For the moment, Doug had taken the only practical step: he’d kept McTeague in place and continued to funnel him enough cash to cover the margin and hold the positions open so the losses would remain, for now at least, unrealized. But he couldn’t keep Holland out of the loop any longer. For one thing, Finden Holdings was running out of money to lend Atlantic Securities and would need more from Union Atlantic as early as tomorrow. More important, they had now reached a line over which Doug had no intention of stepping alone. Setting up a single-purpose vehicle like Finden Holdings to get around regulatory limits was one thing; it skirted rules without quite violating them. But what Atlantic Securities and its parent bank would have to do now to survive was altogether different: deception of the exchange authorities and the deliberate misstatement of the company’s exposure to the shareholders and the public. Doug knew well enough how the principals defended themselves in investigations of this sort of thing. They did what Lay had done at Enron — claim ignorance of operational detail. Cutting the occasional corner might have been an implicit part of Doug’s job in special plans, but he had no intention of letting Holland play dumb on a scheme this size.
When he saw the lights of the party through the trees, he pulled to the side of the road. He hadn’t walked twenty yards along the fence when he glanced to his left and noticed a high juniper hedge, which seemed oddly familiar to him, almost as if he’d dreamt of it. Coming closer, he recognized the gap in the bushes and the white gravel drive. It was the Gammonds’ house, where his mother used to clean, where he used to pick her up in the afternoons, its brick façade smaller than he remembered it, the shutters painted white now rather than dark green. He’d never come to the Hollands’ from this direction and hadn’t known this house was so nearby.
The sight of it brought him up short. Picturing the old lady in her jade necklace, a moment he hadn’t thought of in years came back to him, an exchange they’d had the last time he’d come here.
She had asked, as usual, how school was going, but instead of giving his standard curt reply, he’d told her what he hadn’t figured out a way to tell his mother — that he was leaving, going into the navy. No one else but the recruiter had known, not even his cousin Michael. He had wanted to shock the old lady, to show her that he was more than her cleaning lady’s son. But she hadn’t been the least surprised. “Good for you,” she’d said. “My father was an admiral, commanded the Second Fleet during the war. He always had tremendous respect for the enlisted men.”
A trowel in her gloved hand, the skin of her face a fine, tan wrinkle, those heavy stones and the little silver rings that separated them hanging around her neck.
Why hadn’t she given him away, he wondered now. When his mother approached, Mrs. Gammond had said nothing, made no congratulatory comment or aside, as if she’d known the news was a secret. She’d just smiled and waved goodbye.
She had been elderly back then; by now she would be dead and gone.
Putting the matter aside, he kept walking up the street, looking for a gap in the fence. Stepping into the field, he strode through the tall grass, making for the house.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure moving quickly toward him in the twilight.
“Hold it there,” the man called out, “you can’t come in this side.” He hustled up to block Doug’s path, all suited six-three of him, complete with an earpiece and a flag pin on his lapel.
“Get out of my way,” Doug said.
“This is a private party, sir, if you—”
“I pay your fucking wage!” he shouted, pushing past the goon.
___________
HE FOUND HOLLAND coming down the steps of the terrace, a crystal tumbler in hand.
“We’ve got a problem,” Doug said. “We need to talk.”
“Well, gosh, thanks for the news flash. I’ve been dealing with it all morning. Bernie fucking Ebbers. How much money did we lend that guy? And now that showboat Spitzer is after us. Like we’re the first people in the world to do our clients a favor? He’s a politician for Christ’s sake, he does favors for a living. But oh no, the party in the market is over, right? And the people want their sacrificial lambs. The script’s as old as Teddy Roosevelt, and if we’re lucky it’ll be just as toothless. But they’ll want cash and that’s the one thing we don’t have right now, thanks to you.” He emptied his glass. “So yeah, you’re right, we’ve got a problem.”
“Let’s go inside.”
His shoulders slumping, Holland turned back up the steps and led Doug down the hall and into his study. Closing the door behind them, Doug leaned his back up against it.
“We’re in trouble,” he said. “More than we thought.”
As Doug explained what McTeague had done, Holland’s head moved up and back, as if tapped on the nose by a boxer. When it sunk forward again, his mouth was half open and he looked dazed.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No.”
At which point, the door handle nudged Doug in the small of his back and he stepped aside to watch Glenda enter. She wore a red silk dress with blue pearl buttons and across her chest a spray of diamonds.
The Adderall she’d taken following her nap had mixed with the drink to give her the novel sensation of being simultaneously drunk and highly efficient.
“Hello, Doug,” she said, unsteady on her feet. “How are you? I was so sorry to hear about Judge Cushman’s decision. But I’m sure you and Charlotte will work it out, won’t you? Now Jeffrey, you need to come with me. Did you notice we have three hundred guests in the yard? Come along, come with me.”
She motioned with her index finger as a parent might to a child.
“Where the fuck is Lauren?” Holland asked no one in particular, and certainly not his wife.
“She’s doing her job, dear. Now it’s time for you to do yours. Come along.”
“Jesus, Glenda,” he said. “Hold it together, would you? I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just get out there and deal with it. And for Christ’s sake stop drinking.”
Glenda turned to Doug and smiled. “So good to see you,” she said. “You really are so handsome. And my husband keeps you all to himself.” She rested her limp, sweating hand on his wrist. “Be a darling. Bring him out to the party, won’t you?”
Like a luxury car with poor turning radius, it took some effort for her to steer back through the door, which Doug closed behind her.
Across the room, Holland stood with his back to the bay window, his face drained, all his bluster gone. He could put on exasperation about WorldCom and Spitzer and all the other difficulties; he could even enjoy them, the way they lent him the air of the embattled leader, comfortable all the while in the knowledge that in the end the bank would take a few write-offs and move on. Companies with bloated stock prices could now and then go belly-up, but everyone knew the biggest banks just kept marching.
“We give McTeague to the authorities,” he said, reaching for conviction. “That’s what you do. We fire him, close out his positions, and put out a statement.”
“Are you out of your mind? We’d lose half our capital base overnight. Our customers would run for the doors. Not to mention trigger a crisis. You’re not thinking straight. We’re talking about survival. And not just for this company. You’ve got a responsibility to that.”
“Who the fuck are you to talk about responsibility?”
“Come on, Jeffrey. Is this how you’re going to play it? Throw your hands up, get some cheap ethical high, and spend the next three years in depositions?”