The First Billion

"Doing good, Deak, thanks. Which way'd he-?" A soft hand fell on Gavallan's shoulder and he spun to see to whom it belonged. "Hello, Tony."

"Jett. You're back. Thank God, you're all right."

"You weren't expecting me?"

"Frankly, none of us were," said Tony Llewellyn-Davies. "Not a word from you since Friday. The FBI saying you're a murderer. We didn't know where you'd gone or what you'd been up to."

He was dressed nattily in a double-breasted blue blazer with his requisite gray flannel slacks and club-striped tie. His cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes excited.

"I find that a little hard to believe," said Gavallan. "You if anybody should have been able to tell them. After all, if you're such good friends with Konstantin Kirov you ought to have known."

Llewellyn-Davies bit back his surprise, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "We're hardly 'friends.' I'm sure I hardly know him any better than you do."

"Cut the crap, Tony. I've spoken to Graf. He told me about the call… the one you conveniently forgot to relay to me. You knew firsthand Mercury was rotten a week ago. Actually, I guess you knew it a long time before that. Anyway, it stops here. We're pulling the plug on the deal. It's over. I just want to have a quick word with Kirov before I let everyone else know."

"Jett, no… you're mistaken. You're talking nonsense. Really, you are."

"How could you? We built something. We did it together. Seven years, Tony. Christ, you're on the board as it is. What was it? More money? A spot at the top? What he offer you?"

Looking at his associate, Gavallan felt betrayed, ashamed, and naive. Part of him still thought it couldn't be. Not Tony, of all people.

"I don't know. Respect. A chance." Llewellyn-Davies sobbed, a single pathetic cry, and lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Jett. Give me a minute to explain. Not here- come into the booth. It's already embarrassing enough as it is." He tried to smile, and a tear ran down his cheek. "The floor doesn't need to see a pooftah having a good cry."

"I haven't got the time. Tell it to your next employer."

Llewellyn-Davies grabbed at Gavallan's sleeve. "No, Jett. Please. I can make it right. You've got to believe me. Don't be a stupid git. It's just me… Tony. Come on."

The official clock read 9:20:51. Gavallan found Dodson and asked him to stay right where he was and, no matter what, to prevent Spalding from initiating trading in the stock. "Give me two minutes. I'll be right back."

"Two minutes, Mr. Gavallan. Then we get Mr. Kirov ourselves."

But Gavallan was already moving, and Dodson's words were drowned by a chorus of babbling voices. Gavallan and Llewellyn-Davies walked the short distance to the Black Jet Securities booth. Curious faces greeted them along the way, along with cries of "Jett, great to see you," "Hey, boss," and "We got a kicker today!"

Llewellyn-Davies opened the door to the manager's office and showed Gavallan in.

It was more a shoe box than a place of business. Two desks pushed against each other crowded one wall. Next to them stood a waist-high server, a monitor, and a printer. There was a refrigerator and a microwave oven, a Bridge data monitor, and another desk covered by telephones. The walls were papered with notices from the Exchange. Like any other essentially blue-collar workplace, there were the obligatory topless photos. Tastelessly, someone had glued a picture of Meg Kratzer's face onto the torso of a black woman with enormous breasts. A second door led to the corridor outside the floor.

"Out, both of you," Llewellyn-Davies said to a pair of clerks. "On the double."

Gavallan nodded at them and they left.

Llewellyn-Davies shut the door, then turned, leaning his back against it. "What a mess, eh?"

"You've got a minute, Tony. Get going."

"Oh, fuck a minute. Come to your senses. Seventy million dollars. The firm's future, for Christ's sake. Let it go."

"It's done, Tony. The deal's canceled."

Llewellyn-Davies stared at him, his pinched, patrician features clamped into a mask of hate. "I'm sorry, Jett, but that's out of the question. Too much work. Too much sweat." The tears had vanished. His eyes were clear, burning with an inner purpose, a rage that Gavallan had never seen in him before. "We need this. You, me, all of us. It's our bloody savior. Can't have you taking us all down as a matter of pride or principle. I don't want to hear about rules. Sod all the rules. Made to be broken, what?"

"Mercury's revenues are a sham. Kirov's going to jail. The FBI's got information tying him to the theft of a couple hundred million dollars from one of the companies he controls. The Russian government is all over him. Now come on. Let's go outside and talk to Deak Spalding."

"Kirov assured me he's remedied the shortfalls in infrastructure. It's only a question of months until his revenues are up to snuff. It's time to close an eye. For everyone's good."