9

SATURDAY

Esther awoke expecting blowback. The term came from the military, but it had spread via electronic games and was now adopted by geeks everywhere. Blowback meant any repercussion from a forward movement, especially one that risked exposure to incoming fire. As she prepared her morning coffee, Esther saw any number of potential sources of worry and threat, starting with her own internal alarms. She was surprised not to have been repeatedly awakened by their clamor.

She took her coffee out to the rear deck and watched the pale wash of dawn grow in the east. The birds were especially strident this morning, cardinals and mockingbirds and jays and robins, all shrilling their amazement at a new season. The air was crisp and the city weekend quiet, so Esther decided to go for a long run.

Esther left for the bank at nine. The downstairs guards were in laid-back mode. The trading floor was closed, the executive level vacant. In her group’s converted factory space, her team hummed along at the typical weekend pitch. Esther surveyed her crew with a sense of deep affection. Even the admins tended toward geeky and awkward, yet they were her geeks.

Jasmine greeted Esther with, “So where do we go from here?”

“Assemble the team,” Esther replied. “Conference room. But give me fifteen minutes. First I want to check the traffic.”

Esther rarely used the conference room assigned to her team. They shared it with the accounting division responsible for all mortgages the bank kept on its books. The bank’s home-loan portfolio was growing by leaps and bounds. The market for bundled mortgages and all their derivatives had dried up after 2008 and never fully recovered. The SEC kept too close a watch. This meant the bank was keeping a larger portion of the loans they wrote on their own books. The accounting division treated the conference room as their exclusive turf. They considered Esther’s team usurpers. She used it today because she wanted the solemnity of a structured environment. As usual, she included her admin staff as well as the analysts. It was her way of showing that they were all in this together.

She began the meeting without preamble. Lengthy sessions tended to send her geeks into severe withdrawal mode, as it disconnected them from their computers and data streams. “You know how much the bank made from the trade they concluded yesterday. I have orders from Jason to find another target.”

Jasmine frowned, but did not speak. Their newest member, a recent graduate with a voice as high as a squeaky toy, did so. His name was Bradley, but his first week he had repeatedly bragged about his alma mater. Now everybody simply called him MIT. “Is that wise?”

“It is inevitable,” their lone Pakistani spoke up. “If they want to make another hundred mil in a week.”

Jasmine said, “So Jason isn’t giving back the two billion.”

Esther replied, “The note from our boss said nothing except ‘find me the next one.’ His exact words.”

“Does the top floor realize what that does to the bank’s exposure?”

“When I went upstairs yesterday, Reynolds and Sir Trevor both complimented us on the role we played. I assume the answer is that they know what they want to know.” Esther held up her hand, halting further comment. “Our task has been set. Let’s focus on the objective.”

Once the discussion started, Esther allowed Jasmine to take over and did not speak again. Nor did she pay close attention to the swirl of talk and calculations. Instead, she concentrated on her own internal debate.

When the meeting broke up, Esther returned to her office and lowered the translucent screens over her internal windows. That was her signal for the team to leave her alone unless there was an impending tsunami. She faced her monitors, both because the team would see her familiar silhouette and because she found the data stream reassuring.

Esther left the office at midafternoon, pausing only to review the half-completed ideas her team was putting together. She ordered them to leave by six, a command she knew most would ignore. She drove home with her windows open to the cool spring air, then sat in the driveway, staring at her front door and facing her internal realization.

The status quo no longer worked.

Remaining silent, not speaking, that was what had weighed her down the most. More than the plight of her beloved brother. More than the risks the bank currently exposed itself to. Her time of remaining on the sidelines and simply observing was over.

But what possible good could come from the actions of just one person?

Esther prepared a packaged dinner of rice and stir-fried vegetables with Thai sauce while watching the business channels’ weekend roundups. The Dow had ended the week down by over four percent, which left the stock market’s key indicators in negative territory for the entire year. The talking heads were gloomy in their forecasts for the next week. All their discussions carried a sense of grim foreboding. Esther agreed with their predictions, but not the reasoning. They focused almost exclusively on the American economy. And the problem was that their answers did not fit with the questions.

As she switched between channels, the voices became a unified anxious chorus. Junk bonds were down to their lowest level in seven years. Stocks were sinking across the board. The economy seemed to be stagnating. In the raw-material sectors, four years of rising values had been wiped out. Investors were acting like herd animals, fleeing the first rumble of thunder beyond the horizon.

But what Esther did not hear anyone discussing were next steps. What were people supposed to do? How were they to protect themselves, their families, even the country? Esther pulled out a pad and pen and began sketching out her thoughts. She felt many of the answers were right there, waiting for someone to lift their gaze beyond the horizon of this single economy and look at the bigger problems. As she ate, she watched half-formed concepts take shape.

The longer she sat there, the more certain she was that the time had come to act.

Midway through her meal, the phone rang. When she answered, Patricia asked, “What are you doing tomorrow after church?”

“Same old,” Esther replied. “Go to the gym, then swing by the office. Prepare for the coming week.”

“Could you take time for lunch at our place?”

“Twice in one weekend? I don’t—”

“Please.” Patricia’s voice carried an unusual level of stress. “It’s important. Really.”

“What is this about?”

“Have you been watching the news?”

Esther huffed a humorless laugh. “Pretty much all the time. That’s part of my job description.”

“We’ve all been talking about what you said. Craig feels . . .”

She brightened at the sound of his name. Which was silly of course. “What?”

“Craig insists that you are someone we can trust to get it right.”

Esther did not know how to respond.

Patricia said, “There are some people we want you to meet.”

“Well, I suppose—”

“Great.” The words came at a rush now, as though Patricia feared Esther might change her mind. “It’s a potluck. Bring whatever. Veggies or salad would be nice. And we tend toward informal on Sunday afternoons.”

That night Esther watched a movie starring Cary Grant, her all-time favorite actor. He played a jewel thief on the Riviera and drove a convertible roadster and never got caught by anyone except the beautiful blonde.

Esther thought Craig Wessex resembled the star to a certain degree. She was surprised at her disappointment that he had not called. Esther felt like a teenager as she carried the phone with her into the bedroom. She was a grown woman. An executive with a regional powerhouse. She could get his number from Patricia and make the call herself. But the last thing she needed right now was another failed romance.

As she drifted off, Esther realized she had not checked the monitors in her office since returning home. She decided it could wait until she arose in the middle of the night. But she fell asleep almost instantly and slept until morning, as well as she had in years.