“Five minutes until the closing bell!” a shout echoed across the trading floor. The whole room looked like a hurricane whooshed through it, as if they just pulled the fire alarm.
Max sat with his feet up on the desk and head slouched to the left holding his trading line, looking disheveled but still somewhat presentable. He wore a white striped shirt unbuttoned at the collar with a loose fitted Prada tie and a matching charcoal grey vest and slacks.
He put his feet down as he straightened in his chair and took a swig of his vitamin water, then with his free hand went to the second drawer and took out a small airline-sized bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and finished it in one gulp.
Pressing hold on the phone with his left index and middle finger, he ripped back, “I’m on it you git. Layoff, he’s my buyer. I’ll get it done, Sebastian.”
“Don’t fuck this up or play midnight cowboy. We have an inside institutional seller and a tanking market, just cut your losses and scrap it.”
Sebastian was head of the trading floor, husky voice and intimidating fellow, but part of the old school generation of commodity traders.
“I told you, I got this.” Max smiled, “Besides, live a little. Aren’t we having fun yet?”
“End it now.”
“Bloody hell, alright.” Max unclipped the phone, smacking the receiver against his palm.
“So, Javier, we have an understanding?”
“Yes, Don Emilio will be pleased,” he spoke in a thick Spanish accent. “We have a good understanding of the futures contracts, and let’s just say, we have it on good authority that the crops will rebound nicely the second half of the year. It’s been a tough winter.”
“If that’s the case, we have an in-house seller, nothing leaves this room mind you, but he would prefer the whole lot. It would move the market, but you would control most of it. It’ll show up on trace at the end of the day's runs, but nothing too severe ahead of tomorrow’s USDA report. At a premium of course, I don’t want to insult the seller.”
“Ah...Max, always the boy scout, eh? Poor little Max, waiting until the last minute to have someone save him. Or hope to save him. How do I know if you don’t sell that lot to me, that you won’t turn around and sell it after the report tomorrow?”
“Well. You don’t. But you also won’t find the exact crop and commodities contracts that I’m offering you now at a small, teensy, premium in order to ensure your profits – so you say – for the rest of the year. Imagine, Javier, that could be a whole summer in Tuscany with your family…and no calls from me.”
Max’s eyes squinted a little as he scratched the bottom of his chin. He noticed his stubble was a bit itchy, it must have been a couple of days since he last shaved.
“Okay Max, do it at a quarter more. Not one penny less or one penny more. Buy yourself a new boy scout suit.” Under his breath, but still audible he heard, “Este miserable hijo de la gran p-” before the line cut off.
YOU ARE READING
Stealing Emma
RomanceEmma Blake is ready for a change from her monotonous life in Los Angeles. So when her boyfriend Roy suggests they go to grad school abroad in Spain, she's all for the adventure. New city, new life, new friends. What could possibly go wrong? Ma...
