Big Time

Three

At 8:30, John walked into Republic, a popular restaurant that was a short walk from his SoHo apartment. He found Mac at the bar, talking to two attractive girls. One was blonde (probably dyed, but a quality job) with a cute button nose and unkempt hair. It didn’t look like she was wearing any make-up. The other one had dark-brown features, captivating eyes, and high cheekbones. Southern European descent John guessed, much more his type. The brunette looked like she was in her late 20s; the blonde perhaps a little younger.

“Hey, dude,” Mac greeted him.

“How’s things?” John asked, casually.

“Good.”

John bent his head away from the girls so they would be out of earshot as he whispered to Mac, “Who are they?”

“No idea,” Mac said with a smirk. “Just met ‘em.”

John nodded his approval.

John had known Mac for almost 10 years. They had met on the bank’s corporate finance graduate training program. While John had gone on to make a career at the bank, Mac had lasted only six months in Mergers and Acquisitions, where the regular workday lasted a minimum of 12 hours. “It was cramping my style,” he explained to John after he resigned and moved on to stock broking, finding the hours and lifestyle much more to his liking. He bought and sold shares for hedge funds and boutique professional money managers, which meant his currency was in rumors and access to the best clubs and beautiful women. John thought it absurd that someone got paid so well to show his clients a good time.

A waitress seated them in Republic’s best booth, leaving the girls behind at the bar. While they enjoyed their prime cuts of aged Angus beef, they chatted briefly about the bad run the Giants were having before Mac pointedly changed the subject.

“I read about Wellco in the Journal,” he began. “Any chance of them selling high enough to make something for their struggling shareholders?” Wellco was the healthcare company John’s team was trying to buy, whose stock price had been trading at a penny. Effectively bankrupt, Wellco hadn’t yet filed for Chapter 11. Instead, it was up for sale and trying to sell off its assets to raise capital to pay off its debts.

John frowned. Mac’s question had put him on the spot. He couldn’t talk about work; it would breach his confidentiality obligations to the bank, as well as being technically illegal.

“I can’t talk about it,” John said, in a low voice.

“Sure,” said Mac, sounding earnest. “But I’ve heard rumors that the sale process will easily bring in more than the debt, so I’m going to pick up some shares. Keep an ear out for me if it looks like going bad.”

John fought with his loyalties. He knew there was no way the sale process was going to raise more money than the debt. The shareholders would get zip, and the shares were worthless.

“I’d invest your money in real companies with a future and leave the distressed businesses to me,” he offered up, cautiously.

Mac searched John’s face for clues.

John swiftly changed the subject, filling Mac in on that morning’s episode. While John had never introduced Mac to Crystal, he had given him a running commentary throughout the fling. Mac supported the hard line John had taken and went on to give his opinion on needy women. John had learned shortly after meeting Mac that he had no morals. He also had a habit of talking on any subject as if he had a PhD in it, whether the subject was rocket science, the secret to dating women or the direction of the stock market.

After they’d finished their meal and a bottle of Merlot, Mac’s attention moved back to the girls, who were still standing by the bar.

“Which one do you want?” Mac asked.