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MANHATTAN, NY
A gentle kiss stirred Marty Frankel out of his sleep. His mouth formed a smooth smile as his eyes adjusted on Kate’s comely figure, his wife of just over a year.
“Good morning, Princess,” he said in a raspy voice, yawned, and then wiped crust from his eyes.
“Rise and shine, lazy bones. You have to be to work in less than an hour.” Kate stood over him in a jasmine colored, silk nighty. Her honey-blonde hair rested on the shoulders of her petite, shapely frame.
“That means I have time to give you the best ten minutes of your life.” Marty reached out and grabbed her by the waist, trying to pull her closer.
Kate’s emerald green eyes twinkled as she smiled and softly pulled away.
“Sorry, lover boy, but you have to take a shower and I have to make you something to eat. Didn’t you say that you had an important meeting today?”
Marty swung his feet over the edge of his California-king sized bed and sat up while running a hand through his hair. Her question sparked the realization that this was a day he was not looking forward to. His wife knew that the meeting was significant, but she had no clue that it could cause his ruin. “Yeah,” he answered flatly.
Kate dismissed his drab response. “Well, get yourself together and I’ll make breakfast. It’s much harder to focus on an empty stomach.” She whirled around and scurried down the stairs of their ultra-luxurious apartment.
He stood, stretching his six-feet-two-inch, toned frame. At forty-three years old, Marty relied on a strict diet, and rigorous exercise to help combat the signs of aging. It also felt good to know he didn’t look out of place when out with Kate, who was nine years younger than him.
Marty staggered to the bathroom and pressed number two on the wall mounted key pad. Instantly, water of his preferred temperature streamed out of the multiple shower heads, and Def Leopard’s Pour Some Sugar On Me blazed through the surround sound speakers. He undressed and stepped into the spacious walk-in shower. The steaming water massaged his muscles while the music invigorated him. His mind traveled through all the possibilities of what lay ahead. He chased away the pessimistic thoughts and committed himself to handling the day in the same manner he did when confronted with burdensome situations of the past.
Marty descended the spiral stairs and walked into the palatial kitchen dressed impeccably in a tailored navy-blue Ralph Lauren Purple Label suit, white Egyptian cotton shirt, a red silk tie, and brown leather Ferragamo shoes. He sat down to a plate of poached eggs, lightly buttered wheat toast, and a bowl of oatmeal. Mastering the art of multi-tasking, Marty ate, engaged in a light conversation with Kate and scanned through the Wall Street Journal.
After a quick glance at his Rolex Sky Dweller watch, Marty stood, and kissed Kate on her forehead. “I’m sure the car is out front waiting on me. I’m going to stop by the gym after work, but I’ll be home no later than four.”
“Ashly and I are going to an art exhibit in New Jersey, so I may not make it in until after six.”
“I’ll take it that means we’ll be going out for dinner?”
“It’s either that or you can whip us up something,” Kate said.
“Not a chance, young lady. I’ll make reservations. Try not to spend too much on those paintings. You’re still developing your eye for art.”
“I’ll try,” Kate responded.
Marty left his penthouse, boarded the elevator, and exited in the lobby of the ritzy Dakota Building. Walking out of the doors, he inhaled a deep breath of crisp, morning Manhattan air. Although it was only six-thirty in the morning, the New York streets were bustling with people and cars in a hurry to reach their destinations. Parked directly in front of the building rested a gleaming, black Rolls Royce Phantom. The chauffeur stood near the rear and opened the door as Marty approached.
“Good morning, Mr. Frankel.”
“Good morning, Larry.” Marty eased into the back seat, pulled out his phone, and checked his emails. The driver navigated the grand sedan to the Goldman Sach’s Building.
Marty Frankel had worked tirelessly for Goldman Sach’s for over eight years as a commodities trader. He engaged in high volume, risky trading of natural gas derivatives. He essentially made bets based on the future direction and unpredictability of the price of natural gas. His base salary was four-hundred-thousand dollars per year, however, he earned millions of dollars in bonuses and incentives. He was extremely talented in his field, and did whatever was asked of him by his supervisor, Jack Goldberg.
Jack was the head trader in the Commodities Derivative Group. He was responsible for Goldman’s strategic decisions and trades. In addition to being at the helm of trades, Jack managed Goldman’s commodities trading strategies and ensured that Goldman’s trading books were accurately valued each day.
Jack used his unrestrained market power to manipulate the prices of natural gas and futures contracts. The higher-ups turned a blind eye towards his actions. Their main concern was him becoming sloppy and that millions of dollars would not continue to pour in.
