“Our financial sectors have run up over $1.5 quadrillion of global derivative debt,” President Tower said. “That’s pure intrinsic uncollateralized … debt. When that market crashes, Washington will have to cover our losses—they’ll have no choice—and they’ll have to cut us more checks. We’ll make a fortune. We’ll own this country before it’s over.”
“We’ll own … the world,” CIA Director Billy Burke said.
It was almost 9:00 P.M. now, and Brenda had asked her brother’s most trusted advisers, Ambassador Waheed and CIA Director Billy Burke, to come up to Tower’s penthouse apartment. Relaxing on couches and stuffed chairs, they sat in their white shirtsleeves, their ties loosened, and stared out over New York City.
“You really think you can rein in Jules Meredith?” Brenda asked her brother.
“I’ll have her bosses do it for me,” Tower said. “My friends and I own a big piece of the news media. The people who run it aren’t muckrakers; they’re buck-takers.”
Brenda smoked a Gauloises Blue and sipped brandy. She noticed that Waheed favored French reds, while Burke drank Macallan’s single-malt neat. Tower sipped his ubiquitous black coffee.
“Jim,” Director Burke said, “I hope you have them in your pocket. Our sources at her book publishing company say she’s got the names and amounts of every one of your campaign contributors and contributions. She’s also exposing all your offshore-tax-haven money.”
“So what?” Tower said. “I’ll simply announce to the world that she’s vindictive because I wouldn’t fuck her—or maybe because I stopped fucking her.”
“None of that’s true, Jim,” Brenda said.
“I don’t have to prove anything,” Tower said. “All we have to do is vilify her character and cast doubt on her data.”
“That’s how we discredited the climate change scientists,” Ambassador Waheed said, nodding and laughing. “And they were right on the facts.”
“And in discrediting the climate change scientists, we proved facts don’t matter,” Tower said.
“In other words,” Brenda said, pouring another snifter of brandy, “we lie.”
“At the Agency, we call it disinformation,” Burke said with a small smile.
“I prefer ‘truthful hyperbole,’” Tower said.
“Someone once said no lie can live forever,” Brenda said softly.
“And whoever said that had shit for brains,” Burke said, shaking his head.
“Unfortunately for us,” Brenda said, “Jules has the power of the press behind her.”
“The press is not exactly filled with ‘truth-tellers,’” Director Burke snorted contemptuously.
“‘Truth-killers’ is more accurate,” Ambassador Waheed said.
“Mencken once described the American people as Boobus Americanus,” Burke said.
“He also said no one ever lost money underestimating the intelligence of the American people,” Brenda said.
“We sure as shit haven’t,” Ambassador Waheed said, sipping his drink.
“Look at how much money the public loses at our casinos,” Brenda said, shaking her head, incredulous, “yet they keep coming back and throwing hundreds of millions more at us.”
“And on all your derivative investment scams,” Director Burke observed.
“What a country,” Tower said. “Where else could we rob the public blind and get lionized for it?”
“Look what Romney did at Bain Capital and what Trump did with his bankrupt casinos,” Director Burke said with smug smirk. “None of my Wall Street friends have done an honest day’s work in over fifty years. They just pile up debt.”
“Debt’s the key,” Brenda said. “Borrow enough money, and debt becomes currency. Milken proved that with junk bonds. Romney proved that with all those LBOs. They brag about it.”
“Our financial sectors have run up over $1.5 quadrillion of global derivative debt,” President Tower said. “That’s pure intrinsic uncollateralized … debt. When that market crashes, Washington will have to cover our losses—they’ll have no choice—and they’ll have to cut us more checks. We’ll make a fortune. We’ll own this country before it’s over.”
“We’ll own … the world,” CIA Director Burke said.
They all nodded in silence.
“On our financial statements,” Prince Waheed finally said, “we often list debt as assets.”
“Exactly so,” Tower said. “We can also convert all that debt into salable derivatives that no one understands, chop those instruments up into tiny fragments that are even more inscrutable, shuffle and combine those pieces into packages, and wait for the Wall Street firms to beat our doors down in a feeding frenzy just to be first in line to buy them.”
“Isn’t that better than making cars and trucks?” CIA Director Burke said.
“Romney sure as hell didn’t go into his old man’s auto business,” Prince Waheed said. “He took over firms, looted them wholesale, then sold off the debt. Fucking brilliant!”
“Our bankers at Tower, Inc., do that all the time,” Tower said. “They target firms for takeover, plunder their assets piecemeal, load them with debt and peddle them to unsuspecting pension-fund managers before all that debt goes comes due. We make a fortune.”
“Those pension-fund managers,” Burke said, “have to be the biggest chumps that ever lived.”
“We take them every time,” Tower agreed.
“Like Grant took Richmond,” Director Burke said.
“Like Hitler seized power in Germany,” Tower said, “and Lenin commandeered Russia.”
“Putilov did it too,” Director Burke said, “and made out like a bandit.”
“I can’t tell you how much I admire that man,” Tower said. “You know, he and I have become good friends. Everyone else treats him with such fear and deference. I think he likes it when I treat him like ‘one of the guys.’ I call him ‘Comrade’ and ‘Putie.’ I believe I’m the only one who can speak to him as an equal—man-to-man.”
“I’m sure he appreciates your candor,” Ambassador Waheed said.
“In fact,” Tower said, “I’m going to call him right now. You’ll see how frank we are with each other.”
“Great idea,” Burke said.
Tower took out his digitally encrypted cell phone, put it on “speaker” and punched in Putilov’s private number.