Syndrome by Thomas Hoover (read along books txt) š
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Heād been a bond trader for Goldman, and at family gatherings heād brag about making three hundred thou a year. But he had a high-maintenance lifestyle involving downtown models he was constantly trying to impress with jewelry and expensive vacations, so that wasnāt enough. He decided to freelance on the side. He set up a Web site and, with his brokerās license, opened a retail business trading naked futures contracts on Treasuries. He managed to get some naive clients and for a while made a profit for them. But then the market turned against him, or maybe he lost his rabbitās foot, and he began losing a lot of other peopleās money.
A couple of his clients with heavy losses felt that heād misrepresented the risk, and they were getting ready to sue. They also were threatening to file a complaint with the SEC. There was a real possibility he could be barred from the financial industry for life.
The only thing that would put the matter to rest was if he made good some of their losses. But Grant, who lived hand to mouth no matter what his income, didnāt have any liquidity. A reserve? Thatās for guys who donāt have any balls.
She pieced this story together after the fact. Somehow heād gotten to their father, who bailed him out mainly to save the family from disgrace. In doing so, he had mortgaged CitiSpace right up to the breaking point.
When she finally unraveled this poignant tale, she realized her father believed he was going to have to declare bankruptcy and close the firm, laying everybody off and leaving Nina a pauper. He thought the only way to save the family from ruin was to collect on his life insurance. Unfortunately, however, he botched the plan. Nobody believed his death was accidental and suicide voided the 3-million-dollar policyā¦.
Grant had always inhabited another planet from her dad but surely these days he was able to support any lifestyle he chose. For the last two years heād been some kind of hotshot financial manager for the high-stakes conglomerate owned by Winston Bartlett, or so Nina said. He should be making big bucks. Had he managed to screw that up somehow? Anytime he came crawling back to the family for anything, it was because he was in some kind of trouble.
She hadnāt seen him in so long she wondered if sheād even recognize him-not that she had any plans to see him.
But what could Grant possibly want from her now? Also, why would he pick this morning, this anniversary morning, to reappear? Didnāt he know what day this was? Or maybe he didnāt actually care.
Heād been living on the East Side that fateful morning of their dad Is death, in a doorman co-op he surely couldnāt afford, and sheād taken a cab there to tell him in person rather than do it over the phone. When she did, her voice breaking, she could see his eyes already filtering out any part of it that touched him. By today heād probably purged it out of his memory entirelyā¦.
She had reached the vast lawn that had been built on the landfill behind Stuyvesant High, the Hudson River on one side and the huge expanse of green on the other. It was manicured and verdant, a La Grande Jatte expanse of grass where you could see visions of wicker picnic baskets and bottles of Beaujolais. The space was deserted now and smelled of new grass. Knickers had gotten ten paces ahead of her, as though impatient that Alexa was slowing her down, but then she paused in midstride to sniff at a bagel somebody had tossed.
āCome on, honey.ā Ally caught up with her, wheezing. āTime to backtrack. My chest is getting tight again. Goodies at home.ā
Knickers glared at her dolefully for a moment, not buying the argument.
āLetās go.ā She resumed her stride back north, knowing-well, hoping-Knickers would follow. āHome.ā
Her senses must have been slowing down too, because she honestly didnāt hear him when he came up behind her three minutes laterā¦.
Sunday, April 5
8:29 A.M.
āDidnāt think I could keep up, did you?ā Grant Hampton quipped from ten paces back. āGuess you didnāt know Iāve started playing handball every other morning. Half an hour, with the Man. Great for the stamina. Not to mention brown-nosing the boss, since naturally I let him win.ā
She doesnāt look half bad, he thought. Maybe sheās getting out ahead of that heart problem. Maybe sheās actually okay and Iām screwed.
Fuck.
But why is she still so fried at me? Sure, I had a little trouble, but everybody has ups and downs. Nina, that hardhearted bitch, wants to blame me for Arthurās death, when it was nobodyās fault but his own that the old fart pulled the plug. Hell, I was going to pay back the money. He just didnāt believe in me. He never did.
āWhat are you doing here, Grant?ā When she turned to look back at him, she realized she wasnāt prepared for this moment at all, but here he was, complete with a trendy CK running outfit.
Sheād only seen him a couple of times after the funeral, and he looked like life was treating him well. The perfect tan, the lush sandy hair with an expensive cut that covered the top of his ears like a precise little helmet. He was a touch over six feet, with athletic shoulders, a trim figure, and a graceful fluidity to his stride. No wonder he scores with models. Damn. How could such a creep look that great?
