THE TAINTED TRUST (Volume 2 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 24

        Toronto. Friday, June 24, 1988.

Phillip received his high school diploma in late June, a bittersweet experience for Mike and Karen. His marks were abysmal, barely high enough to pass. His teachers spoke of their enormous frustration with the boy. Tests had confirmed his extremely high intelligence level, yet consistently low marks had revealed a low level of motivation. His teachers agreed that his poor academic performance would make it nearly impossible for him to be accepted at any reputable university, and strongly recommended a repeat of his final year.

Armed with that information and Phillip's final marks, Mike and Karen confronted him. Karen was stricken with the embarrassment most mothers feel when one of their children does poorly in school. Mike felt a strong sense of failure and frustration. In spite of all his efforts and attention, he had been unable to motivate Phillip to realize his potential.

Instead of eating alone in front of the television set in the den, as Phillip normally did, he joined his parents for dinner in the dining room, planning to remind them of the car they had promised to commemorate his high-school graduation. He dressed for the occasion; baggy blue jeans, a heavy multicolored T-shirt, and scruffy sneakers.

While Karen stared at her son, she was brutally reminded of her former husband. His baby fat had given way to muscle, forming a firm body structure very similar to that of his father. She was horrified by his unshaven face and the tiny gold earring in his left earlobe. She winced as he jerked a chair from beneath the table, then allowed himself to flop onto it. "Phillip, how many times have I told you to sit gently?" she scolded.

"Sorry," Phillip said, smirking as if he took pleasure in annoying her. "I forgot."

"It's apparent that isn't all you forgot," Mike barked.

Phillip flashed a defiant stare. "What do you mean by that?"

"Your marks clearly indicate that you forgot to work hard in school. Your mother and I were so concerned that we arranged interviews with each of your teachers. They all confirmed that you achieved far below your ability. When we asked them for specifics, they said you frequently failed to turn in assignments and to complete your homework. In addition, they suggested that you repeat your final year, to have another chance to elevate your marks to a level consistent with your ability, and that required for acceptance at university...What do you think of that?"

Phillip hung his head. Clearly, it was the wrong time to ask for a car. "The only thing I can say is that I hate school," he said, attempting to feign as much regret as possible.

"If you hate it so much, why waste any more time at it?" Mike asked, assuming he had successfully challenged Phillip's bluff. "You should get out and do something you don't hate."

Mike had said exactly what Phillip wanted to hear. The statement had actually sanctioned his most fervent desire. "You really think I should?" he asked, struggling to conceal his joy.

"It's your call. You have to decide what's more important. You're almost eighteen. You should be making your own career decisions. Do you have any plans?"

"Nope."

"Then I suggest you take at least a year out of school and get a real job. Maybe you'll hate work so much, you'll want go back to school."

Phillip seized the opportunity. "But how can I get a job if I don't have a car to get me there?"

"Take a bus," Mike retorted, amused by Phillip's infantile attempt at manipulation. "If you work hard enough and long enough, maybe you'll make enough money to buy your own car."

It was impossible for Phillip to hide his disappointment. Time to protest. "But you promised I could have a car when I graduated from high school."

Mike relented. "Tell you what I'll do. If you promise to work, and work hard, I'll give you a job with the company. If you're interested, I'll teach you everything I know about the business...Who knows? Maybe some day you'll want to run it."

"Can I drive a company car?"

"We can arrange that."

Phillip tried to appear excited and grateful, but was neither.

New York. Friday, July 29, 1988.

After a brief flirtation with the seventeen dollars a barrel level in July of 1988, the spot price of crude oil resumed its descent. As it knifed through the fifteen dollar resistance level, there was joy among the world's consumers of oil, even speculation that O.P.E.C. had finally failed as a cartel and lost its pricing power, perhaps forever. The price continued to decline through the summer of 1988. In October it hit thirteen dollars.

Enraged and convinced he had lost the opportunity of a lifetime, Visconti called Miles Dennis. "You son of a bitch! he shouted. "Crude's at thirteen dollars! Do you have any idea how much money you've cost me? I don't know who the idiots are that give you advice. Obviously they don't know a goddamned thing about what's happening in the real world."

Dennis's response was cool and professional. "Relax, Louis. I'm still confident those idiots are right. I still think you should wait for twenty dollar crude before you jump in. Patience is crucial in this game."

His comments failed to placate Visconti. "That's unmitigated bull-shit! You gave me that same crap a year ago. If I had done the short then, I'd be sitting on a paper profit of over a hundred million."

"That's probably correct," Dennis conceded. "If you had done the short, would you take your hundred million and run, or wait for still lower prices?"

"I'd hang in there," Visconti replied without hesitation. "A hundred million is peanuts compared to what I could make when crude really crashes."

"If you're patient, you might still do it."

"Do what? Die with the bat on my shoulder?" Visconti countered.

Dennis chuckled, then changed the subject. "Do you know where I could find a good secretary? I'm looking for one that's young, beautiful, intelligent and eager to learn?"

"If I did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you."