As prudent as Jack was, a thorough review of Goldman’s trades by a major accounting firm led to the discovery of Jack’s mismarkings. It was also discovered that despite Goldman’s full access to Jack’s trading records, Goldman’s risk management and supervisory systems failed to intervene. Three months ago criminal and civil charges were filed against the company and selected employees.
The elegant Rolls Royce Phantom slowed to a stop in front of the building. Briefcase in hand, Marty got out and hustled inside. He boarded an elevator that took him to his desired floor, greeted his secretary, and then entered his office. In less than five minutes of his arrival, his phone was ringing.
“Goldman’s Sachs, Commodities. This is Marty Frankel. How can I help you?”
“Good morning, Mr. Frankel.” It was Jack’s secretary. “Mr. Goldberg would like to speak with you concerning an urgent matter.”
Marty used is index finger and thumb to massage the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Maggie. I’ll be there in a second.”
Once again, he boarded the elevator, getting off at the top floor. After releasing a deep breath, he knocked on the thick mahogany wood door.
“Come in,” Jack yelled. Marty opened the door to see his supervisor pacing back and forth in the thick carpeted, massive office. “Have a seat.”
Marty sat down in a maroon leather chair opposite Jack’s desk. Although Jack was a slender, active man, his sixty-four years of living was evident by the gray hairs that wrapped around the sides of his head, and the slight sagging of skin under his eyes and chin. However, his piercing steel gray eyes were as alert as a twenty-five year old soldier’s.
“I received a call from my attorneys this morning,” Jack said as he stepped closer to the bay windows, offering a magnificent view of Manhattan. “There has been a new proposed settlement.”
“Does this one still involve me?” Marty questioned.
“I’m going to be honest. Yes, it does.”
“Jack, you know I only want the best for you, but I can’t destroy my life, my marriage...my future for you.”
“This is much bigger than you and I. You work for one of the largest trading firms in the United States. You’ve witnessed first-hand the amount of press coverage this mess has received. If you were to get fired, there’s no other firm in this country that would risk hiring you.”
“Fire me for what? I’ve done nothing wrong!” Marty shouted defensively.
Jack turned around staring intently at Marty. “Goldman’s a very big ship. If it goes down, many people will drown.” His words hit like stiff punches, causing Marty to slouch in the chair at the thought of him losing his job. “But there is a way out of this. It’s possible that you can come out of this with an even more powerful position at Goldman’s.” Marty sat up, correcting his posture, giving Jack his complete attention. Jack continued, “My attorneys informed me that the new proposed settlement contains a ‘neither admit, nor deny’ provision. The only way that the prosecutor will approve of this is if there’s an acceptance of responsibility by someone actively involved in trading. A minimum of thirty-two million dollars in disgorgement, penalties and interest. Arguably, as much as the SEC might be able to recover if they were to prevail at trial against us. In essence, we need you to be the face of this settlement, and, in doing so, you can decline to admit to the allegations against you by the SEC. There will be no criminal conviction.”
“What about the forfeiture money? How will we pay them?”
“We can’t just write you a check for thirty-two million dollars. That would make everything obvious to the point of really pissing the SEC off. It will certainly remove the deal and they will force us to criminal trial.”
“There’s no way I can come up with that type of money on my own.”
“Your net worth, including your assets, is thirty-one point six million dollars, Marty.”
“No...no fucking way!” Marty stood in anger. “You’re asking me to give up everything I’ve worked my ass off for. I can’t do it...I won’t do this!”
“It’s everything to you, but it’s fucking peanuts to us, and you know it!” Jack screamed, standing face to face with Marty. “Look, kid. This is how it’s going to work. Once you forfeit your money, the SEC will get off our backs and find someone else to screw. You will get back every dollar that you gave up. And for your loyalty, you will also receive this office and the position that comes with it, including a seven-figure signing bonus.”
Marty was aghast by the promise that was made. When...I mean, how can you be sure that everything will go as you’re saying?”
Jack reached into his desk drawer, removed a gold business card, and handed it to Marty. “Here. These are our attorneys. They are the best and they will represent you in this matter. When you go to your office, I want you to call our boss and confirm all that I’ve said regarding the promotion and compensation that you will receive, contingent on your assistance.”
“I will call them both immediately.” Marty accepted the card.
“If you receive this confirmation, do we have a deal?” Jack asked.
“Yes, but I need you to understand that I’m placing my entire life in your hands, Jack.”
“Trust me, I understand. And I promise you that even though this is difficult for you, it will be the best decision of your career.” They shook hands and Marty left.
With a huge sigh of relief, Jack dropped down into his chair, picked up his phone, and punched in a few numbers. “How are you doing, boss?...I sealed the deal. He’s going to do it...they don’t call me Jack the Ripper for nothing...I’ll see you for lunch.” Jack hung up the phone, interlocked his fingers with his hands behind his head, and smiled proudly...