bring a date.”

“Thanks, Billy, that sounds fantastic. But, no, I don’t have a date.”

Billy assumes a mournful expression. “You’ve got to get out there, man. You aren’t going to just run into the right girl in the street. You do have time to date, in between righting the world’s financial wrongs, don’t you?”

“Billy, I’m too damn busy for girls right now. Besides, the only financial wrong we’re righting is the wrong that says Walters Capital doesn’t have enough money.”

He laughs, and for a moment does an awful Irish accent. “A terrible tragic state of affairs, to be sure, to be sure. Anyway, what did Global Prick want?”

I snort with laughter. “He wanted to hire us.”

“Not just you?”

“Nope. All of us. And he gave us a dire warning about how Global has taken on a whole lot more investment, and they’re going to gobble us up in the market. It was pretty unsubtle, even by his standards.”

Billy lets the bike roll to a stop and turns to me, his face concerned. “You think they’re really up to something, huh?”

“I don’t know, Billy.” I shrug. “It does sound like more than their usual blowhard bullshit to me. In the meantime, we’ve got a job to do, right?”

He nods. “Find a way to stay ahead of these bastards in the market. Can’t gobble us up if we’re way out of reach, right?”

“You got it. Right, back to your cycling, Flynn. I’ll not be held responsible for your lack of lasagna.” He makes a face.

“Man, talk about bosses who work you hard. This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Flynn! Cycle! Now!”

“Okay, okay, I’m cycling.” I leave Billy grumbling and puffing, and head for the changing room. While I’m showering, I think about the conversation with Rick, and something he said—what was it?

We’re watching what you’re doing, all the time…

Someone else said something very similar, just a few days ago. Who was it? One of the trainees?

In a flash it comes to me—the Haas girl. The tall, blond one. The tall, blond, pretty one with the intense look of concentration when she’s thinking. Ronnie.

Does she have that look of concentration when she’s slipping out of her expensive dress, I wonder?

I shake my head. None of that Tom. No lechering over the trainees; you’ve got a job to do.

So, what can we do? The whole world is watching us, so we do—what?

Suddenly, I get a flash. Would that work? A sustained series of sell-offs designed to test the market across a range of products, then focusing on the things that other firms’ algorithms pick up on? Then a synthetic bond issue specifically tailored to those products?

I need to think about this some more. And I need to stop thinking about the Haas girl. I towel off, dress, and head back to the office, barely noticing the walk.

* * *

Back in my office, I pick up the phone, and dial Bob Walters’ private line. To paraphrase the meme, I don’t phone the head of the firm very often, but when I do, I have a good reason.

He picks up after two rings. “Tom. Always a pleasure.” His gravelly voice sounds like he’s been smoking all morning; in fact, I think he quit twenty years ago.

“Bob. Have you got a moment?” This is a courtesy. Bob Walters never has a moment, but it’s polite to acknowledge that he’s going to make one, because it’s me.

“Sure thing, Tom. What can I do for you?”

I take a deep breath. “Bob, I’ve got an idea for a deal. It’s going to take work, and it’s not without risk. But if it works, well, you’ll see.”

There’s a pause. “Just a minute, Tom.” A series of clicks, and he’s back on the line. “Go ahead.”

Gradually, over the next five minutes, I explain my idea, piece by piece. When I’m finished, the line is quiet.

“Hell’s bells, Tom.” I’ve never heard Bob Walters swear before. “Do you think you can do it? You can construct a synthetic bond which people will buy into like this?”

“Bob, I wouldn’t take up your time unless I thought it was a realistic possibility. Can I promise it will work? No. But I can promise we will put ourselves in the best place to pull it off. What I need right now is your permission to move forward with the research, and the resources to do so.”

“Tom, I’ve been willing to back you since you joined the firm, and I’m proud to say that’s paid off for both of us. But this…this is something else, son. If it goes wrong, or if anyone else knows what’s going on, we’d be sitting ducks. We’d end up with a massive investment in things which were deliberately chosen because they were volatile. The funding you’re asking for? The firm couldn’t survive a loss of that scale.”

“Bob, I know.” I’m trying to be as conciliatory as possible. “But you hired me to take risks, right? You hired me to come up with the big idea, the big show. That’s what I’ve done, and that’s what I’m doing right here. If this comes off, it would be a world-first. We’d be in history.” If it doesn’t, we’ll be in history for all the wrong reasons.

There’s a grunt on the other end of the line. “Okay, Tom. You’ve earned the right to investigate this at least. What do you need to take it to the next stage?”

I pause. “First, I need my whole team focused on this. I want to be able to push ongoing business off onto other teams. They’re going to bitch about it, but I can smooth that out. You just need to know it’s going to happen.”

“Done.”

“Next, I need some resource from outside. I want my pick of the trainees to come and work on this.”

“Done, although I’m damned if I know why you want a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears graduates taking up space on the floor. I saw them myself down in the foyer just the other day. When I started, we would have stuffed every last one of them into a trashcan before we let them so much as pick up an order book.”

I try to sound disapproving. “Bob, the game has changed, and that’s why you hired me. Those kids you talk about stuffing into trashcans are MIT graduates. Those kids run the whole world now, and our competitors are snapping them up. If we want to stay ahead, we need to go one better.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Bob Walters doesn’t admit that other people are right very often, and I allow myself a small smile. “Go talk to Barbara and get whichever ones you want. The milk and cookies are coming out of your budget, though.”

“Thanks, Bob. They’re the future of the firm, you know.”

“You’re the future of the firm, Tom. You need to think about leadership beyond just the number-crunching. You need to think about where you want to be with Walters Capital in ten years’ time. I’m not going to live forever, Tom, think about that.”

Sheesh, succession planning already. “Thanks, Bob, but right now I’ve got more than enough on my plate with this deal. Look, give me a week to work on it, and we’ll talk again, okay? I’ve taken up enough of your time as it is.”

“Very well, Tom. Keep me informed.” He rings off. I put the phone down, stare at the wall for a moment, and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. After a few moments, I pick the phone up again, and dial another number.

“Barbara? It’s Tom Macaulay. Yes, good, thanks. Busy, but good. Look, I need to borrow some of the trainees for about a week. Would that be okay? Yes, I know their lectures are of vital importance. Yes, I know a rounded exposure to all areas of the firm is critical for their development. I’d still like to borrow them though. Which ones?”

I pause for a moment. Really, this is all a sham. Tall, blond, determined, concentrating. Very, very pretty.

“Actually, now I think about it, just one. What was her name again?” I make pretend rustling noises. “I have it here somewhere.” Rustle, rustle. “Ah, here it is. Veronica Haas. Does that ring a bell?”