āI told you, Iām trying to do you a favor.ā He momentarily pulled ahead, as though to head her off, then looked back and grinned. She thought she detected a vaguely demented quality in his gray eyes. āHey, Iāve turned my life around, Ally. Lots of good karma. Iām CFO for BMD, and W.B. lets me handle a lot of his personal investing too.ā
She put on a burst of energy, trying unsuccessfully to get out ahead of him. Even though sheād rehearsed this inevitable moment over and over in her mind, she hadnāt realized that seeing him again would be this upsetting.
Why was he here? But now that he was, maybe she ought to momentarily let go of the anger long enough to find out what he wanted. Fortunately, they were almost back to Barrow Street. So this was going to be quick; no way was she going to ask him up.
āLook,ā Grant declared over his shoulder, āI think itās high time to admit Iāve been a shit. To you and to a lot of people.ā Now he slowed enough that she pulled alongside. āFor a long time there, back when I worked for Goldman, I was an immature asshole. But at least Iām mature enough now to admit it.ā
āI think the window for owning up is past.ā She didnāt need his belated mea culpa. Nothing was going to bring their father back, and having a scene on this anniversary day would only demean his memory. āSometimes itās better just to let things rest.ā
āNo, thatās wrong, Ally, and I want to try and start making amends. For all the money Dad helped me out with. I want to do a kindness for you, to repay you and Mom as best I can.ā Now he was jogging along beside her as smooth as a stroll, barely breathing. It was adding to her humiliation.
āGrant, itās a little fucking late for that. Dadās gone. Moneyās not going to bring him back. And Iām okay, Momās okay-at least for money.ā Well, she thought, thatās true for now, but who knows what lies ahead? āSo whatās a couple of million or so between siblings, anyway? Right? Itās the price of finding out who everybody is.ā
Just now, she told herself, the biggest ākindness ā he could do would be to disappear. Forever. Sheād thought she was over the bulk of the pain and the feelings of humiliation, but seeing him again, hearing his voice, and looking at his eyes was bringing all of it back. She realized she was never going to be over it.
āAlly, go ahead and say whatever you need toā¦ Look, I canāt really do anything about the money, at least not right this minute-though Iāve got a big ship on the horizon, assuming a deal Iām working on comes through. But right now Iām about to try to do you a favor.ā
āI think I can muddle through without any of your āfavors,ā Grant. And I really donāt appreciate your showing up out of the blue like this, bullying your way back into my life.ā
She glanced over and saw his gray eyes were hangdog. It was the soulful look he used to melt her resolve. But not this time. She was yelling at herself inside not to give an inch. If she let him anywhere close to her life again, she was sure sheād only regret it.
āWell, like it or not, I am here at the moment,ā he said, once more jogging a pace ahead then twisting his head back. They were at the crossing and he could see her building from where they were. He had to get a hook into her before she disappeared into that damned lobby. Time for the bait. āBy the way, Ally, howās your ticker doing these days? You still have to watch out forā¦ that heart thing?ā
āLook, Grant, Iāve got a busy morning. Iām going up to see Mom, not that youād give a damn. So thank you for inquiring about my health, but frankly what do you care?ā She paused. āTell you what. If your āfavorā is so wonderful, Iāll give you one phone call. Tonight, at home.ā She had Knickersā leash on a short hold and was waiting for the light to change. āBut Iāve got to go now.ā
Shit, he thought, the hook didnāt catch. āCanāt be on the phone, Iām telling you. I needed to see you. Why the hell do you think I took the trouble to catch you before your day got started? You know I hate getting up this early.ā He stepped onto the curb and stopped. āAlly, please listen. This is something I can do for you. I wonāt insult you by saying itās for old timesā sake, but in a way it is. I got you a shot at a big job. Bartlett wants to redo the ground floor of his place on Gramercy Park. I told him about CitiSpace, and he sounded interested and said heād like for you to come by and meet him and help him kick around some ideas.ā
She looked at him, not believing a word.
āYou hacked into my life at seven oāclock Sunday morning for that. You had to see me? Give me a break. What do you really want? And this better be good.ā
Okay, he thought. Cut to the chase.
āYouāre correct. Itās about your heart.ā
āWhat about it?ā
Make it real, he told himself. This could be your only shot.
āAll right, hereās the unvarnished deal. What I really did for you. About five years ago, Bartlett bankrolled a start-up bio-med firm called the Gerex Corporation. It was the brainchild of a Dutch doctor whose research project had just been sawed off at the knees by Stanford University. Then Bartlett moved the entire operation to a clinic at the BMD campus out in New Jersey called the Dorian Institute. Itās all very hush-hush, but I can tell you Gerex has a new procedure in clinical trials that can literally work miracles. The head researcher, this Dutch doctor, has pioneered a new treatment using a stem cell procedure to trick an organ into regenerating itself, even a heart. Itās like you grow your own transplant.ā
Now she was finally
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