Coffee by gren blackall

in her voice.
McKinsey turned to Etty for a last comment. “Etty. I want
you to like it here. I want you to stay.” He shook her hand.
Etty had run out of things to say. She nodded, and the two women
left.

    

    While
waiting for an elevator, Marion began her tour-like description.
“Mr. McKinsey would like me to show you the Library and the
Trading Desks. They are on the second and third floors. This is
the sixth floor, where our executives reside. We also have a board
room, an executive dining facility, and a backup security console.”
    They
stepped in to an open elevator. Marion continued. “The fifth
floor houses all our International Currency desks. We have five to
fifteen traders and analysts assigned to each of the twenty five
currencies we have positions in. When a currency moves a penny
relative to the dollar, we either expected it or can explain exactly
why it happened.” The rapid elevator already opened at the
third floor. Marion showed her out, then stopped to finish her
description.
    “The
fourth floor is our Bond and Consulting floor. We have a number of
bond teams focusing on U.S. Treasury issues, Corporate Bonds, other
government debt, on and on. I can’t keep track of all of them,
but I know there are many.” Marion paused to acknowledge the
receptionist, who nodded back. “But this floor -this is where
we do our most exciting work.”
    Etty
thought, ‘Yea, like manipulate the markets.’ She
wondered if she would see the people whose plans she’d ruined.
They walked past what seemed like an endless row of computer rooms,
offices prickling with screens and keyboards, and a few well dressed
men and women doing weekend work. Marion towered over her,
especially since Etty wore no shoes. But Etty retained a sense of
smugness knowing that she, this little woman in a crumpled suit and
stocking feet, had out smarted this impressive area, preventing them
millions in illegal profits.
    They
entered an auditorium-like room through double doors. “This
is the Coffee, Sugar, and Cocoa Trading Desk,” Marion
announced like a proud band leader. The desk itself formed a large
“E” shape, filling most of the room, with small trading
stations placed every three or so feet on the circumference. The
“E” must have had 50 stations, each equipped with two
monitors, two keyboards, a calculator like device, two file drawers,
a wheeled chair, a phone, and a trash can. Marion continued. “The
backbone of the ‘E’, is where our customer contact
people sit. Buyers and sellers call their orders in here. The
requests are then given to the traders sitting on the three ‘bars’
of the ‘E’. The top bar has Coffee traders, the middle
for Sugar, and the bottom for Cocoa. They either use our own
inventory or deal with our contacts at the CSCE Exchange in New
York.”
    “They
also buy Coffee Options for WIC, right?”
    “Yes.
WIC has it’s own sizable portfolio, which includes Options.”
    Etty
studied the little stations, imagining with pleasure the frazzled
traders last Tuesday watching their screens with horror as an
outside buyer ruined their Option buying plans. Marion went on, “You
should hear it during trading - all the yelling is rather
invigorating.”
    “Yelling?”
    “Oh
yes. It’s too bad it’s Saturday, you’d be
amazed.” Marion pointed at the far wall. “See those
speakers up there?”
    Etty
nodded.
    “They
are connected to microphones that hang down into the middle of the
actual trading pit at the CSCE in New York. Those things crackle
out noises all day.”
    “Why
would they do that? How does anyone concentrate?”
    “Sometimes,
Harriet, there is no better market information than to listen to the
people yelling on the trading exchanges. If a major buyer knows
something or makes a bold move, you’ll hear a chorus of
shouting from traders trying to change their positions. When we
hear a commotion on the speakers, we immediately react. The
computer screens might take