THE TAINTED TRUST (Volume 2 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 13

  New York. Friday, August, 21, 1981.

Gerry Mara, Visconti's partner, was genetically structured for Wall Street, and he dressed for the roll. He wore a svelte black pin striped suit, neatly pressed blue shirt, yellow silk tie and suspenders, and black Gucci loafers. His long black hair was slicked straight back, exposing his cerebral temples. He butted his cigarette, popped two champagne corks, then displayed a proud smile as he mounted an elevated wooden platform erected for the occasion. He raised both bottles above his head. "May I have your attention, please?" he shouted.

The loud conversations of staff members and account executives ended. A hushed silence ensued.

"A little over a year ago, Louis Visconti succeeded in landing the biggest account in the history of our firm. With courage and steadfast conviction, he defied popular market opinion by liquidating most of the stock positions of the portfolios he managed, then shorted government and corporate bonds. Those brilliant moves have generated astounding returns, and made us all absurdly rich...A toast is in order." He smirked at Visconti. "To the Crown Prince of Wall Street...May his brilliance and clairvoyance live on, and continue to keep us all in the style to which we have become accustomed."

Mara's toast was followed by the clinking of glasses, loud cheers, whistles, and warm applause from the entire office staff. "Speak to us, Louis," he demanded.

The cheering, whistles and hoots intensified as Visconti slowly mounted the platform. He sipped his champagne, flashed a triumphant smile, then took a deep bow. When he moved his lips close to the microphone, his audience hushed, anxious to listen to anything he had to say. "Thank you very much for your kind words, Gerry. Coming from you, it is indeed an honor. I also want to thank all of you for your support and capable assistance during these trying times. I deeply appreciate it...I'm really not sure if what I accomplished in the past year was the result of brilliance, clairvoyance, or just plain luck. Whatever it was, I hope it continues forever. In any event, I will try to wear the crown with pride and humility."

Again a loud applause erupted.

Allan Griesdorf, the genius of the three partners, overweight, bald and a PhD in math from M.I.T., stood. "Predictions, Louis?" he shouted.

As if in deep thought, Visconti gazed at the ceiling, then surveyed the crowd. He was where he wanted to be, admired, respected, on top. For him, the feeling was better than sex. He was surfing the crest of a huge wave of good fortune, one he fully believed was entirely the result of his divine intelligence, unique talent and insight only few possessed. "It's time to cover the bond shorts," he pontificated. "Interest rates have peaked, but the stock market's still going south." He smiled and waved regally as he stepped from the stage. He was on a high. The buzz of numerous hushed conversations fed his ego, excited him to know that each was diagnosing his advice.

         Visconti followed his own advice by covering his bond shorts and going long. As interest rates plummeted, the value of the bonds increased enormously. So too did Visconti's income, the fortunes of his firm, and the value of the King's trust.