to resist.”
“Do you charge a fixed fee as your compensation or a percentage based on the size of a client’s original investment or investment income?”
“I work in a variety of ways—whichever the client is most comfortable with. Occasionally the client pays me nothing at all; my compensation comes in the form of commissions on the sale of securities to the client.”
“Have you ever been the subject of an investigation by the SEC or any other law enforcement agency?”
“Not to my knowledge. I had several minor complaints made by clients who lost money. This was when I was employed as a stockbroker. The few cases that went to arbitration were decided in my favor. Some people go ballistic when they lose money, you know. My reply to the poor losers is that I never held a gun to their head and demanded they invest. It was their choice.”
This last was uttered in a serious, almost a solemn voice as Clemens leaned toward me. He had the ability to communicate sincerity. Looking into those steady blue eyes, it was almost impossible for me to doubt the man’s probity.
I could denigrate his appeal by saying he was a skilled actor giving an effective performance. But I could not detect the slightest hint of dramaturgy in his speech or manner. He seemed open, without pretense, a nonfiction man who was what he appeared to be. It required a conscious and deliberate effort on my part to refrain from surrendering completely.
“Well, Fred,” I said, “I am impressed by your responses and I appreciate your speaking so frankly. Suppose we do this: I shall invest with you half the funds becoming available when my two jumbo CD’s mature. If the initial investment proves successful, I will be willing to let you manage the remaining half and perhaps other moneys from the sale of securities I now own and from my trust fund. In other words I propose dipping my toes in the water to test the temperature before plunging in.”
“A wise decision,” he said. “I like the way you think, Archy. Then I presume you will contact me when you have the first hundred thousand in hand?”
“Correct.”
“Excellent. Meanwhile I’ll do some digging and see if I can come up with three or four opportunities offering the yield you hope to receive or more. The final choice will be yours of course.”
“Do you want me to fill out an application, Fred? Or sign an agreement with your company?”
“Not at the moment. We can complete the paperwork when your funds are available and you have selected the investment you prefer.”
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. We both rose and shook hands. Clemens opened the door and escorted me down the hallway to the reception area. Felix was seated at his desk, hands folded atop the glass, and I noticed the stub of the missing finger. But I saw no papers, magazines, or books and wondered if he spent his working hours sitting stonily with folded hands. Not bloody likely.
I stepped through the opened door of Clemens Investments and rang for the elevator. I glanced back and saw both men were looking at me, smiling and nodding. The elevator arrived. I lifted a hand in farewell and departed.
Why did I have an irritating fancy that after I left, the two men exchanged a conspiratorial wink?
CHAPTER 13
I EXITED FROM THE building in a rankled mood. I had confidently expected Frederick Clemens to reveal himself as a flimflammer peddling penny stocks and fake Fabergé eggs to gullible clients. But I was chagrined to find myself favorably impressed by the man. And the thought he might actually be honest and respectable made me cranky. If he was indeed a legitimate investment adviser it meant my Discreet Inquiry was a silly waste of time and effort and both my father and I were oversuspicious churls condemning a man on insufficient evidence.
I was about to board the Miata when I noted a maroon Bentley parked nearby. It had to be the car that had wafted Binky Watrous to his meal of brains and
“Do you charge a fixed fee as your compensation or a percentage based on the size of a client’s original investment or investment income?”
“I work in a variety of ways—whichever the client is most comfortable with. Occasionally the client pays me nothing at all; my compensation comes in the form of commissions on the sale of securities to the client.”
“Have you ever been the subject of an investigation by the SEC or any other law enforcement agency?”
“Not to my knowledge. I had several minor complaints made by clients who lost money. This was when I was employed as a stockbroker. The few cases that went to arbitration were decided in my favor. Some people go ballistic when they lose money, you know. My reply to the poor losers is that I never held a gun to their head and demanded they invest. It was their choice.”
This last was uttered in a serious, almost a solemn voice as Clemens leaned toward me. He had the ability to communicate sincerity. Looking into those steady blue eyes, it was almost impossible for me to doubt the man’s probity.
I could denigrate his appeal by saying he was a skilled actor giving an effective performance. But I could not detect the slightest hint of dramaturgy in his speech or manner. He seemed open, without pretense, a nonfiction man who was what he appeared to be. It required a conscious and deliberate effort on my part to refrain from surrendering completely.
“Well, Fred,” I said, “I am impressed by your responses and I appreciate your speaking so frankly. Suppose we do this: I shall invest with you half the funds becoming available when my two jumbo CD’s mature. If the initial investment proves successful, I will be willing to let you manage the remaining half and perhaps other moneys from the sale of securities I now own and from my trust fund. In other words I propose dipping my toes in the water to test the temperature before plunging in.”
“A wise decision,” he said. “I like the way you think, Archy. Then I presume you will contact me when you have the first hundred thousand in hand?”
“Correct.”
“Excellent. Meanwhile I’ll do some digging and see if I can come up with three or four opportunities offering the yield you hope to receive or more. The final choice will be yours of course.”
“Do you want me to fill out an application, Fred? Or sign an agreement with your company?”
“Not at the moment. We can complete the paperwork when your funds are available and you have selected the investment you prefer.”
There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. We both rose and shook hands. Clemens opened the door and escorted me down the hallway to the reception area. Felix was seated at his desk, hands folded atop the glass, and I noticed the stub of the missing finger. But I saw no papers, magazines, or books and wondered if he spent his working hours sitting stonily with folded hands. Not bloody likely.
I stepped through the opened door of Clemens Investments and rang for the elevator. I glanced back and saw both men were looking at me, smiling and nodding. The elevator arrived. I lifted a hand in farewell and departed.
Why did I have an irritating fancy that after I left, the two men exchanged a conspiratorial wink?
CHAPTER 13
I EXITED FROM THE building in a rankled mood. I had confidently expected Frederick Clemens to reveal himself as a flimflammer peddling penny stocks and fake Fabergé eggs to gullible clients. But I was chagrined to find myself favorably impressed by the man. And the thought he might actually be honest and respectable made me cranky. If he was indeed a legitimate investment adviser it meant my Discreet Inquiry was a silly waste of time and effort and both my father and I were oversuspicious churls condemning a man on insufficient evidence.
I was about to board the Miata when I noted a maroon Bentley parked nearby. It had to be the car that had wafted Binky Watrous to his meal of brains and
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